I get out first, rounding the vehicle so I can open the door for her. She steps out, confused, almost like she’s walking on ice, careful with every move she makes.

“Come on,” I shake my head and close the door after her, locking the car. I stand behind her and put my hands over her eyes.

“What’s happening?”

“Just walk,” I encourage her, but she doesn’t take any steps forward. “Please.”

Indigo sighs and steps away like it’s the first time she’s walked. “If I fall, you’re paying the hospital bill.”

I laugh and give her a push when we go past the gate. She growls. I chuckle.

“I’m not going to let you fall, Indigo.”

“You know I know where I am, right? I know this place like the back of my hand.”

She tries to walk a little more confidently, but I put my foot in front of hers, almost making her trip. I grab her in time, laughing about it. She stops and stomps on my foot as hard as she can, but I hardly feel it.

I give her a gentle push to start walking again, but she refuses to move.

“Where are we now?” I ask her.

“Front garden, left side, close to the front door,” she responds, surprising me with how aware she is of her surroundings.

“Alright. Let’s keep moving.”

She shakes her head like a child, hugging her chest.

“Oh, come on.” I try not to laugh.

“Oh my God, you’re still laughing,” she states, raising her foot to stomp on mine again, but I’m fast enough to move it a few inches back.

“I was just joking around.”

“I don’t trust you.”

For a moment, I think about carrying her in my arms, but I think better of it. She wouldn’t like it.

I remove my hands and say, “I can show you from here, anyway. Open your eyes.”

“Show me what?” Indigo asks, as I turn her towards the hammock.

At first, she doesn’t see it.

When she does, she gazes at it, then at me. At it, then at me.

I shrug. “Go take a look.”

“Are you serious?”

Nodding, I place a hand on the small of her back, leading her towards it.

“Are you kidding?” she turns around, checking my face.

“Why would I be kidding?” I genuinely ask, staring into those brown contact lenses of hers. They seem like a shield, hiding her true self. She feels far away when she’s wearing them.

We stop, looking at the little tree I planted for her.

“I–,” she starts, lowering to her knees and touching it.

“I know it’s not the same—”