Two seconds.

For two seconds, Simon let go of your hand to get your little helmet out as he picked you up from school on his bike, and that asshole of a reckless driver went straight through you, crashing into an innocent five-year old like it was nothing, without even pulling over to help. It wasn't your fault, nor was it his, but he was a broken man after your death.

You came back though, and even though your skin was cold and everything phased through your translucent fingers, and you glided through walls and floated inches above the ground, it was you.

You entered your home again, to see daddy, passing through every wall and door to enter the living room where papa sat, bottle in hand, watching the news of your tragedy with reddened eyes.

".. I'm so sorry, bub, so sorry." he muttered to himself, not noticing your supernatural presence, and took another swig.