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The walk-in closet was too small to qualify as a separate room, but it was large enough for preschool aged Helga to sit comfortably and hide.
There was a light switch she could reach if she stood on her tiptoes. Some days she kept the light on so she could flip through her books or draw pictures. Other days she kept the closet dark. She always crawled into the farthest corner, behind the row of hanging clothes, where her parents and her sister wouldn't find her. She never closed the closet door all the way when she was inside, afraid of getting locked in, but if the light was off nobody looked for her in there.
They often didn't look for her even when the light was on.
Today she had a craft project to finish, so the closet light was on. She'd already cut out and glued together the different-sized, different-colored paper hearts during arts and crafts earlier that day at preschool. Now, in the privacy of her own closet, she reached into the shirt pocket closest to her heart and took out the small photo she'd swiped of the little blonde boy who'd been kind to her on that terrible rainy day she'd had, who'd been kind to her every day since then.
Arnold.
She mounted the photo onto the heart-shaped paper with tape. She would only take it out and look at it when she was alone and no one could see her, when the other kids couldn't make fun of her.
The rest of the time she would keep it hidden and close to her heart.