You’re 4 years old, scared of thunder, and hiding in your dad’s closet. Loud noises weren’t that great for toddlers.

He hears your cries, taking a few moments to find you. Slowly, he opened the white closet doors, finding you crouched in the corner. You held your knees to your chest, your arm wrapped around them.

He crouched down in front of you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Sweetheart?” He spoke up, his voice careful and worried. “What’s going on?”