Chapter 7 - Primrose and the Vase
Meanwhile, my daughter developed a new fear.
Expensive objects.
At my father’s house, she stopped touching anything.
If a glass sat near the edge of a table:
“Move it.”
If she bumped a chair:
“Is it antique?”
Once she dropped a plastic cup and burst into tears.
That was when I realized the slap had taught her something beyond fear of Violetta.
She believed accidental damage made her dangerous.
Her therapist, Dr. Megan Clarke, helped.
We practiced mistakes.
Deliberately.
A cheap ceramic plate from a thrift store.
Primrose painted it.
Then we dropped it inside a protective bin.
It broke.
She stared.
I asked:
“What happened?”
“Plate broke.”
“Did you become bad?”
“No.”
“Did someone need to hit you?”
“No.”
We cleaned it together.
Then:
“What do we do if we break something by accident?”
“Tell.”
“Then?”
“Help.”
“Then?”
She thought.
“Still family.”
Exactly.
The vase became an insurance claim.
The letter became an audit.
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My daughter became a child again.
Those things needed to remain separate.
