Past midnight, the doorbell rang. I’d been sitting on the stairs, waiting for that sound to echo through the empty house, reverberate along with my pounding heart. I’d watched the tiny blue dot tracking the location of our new cavapoo traveling from Ohio to San Diego. I sat across from his pen so I wouldn't overwhelm him, but he came straight to me, pressed against my leg. “Kobi,” I whispered, named for the son I’d lost a year before. I didn’t know then that he was saving my life.