She hesitated.
Then he shifted the box slightly—toward the trash.
That was enough.
“No—wait!”
She ran outside.
Climbed into the dumpster.
No hesitation. No pride left.
She pulled out every single bunny—wet, crushed, misshapen.
But she didn’t stop until all one hundred were back.
Inside, she laid them out carefully.
For hours, she washed, dried, reshaped them.
No one told her to.
She just… kept going.
That night, my son handed her back the wooden box.
