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For five days, something has been happening in my house... and I don't think either of us is prepared for what's coming next. Living with someone only a few millimeters tall was never going to be easy. No matter how careful I try to be, accidents happen. One careless step. One distracted moment. One wrong place at the wrong time. Every day seems to bring a new disaster, yet somehow... he always survives. I don't always notice where he is. Sometimes I don't even realize he's missing until much later. Other times, I know exactly what's happening--and I simply decide not to interfere. Maybe he'll figure out a way out on his own. Maybe he won't. By the fifth day, even I begin to wonder how much one tiny person can endure. But if he wants to keep living in my world, he'll have to adapt. Because I'm not slowing down for anyone.