He sniffed the corners of the living room, the legs of the dining chairs, David’s shoes by the mat—memorizing the space like a soldier scanning a safehouse. Lily toddled toward him, her hands sticky from a banana she’d been eating. Ranger froze, head lifting, ears forward. David tensed, ready to snatch Lily away if anything looked off.
But Ranger lowered himself instead. First his head, then his front legs, stretching out until he was fully on the floor, his posture soft and submissive. Lily squealed with delight and patted his back. Ranger’s tail thumped once. Just once. But it was enough.
Emily covered her heart with her hand, breath trembling. “See?” she whispered to David. “He’s gentle.” David’s jaw worked. “He’s recovering,” he corrected. “Let’s not confuse the two.” They set rules that first night—no unsupervised time, especially around Lily. Ranger would sleep in the crate. They’d go slow. They’d go steady. They’d earn each other’s trust one inch at a time.
But Ranger didn’t seem interested in breaking rules. He stayed close, but not too close. Watched, but didn’t crowd. If Lily toddled forward too quickly, he stepped back. If David spoke too loudly, Ranger flinched—not fearfully, just… aware. And little by little, something new blossomed in the home.