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He says that when I turn fifteen, he’s going to sign me over to Sir Lazeroff to marry Marcus. That my ability to tie our families together is all that I am good for. Mom tells me not to worry, that she won’t let that happen. But I’m getting really scared.

Why did you leave us?

Why did you leave me?

~ Violet

I close my diary and hug it to my chest, hiding yet another letter to Finn that will never be sent. I don’t have an address to send it to. Not that it would make a difference if I did. I’ve always annoyed him. I’m just his annoying little sister. Maybe it’s for the best that he will never read these.

After all, why should he help me? I’m not his responsibility. I wish he were here for Mom, though.

Mom said that people like us aren’t allowed to live on our own. We are too important.

But how can someone like me be too important? I don’t do anything for this place. My name does, couldn’t I just give that to someone else? It would be better if it were just Mom and me. We could live in a small cottage. And have a lot of sheep.

“Violet, it’s time to make dinner!” My mom calls to me from the bottom of the stairs. I hide the diary under my mattress and run to her. If I work quickly, maybe Uncle Richard won’t get so mad. I’ve thought about running away, but I don’t know if that would help or hurt Mom.

Trotting into the kitchen, Mom smiles at me over her shoulder. Her hair is tied in a loose bun, with a few light gold strands having fallen out and framing her face. I have her hair and her freckles, but while her eyes are like deep sapphires that twinkle in the night, mine are green like the ocean, like my father’s.

I reach for my apron, but then notice the table is set, and dinner is set out in serving dishes in the center.

“Why would you do all of this by yourself? You should be resting.” I face her, arms crossed over my chest. My nose twitches when she walks over and hangs up her apron. Her eye is inflamed and black. Nothing I’ve applied to it today has made more than a slight reduction in the swelling.

“You’ve been taking care of me all day, darling.” She cups my cheek in her hand, then gestures for me to follow her to the table.

“I’m sorry…”

“For what?” She softly asks, her head tilting.

“I should have stayed… I should have helped you.”

“No, Violet. It’s my job to take care of you. It’s your job to be a kid. If he’s coming, I want you to hide. Only come out when someone safe comes for you.”

“Okay…”

The screen door creeks, the thud of Uncle’s boots approaches from the mudroom and through the hall. They’re slower than they should be. That means he’s been drinking.

And that’s not good.

Dread washes over me, my palms turn cold, and I feel the wrinkles pinching on my forehead. I catch a glance at Mom; she offers me her sweet smile while plating Uncle’s food.

We stand behind our chairs, waiting for him to sit first. We aren’t allowed to sit or touch our food before he does. He says it’s for respect, but it feels too impersonal for family.

He’s my papa’s brother. I don’t remember my papa, so I think a little part of me was hoping he would fill that place. I learned pretty quickly that wouldn’t be the case, and I was relieved when Mom told me that my papa was nothing like that.

He stands in the kitchen doorway; his canvas pants and work boots are covered in dirt from a day's work on the jobsite. He’s removed his over-shirt, leaving him with a black T-shirt. He’s overdue for a cut and shave, his gray hair pointing in all different directions. Taking the back of his chair in hand, Uncle pulls it back and plops down, elbows on the table, knees spread wide on either side of the chair.

My mom takes her seat to his right, and I sit to his left. Uncle reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wrapper, playing with it between his fingertips before unwrapping it and holding it out to my mother.

“Take it.” My gaze darts from his hand to his face, then lands on my mother. She stares down at the pill in his hand; her face turns pale.

“No,” she says. My breathing turns sporadic, in and out, in in, then in and out again. Uncle sighs, then leaps from his seat.

Jumping up, I step back, my chair falling behind me. “Mom!” I scream as my uncle shoves the pill between her lips, covering her face with his hand.

“Violet! Run!”

On trembling legs, I dart out of the kitchen, tripping my way up the stairs as my mother’s screams echo behind me. I swing my door open and head for my closet, but I freeze. I don’t want him to know I’m still here. My fingers shake as I unlock my window, opening it wide. Then I slip into my closet, take down the wall panel my mom cut out for me, climb inside, and pull it back into place.