Violet stepped into a darkened and quiet home. It was a strange occurrence; her husband was usually as rambuctious as a child. "Is Arthur here?" She asked the housekeeper.

Mrs. Stern acknowledged her with only the barest glance. "He's in a mood. You shouldn't disturb him when he gets like this. It's best you slept downstairs tonight."

Violet gave her an incensed stare. "He is my husband. I will not be barred from my own bedroom."

"Suit yourself," Mrs. Stern replied, and made no further effort to stop her.

As Violet climbed the stairs, she wondered what kind of mood would send Arthur to shut himself away alone. Even while sulking he demanded attention from everyone around him. The worst tragedy she'd ever seen him face was when the latest car model didn't come out in the colour he preferred. She suspected tonight's upset was no different. When she came into the bedroom she found him still and silent. He huddled on the end of the bed, staring down at the pillows.

"Go away!" Arthur snapped without lifting his head.

"I will not," Violet chastised him.

At last Arthur shifted to face her. "Oh, it's you," He said without enthusiasm, and turned away again.

Violet came closer to see what had him so absorbed. Two pictures lay on the bed, and she picked them up to examine them. Both showed a family; in one a mother and father stiffly held a young boy and girl, in the other a young man and woman stood on either side of their aging father. She recognized Arthur immediately, he hadn't changed much over the years. It was strange he hadn't put the pictures up around the house, if they were so important to him.

"You never mention your family. Is there a reason you haven't introduced me to them?" She asked.

Arthur's voice became tart. "Certainly there's a reason, my dear. I haven't introduced you because they all happen to be dead."

She placed the pictures down again carefully. "I'm sorry, I had no idea."

"No, of course not. It isn't something I encourage people to bring up," Arthur's eyes turned glassy.

"In that case, I apologize. Perhaps Helga was right after all, and I should leave you alone. I can see that I've upset you," Violet moved to leave.

Arthur grabbed her hand. "Stay," A pleading tone replaced his earlier sharpness.

He clutched the pictures tightly as he showed them to her. "This is my sister, not long before she was arrested and hanged. It was that Detective Murdoch who did it, you know. He put her away, even after our father tried to take on the blame himself. No one ever talks about poor Isabel. It's like she didn't even exist. As for Father, well, he was a damned fool. He put so much effort into trying to hide Isabel's crimes for her, and it didn't do a wit of good."

"Your father made his own choices. In the end, he may not have succeeded in sheltering your sister, but he did at least try. That's more than I can say for some fathers in this world," Violet informed him.

"No one else seems to think so," Arthur replied sullenly. "Everyone was always trying to cozy up, to curry his favour and the like. Their friendship vanished quickly enough after Father blew his own brains out."

Violet sat on the bed beside him. "The world doesn't care about your pain," she said.

Arthur stared at her, his mouth open and his eyes shining with tears.

"Being hurt by what other people have done lets them win. Don't carry that around with you. Build a place inside you where the hurts of the world can't reach, and keep everything you treasure guarded inside your heart. Your family lived once. Those are the memories to turn to, not the people who had your sister executed." Violet told him.

"You think I should go through life not caring what other people have done to me?" Arthur didn't seem to believe her stance.

"Are those people important to you?" Violet asked pointedly.

"No, not in the least," Arthur said. "In fact, it's my opinion they ought to pay more mind, not the other way around."

He wiped his eyes quickly, as if he didn't entirely want to acknowledge he'd been crying. He even seemed to get a little of his spunk back, at least for the moment. Deep down, Violet knew her husband was weak. Likely he would have forgotten her advice by morning. He was more prone to bury his hurts with attention seeking and expensive gifts for himself. It wasn't in her power to make him strong, any more than she could bring back his family. At best, she could hope her words had given him enough strength to get through tonight.