Opening
These chapters swing between a 1969 flashback and the present to expose how pain travels through a family. We see Blythe Connor inherit a legacy of neglect from her mother, Cecilia, and grandmother, Etta, even as she adores her newborn son, Sam Connor, and fears what her daughter, Violet Connor, might do. Domestic bliss fractures as the line between real danger and disturbing imagination blurs.
What Happens
Chapter 36: 1969
At twelve, Cecilia gets her first period and receives nothing from Etta—no guidance, no comfort, not even basic supplies. Etta spends the day in bed, produces two mystery pills from a hidden makeup bag, and turns away. Ashamed, Cecilia steals money from her mother’s purse, buys pads at the pharmacy, and feels alone in a moment that should be shared.
The neglect hardens into a heartbreaking plea for recognition. Cecilia storms into her mother’s room, flicks on the light, and begs to be hit—any response to prove she exists to Etta. Etta only sighs and rolls over. When Henry comes home, Cecilia lies and says her mother has a headache, establishing a family code of silence and the roots of Nature vs. Nurture and Generational Trauma.
Chapter 37: He was my miracle.
Blythe gives birth to Sam and feels instant euphoria. Holding him, she thinks, “This is what it’s supposed to be like,” savoring an immediate bond she never found with Violet. The early days are bliss: skin-to-skin contact, the rhythm of feeds and naps, the intoxicating fullness of a baby’s need. The glow complicates the portrait of The Dark Side of Motherhood: the same role that once felt alien now feels transcendent.
As routines set in, Blythe notices the gulf between her life and her husband’s. Fox Connor moves through a cerebral, creative world of meetings and adult conversation while she becomes the family’s “motor,” a body executing tasks. Their sex life turns efficient and functional, symptoms of Marital Breakdown and Betrayal creeping in as labor replaces intimacy and resentment takes root.
Chapter 38: Gemma.
Tension flares. Fox accuses Blythe of neglecting Violet because of her devotion to Sam. A fight over a dentist appointment ends with Fox taking Violet to his office. At dinner, Violet describes having lunch with “Daddy and his friend,” a woman she calls “Jenny,” whom Fox corrects to Gemma, his new assistant. The casual reveal rattles Blythe, who feels a boundary quietly slide.
That night, as Fox heads “back to the office,” Violet asks Blythe, “Do you love baby Sam more than me?” The question lands like a wound. Blythe denies it and tries to soothe her, but she recognizes Fox’s anxieties echoing in Violet’s voice. The power of suggestion begins to rewrite a child’s reality, ushering in Perception, Reality, and Gaslighting as a driving force.
Chapter 39: Put him down.
A noise wakes Blythe. In Sam’s dark nursery, she calms him—until Violet’s voice emerges from the shadows: “Put him down.” The command is cool, unwavering. Blythe freezes, then returns Sam to the crib as Violet repeats herself. Only then does Blythe notice Benny the Bunny is missing. From the dark, Violet tosses it to her and disappears.
The message is chilling: Violet has been in Sam’s room, watching him sleep, controlling the scene by stealing his comfort object. When Blythe follows, Violet rejects her with, “Don’t touch me. Get away from me.” Shaken, Blythe breaks her own rules and brings Sam into her bed, choosing proximity over the illusion of safety.
Chapter 40: You’re probably making something out of nothing. Again.
Morning brings no relief. Blythe tells Fox about the nursery incident; he dismisses her with, “You’re probably making something out of nothing. Again.” Alone with her dread, Blythe’s mind tiptoes toward the unthinkable. She pictures Violet with the golf clubs in the basement, imagines the tiny curve of Sam’s skull, and hears the sickening crack that could follow.
During a pedicure, the images overwhelm her. Convinced the babysitter can’t protect her children, she bolts barefoot through the streets, bursts into the house, and calls their names. Sam sleeps; Violet reads. “Nothing had happened.” The anticlimax leaves her—and us—wondering if the threat is imagined, imminent, or both.
Character Development
Blythe’s newfound bliss with Sam collides with old fears, sharpening her isolation. As Fox undermines her and Violet exerts unsettling control, Blythe’s reliability feels increasingly fragile.
- Blythe: Revels in maternal joy, then spirals into intrusive thoughts and panic, torn between instinct and doubt.
- Violet: Shifts from ambiguous misbehavior to overt menace, asserting power through silence and timing.
- Fox: Doubles down on dismissal and alignment with Violet; his connection to Gemma hints at a divided life.
- Cecilia: Emerges as a child shaped by starvation of attention, adding tragic context to her future mothering.
- Etta: Stands as the inert source of neglect that sets the family pattern of secrecy and self-erasure.
Themes & Symbols
Generational harm moves like a current: Etta’s indifference teaches Cecilia that she doesn’t matter, and Cecilia’s wounds ripple into Blythe’s fear of failing her children. The novel refuses an easy answer to nature versus nurture; the flashback supplies a “nurture” origin for dysfunction even as Violet’s behavior seems chillingly innate.
Motherhood’s duality sits at the center. Bliss with Sam coexists with drudgery, bodily demand, and terror about what one child could do to another. Gaslighting scrambles reality: Fox’s certainty reframes Blythe’s perceptions, and Violet absorbs his narrative, turning it back on her mother. Objects become charged symbols—Benny the Bunny as control over Sam’s comfort, the golf clubs as everyday tools rendered ominous by fear.
Key Quotes
“This is what it’s supposed to be like.”
Blythe’s instant bond with Sam reframes her earlier struggle with Violet, showing that maternal instinct can surge—or stall—depending on context. The line crystallizes both relief and the guilt that follows.
“Put him down.”
Violet’s command in the dark nursery dramatizes power without volume. Her calm tone and invisibility create menace more potent than a scream, confirming Blythe’s sense that Violet orchestrates fear.
“You’re probably making something out of nothing. Again.”
Fox’s dismissal exemplifies gaslighting, replacing Blythe’s concrete experience with his authoritative narrative. The “Again” brands her as unreliable, deepening her isolation.
I thought of how you stored your sports stuff down there, too, how your golf bag barely fit down the narrow staircase. Of how you’d put your clubs down there the day before. Of how Violet liked to pull them out and pretend she was at the driving range... Of his small, feathery head. Of how easily she could do it. Of how it would take only a second. Of the crack.
The cascade of ordinary details builds dread by inches, showing how terror grows from the mundane. Each clause tightens the imagined scene until violence feels inevitable—even though it never occurs.
Why This Matters and Section Significance
These chapters pivot the book from uneasy domesticity to psychological suspense. The nursery scene offers the starkest support yet for Blythe’s fear of Violet, transforming maternal anxiety into immediate threat. At the same time, Fox’s dismissal and Gemma’s arrival accelerate marital fracture, ensuring Blythe faces her fear alone.
By juxtaposing Cecilia’s formative neglect with Blythe’s present, the section argues that trauma isn’t inherited only by blood but by silence. The final anticlimax—“Nothing had happened.”—doesn’t defuse tension; it multiplies it, keeping the central question alive: is the danger real, or is Blythe’s mind making it so?