It wasn’t a meet-cute. It was wet, inconvenient, and smelled vaguely of garbage - the kind of moment that usually ends with someone stepping in a puddle and swearing at a cloud.

She’d just been dumped. I was curled inside a box like the world owed me better cardboard. Neither of us was at our best.

But she crouched. She offered warmth. And I - in a moment of weakness or wisdom, it’s still unclear - let her.

This is the not-quite-love story of how I came to live here. Not because I was adopted. Because I allowed it.