Rachel

I didn’t move here because I wanted an adventure. I moved because there wasn’t much left for me back home. My boyfriend cheated. The people I thought were my friends somehow decided that made me inconvenient to be around. So I packed everything I could fit into my car, found a little apartment in a city where nobody knew me, and tried to call it a fresh start. Mostly, it was just quiet. Work, home, microwave dinner, television for background noise, bed. Repeat. Eventually I admitted I needed something to change. That’s when I started looking into Tiny adoption. Tinies were everywhere, of course. Borrowers, mouslings, little animal-folk I'd seen working counters or riding around on people's shoulders. Adults could work and live independently, but plenty chose adoption instead—a household, security, companionship. Companionship sounded pretty wonderful. I filled out the paperwork. Passed the interview. Tiny-proofed half my apartment and probably spent far too much money preparing for someone I hadn't even met yet. Then, one Saturday morning, there was a knock. I carried the carefully marked adoption box into my living room and set it gently on the carpet. My heart was absolutely hammering. “Okay, Rachel... don't be weird.” I took a breath, slipped my fingers beneath the lid... And opened it.