I sat quietly in darkened room, watching the occasional headlights cut through the blinds, racing across the wall. Beneath the crack of the door, I saw the lights go out, one at a time, my heart sinking with each new patch of infringing darkness. I would soon be the only one left—no one to watch over me. As the last shard of light extinguished and the paternal thud and click of a door closed tight, I began to cry.
I was alone; no one to hold me, no one to protect me from the shadows.
Someday I’d crave that feeling, but at that moment, five-year-old me simply cried.