The edge of the bed was a cliff, the floor a distant canyon. I gripped the frayed threads of my blanket, heart hammering, and rappelled down the side of the mattress. Each slip sent my stomach lurching, but I couldn’t stop. Dad was downstairs, his deep laugh rumbling through the house like thunder. He’d know what to do. He always did.
The bedroom floor was a treacherous plain—dust bunnies the size of tumbleweeds, a stray sock a mountain. I sprinted toward the door, my tiny legs burning. The gap beneath was a cavern, but I squeezed through, emerging in the hallway. The staircase loomed ahead, each step a towering cliff face. I swallowed hard. No way around it.
I latched onto the carpet fibers, hauling myself up the first step like a climber scaling Everest. My arms trembled, sweat beading on my forehead. Halfway up, a tremor shook the house—Dad’s heavy footsteps. The vibrations nearly knocked me off, my fingers slipping. “Dad!” I squeaked, but my voice was a mosquito’s whine, lost in the chaos.
At the top, I collapsed, gasping. The kitchen was close now, the smell of coffee and bacon wafting through the air. I darted across the hardwood floor, dodging a fallen Cheerio the size of a tire. The kitchen doorway was a football field away, and Dad’s massive figure moved beyond it, a giant in a flannel shirt flipping pancakes. He was oblivious, humming some old rock song.
I reached the threshold, my chest heaving. A broom leaned against the wall, its bristles a forest. If I could climb it, maybe I’d get high enough to be seen. I grabbed a bristle, pulling myself up, when Max’s toy truck roared across the floor, a monstrous machine barreling straight for me. I froze, my scream barely a whisper. This was it—squashed before Dad even knew I was here. But I wasn’t invisible yet. I dove, rolling into the bristles, and the truck roared past.
Panting, I climbed higher. Dad was steps away, his back to me. “Dad!” I shouted, my voice cracking. He didn’t turn. I had to get closer, higher, louder. The counter was a skyscraper, but I eyed the broom’s handle. One last climb.
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