Chapter 25 - THE LAST PIECE OF BUNNY
Bunny survived.
Barely.
At forty, Charlotte still had the stuffed rabbit in a box.
One ear crooked.
Fabric faded.
She showed it to her daughter when Caroline was eight.
“This was mine.”
“It’s ugly.”
“Rude.”
“Why ripped?”
Charlotte paused.
“Someone hurt me when I was little, and Bunny was there.”
“Who?”
“An adult who made unsafe choices.”
Caroline considered.
“Did Bunny help?”
“Yes.”
“Can I have her?”
“No.”
Instant answer.
Charlotte laughed.
“Boundary.”
Her daughter rolled her eyes.
Bunny stayed.
Not evidence anymore.
Not trust map.
Just an object connected to childhood.
Years later, one seam opened again.
Inside, the conservator found a tiny piece of paper missed during the original evidence search.
We all stared.
After decades of family documents, the universe seemed ready to create one last mystery.
Charlotte unfolded it.
A child’s drawing.
Three stick figures.
MOMMY.
CHARLOTTE.
DADDY.
Caroline had tucked it inside Bunny years before her death.
Nothing else.
No secret account.
No hidden ownership.
No new conspiracy.
Charlotte sat down and cried.
Then laughed.
“We’re trained to fear paper.”
“Yes.”
She framed the drawing.
Not the Schedule C strip.
Not the key.
The drawing.
That was the artifact worth keeping.
When William saw it, he touched Caroline’s stick figure carefully.
“She drew my hair wrong.”
“You barely had any.”
“I had plenty.”
Charlotte and I looked at each other.
May you like
Some arguments survive every scandal.
Good.
