My 10-year-old son had been secretly giving his lunch to a stray dog behind an old hardware store. I thought it was just a sweet act of kindness — until a red SUV appeared one afternoon, and the dog’s past came crashing into our lives.
My name is Corinne. I’m 37, living in a small mountain town that feels worn but familiar. I work long shifts at Millie’s Diner — a place with chipped coffee cups, a creaky jukebox, and regulars who always order the same thing. It’s not glamorous, but it’s home. I’ve raised my son, Theo, alone since his father walked away when Theo was three. Now Theo is 10, thoughtful and gentle in a way that feels older than his years.
