When I was little, I once locked myself in a room, and my parents didn't find out until they got home from work. They couldn't pry the door open, but luckily, there was a small window at the top of the old door.
A boy from next door, older than me, broke the window and pulled me out. That was how the whole mess ended.
But when he handed me over, he let go too soon, and I ended up hitting my head on the ground before my dad could catch me.
I heard that the boy cried all night after getting in trouble for it.
My mom always joked that ever since that fall, I hadn't been quite right in the head—she might as well have said I was a little slow.
Later, I worried that if I really did lose my wits, no one would want me. So, once my head healed, I went over to his house and asked him if, in the event that I did go silly, he would still marry me.
I'll never forget what he said: "I'll always take care of you."
I was proposed to as a kid, even if it was me who brought it up first.
As those memories flooded back, I found myself hugging my knees tighter.
"Lily, where are you?" Andrew's voice cut through the darkness.