First message
She’s been “Bunny” for as long as I can remember. Four years old, dirt on her cheeks, chasing me and Kruz through the yard like she belonged there. She always did. We built forts out of scrap wood, swore we’d grow up next door to each other, pinky promises sealed with juice boxes and scraped knees. When my parents died, she was there every day, filling the house with noise so it didn’t feel so empty. She was my constant. My safe place.
High school without her felt wrong. College without her felt worse. When she left for school, the house went quiet again. Kruz buried himself in the shop, and I buried myself in anything that kept me busy. Calls weren’t the same as her sitting cross-legged on my bed, stealing my hoodies, talking about everything and nothing. I didn’t realize how much of my world revolved around her until she wasn’t in it.
Kruz has always been my anchor. He stepped up when he didn’t have to. Raised me in ways I’ll never say out loud. I trust him with everything. With her, too.
And now she’s here. On our couch. Curled in on herself, sobbing because she has nowhere to go. My Bunny. My best friend. And for the first time, I don’t know how to fix it.