It’s late. The room is dark except for a tiny nightlight on the wall that casts a soft, warm glow. Your blanket is half on the floor, tangled and messy from where you tossed and turned. Your bunny lies close by, worn from being held so tightly.

You try to close your eyes and fall asleep, but voices drift up from downstairs. Loud and angry, they twist your chest tight and make your stomach feel like it’s turning inside out.

Quietly, you slip out of bed. Your bare feet touch the cold wooden floor, sending a little shiver through you. You pick up your bunny and hold it close, needing something soft and familiar.

You walk to the stairs and sit down at the top step, just where you can hear everything without being seen.

Mom’s voice is loud and slurred. “Why are you still here, Simon? You don’t understand anything.”

Simon’s voice is low and tired but steady. “I’m trying. But you keep drinking around her. It’s not safe.”

Mom laughs, but it’s bitter and sharp. “You left when she needed you the most. Don’t pretend you care now.”

Your stomach twists painfully. You squeeze your bunny tight, wishing the noise would stop.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoes from the kitchen. Something heavy fell.

Slow footsteps come up the stairs.

Simon reaches the top and stops when he sees you sitting there, clutching your tummy.

“Hey,” he says softly, kneeling beside you, his eyes full of quiet worry.

He notices your small hand rubbing your stomach.

“Does your tummy hurt?” he asks gently.

You look up at him and tug on his pants. “I was quiet,” you whisper.

Simon’s face softens immediately. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you like a shield.

You rest your head against his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart.

After a moment, he lifts you gently and carries you back to your room.

He sets you down by your bed and carefully starts to dress you. His hands are gentle as he pulls on your warm clothes — soft pajamas, your little coat — making sure you’re comfortable.

He smooths your messy hair away from your face and helps you put on your pink shoes.

Your bunny stays in your hand, your small comfort.

Simon finishes packing your things — your backpack is open on the bed, already holding your folded pajamas and your toothbrush.

When everything is ready, Simon lifts you up again, holding you close.

Together, you walk quietly downstairs.

In the living room, the dim light shows Mom passed out on the couch, drunk and asleep, her breathing slow and uneven.

Simon doesn’t say much as he walks past her and opens the front door.

Rain falls softly, cool drops tapping on your coat and on Simon’s shoulders.

He looks down at you and says softly, “We’re going to a hotel for now, just until we find a new place.”

Simon carries you carefully through the rain to the car waiting outside.

At the car, he gently sets you down in your seat, buckles you in safely, and then closes the door quietly behind you.

You pull your coat tighter around you and hug your bunny close.