They seemed less imposing now.

I reached the third floor and walked down the carpeted hallway to Ethan’s room.

I pushed the door open slowly, the hinges silent.

The nightlight cast a soft blue glow across the room.

Ethan was curled up under his heavy quilt, his breathing slow and even.

His dog, a golden retriever named Barnaby, opened one eye and wagged his tail twice against the carpet.

I walked over to the bed and tucked the blanket around Ethan’s shoulders.

He stirred slightly, his eyes opening halfway.

“Elena?” he whispered.

“I’m here, Ethan,” I said softly.

“Is the bad lady gone?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

“She is gone.”

“Are you going to leave too?” he asked, his voice small.

“No,” I said.

“I am staying right here.”

“Promise?” he asked.

“I promise,” I said.

He closed his eyes and was asleep again within seconds.

I stood by his bed for a long time, watching his chest rise and fall.

The weight of the responsibility felt heavy, but it was a weight I was willing to carry.