Chapter 11
Violet refused the sewing room for months.
Understandable.
Henry refused too.
The damaged rabbit remained on her bed.
One ear missing.
I offered to repair it.
She said no.
“Why?”
“So remember Henry saved Bunny.”
That hurt beautifully.
The missing ear did not mean Camille.
To Violet, it meant her brother refused to betray her.
Children sometimes rescue meaning before adults can poison it.
Still, I worried.
Not because the toy was damaged.
Because Henry began treating protection as responsibility.
He checked Violet’s doors.
Carried her snacks.
Followed her through the garden.
At six.
Too much.
One night I found him sleeping outside her room.
“What are you doing?”
“Watching.”
“For what?”
“Bad people.”
My heart sank.
I sat beside him.
“That’s my job.”
He shook his head.
“You didn’t know.”
There.
Fair.
Painful.
“I didn’t.”
“So I watch.”
I took a slow breath.
“Henry, you helped Violet when she needed you.”
He looked proud.
Good.
Then:
“That doesn’t make you her guard forever.”
His face tightened.
“What if something happens?”
“Then adults handle it.”
“What if adults bad?”
Children ask the questions institutions spend centuries avoiding.
“Then you tell another safe adult.”
“Who?”
We named them.
Rafe.
Nanny Claire.
Doctor Miller.
My cousin Nora.
More than one.
Important.
No single adult as entire world.
Then I added:
“And if I miss something again, you can tell me twice.”
He smiled slightly.
“Three?”
“Annoying, but yes.”
He went back to bed.
Not outside Violet’s door.
May you like
Inside his own room.
That felt like a victory larger than removing Vincent.
