The black car waited at the mansion's front gate, its engine humming low in the early morning haze.
Harry stood on the steps in a too‑big coat, a small suitcase by his side. His toy rabbit dangled from one hand, its ear already frayed from years of clutching.
He didn't understand why he was leaving.
Kay had told him with a false smile, "You'll have fun, Harry. Lots of boys to play with."
But the way she gripped his shoulder when she said it had made his chest hurt.
David stood a few feet away, leaning against the stone pillar. His eyes were distant, bloodshot from another sleepless night. He had barely spoken since Kay announced the "decision."
Harry shuffled closer, tiny shoes scuffing against the marble.
"Dad… I stay here? Please?"
David looked down at him then away.
"It's for the best," he murmured, his voice hoarse.
Harry's heart thudded in his chest. "But… I be good boy… I no cry no more…"
Kay's sharp voice cut in. "Enough, Harry. Time to go."
She tugged at his arm, making him stumble down the steps.
"Kay—" David began, but his voice faltered. He didn't stop her. He didn't even bend to hug his son goodbye.
Harry turned his head one last time as the driver loaded his suitcase.
"Dad!" His cry was high and breaking. "Dada… don't leave me!"
But David didn't move. He only stared at the ground, fists clenched, drowning in his own cowardice.
The car door slammed shut. Harry's muffled sobs filled the back seat as the gates swung open, the mansion shrinking in the distance until it was gone.
The road stretched long and lonely.
Harry pressed his face to the window, tears smearing the glass.
"Grandmma," he whispered to his toy rabbit, "I'm scared…"
After hours, the car rolled to a stop before a gray, peeling building surrounded by rusted fences. A crooked sign swayed in the wind: St. Brenard's Boarding School. The letters were chipped and faded.
Kay had promised him fun. But there were no bright playgrounds, no flowers just gravel, weeds, and the faint smell of damp and mold.
The driver yanked open the door. "Out."
Harry clutched his rabbit tighter, stepping down with trembling legs. A tall matron in a worn black coat emerged from the doorway. Her eyes swept over him without warmth.
"This him?"
"Yes," the driver said. "Orders from his mother."
The word mother made Harry flinch. Kay wasn't his mother.
"Bring him," the matron said curtly.
Harry stumbled along as she led him through dark halls with flickering lights. Other children's eyes peeked from doorways some curious, some sneering. The smell of old food and unwashed clothes filled the air.
The dormitory was cold.
A narrow bed with a thin mattress waited for him. The sheets were rough and smelled like dust. He set his suitcase down and whispered to his rabbit, "We sleep here?"
A snicker made him look up. Three older boys lounged on nearby bunks, eyes glinting with mischief.
"Hey," one of them drawled, hopping down. "New kid."
Harry shrank back, clutching his rabbit tighter.
The boy smirked. "What's that? A baby toy?"
Harry shook his head quickly. "No… it's mine…"
Another boy snatched the rabbit from his hands. "Mine now!"
"No!" Harry cried, scrambling to grab it.
The first boy shoved him hard. Harry fell to the floor, knees scraping against the wood. The boys laughed, tossing the rabbit back and forth like a ball.
"Give it back!" Harry wailed, tears spilling.
"Aw, baby's gonna cry?"
They shoved him again, and this time his head hit the bed frame with a dull thud. Dazed, Harry curled into himself, arms wrapped around his knees.
The matron's voice echoed from the hall, "Lights out in ten!"
The boys tossed the rabbit into the dustbin and sauntered away, laughing.
Harry crawled to the bin, pulled his toy out, and brushed off the dirt with shaking hands.
"I keep you safe," he whispered through tears, rocking back and forth on the cold floor.
Days blurred together.
Harry woke to shouting, to cold showers, to food he couldn't swallow.
Older boys pushed him in the hall, stole his bread at lunch, whispered cruel things.
"Little rich boy," they mocked. "Crybaby."
Sometimes they locked him in the broom closet after dark, his tiny fists banging on the door until his voice went hoarse.
At night, he lay in his bunk, clutching his rabbit, listening to the snores and murmurs around him.
"Grandmma… come back…" he whispered to the dark. "Dada… come get me…"
But no one came.
One evening, the worst came.
It was raining hard, water dripping through the roof. Harry was huddled in a corner of the yard, trying to stay out of the bullies' sight. But they found him anyway.
"Hey, birthday boy," one sneered, grabbing his arm. "Wanna play?"
They dragged him to the mud, shoving his face down until he gasped and cried.
"Stop!" he pleaded.
"Make us!" another jeered, kicking his toy rabbit into the puddle.
Harry screamed, scrambling to reach it, but another boot shoved him down.
He curled into himself, sobbing, mud streaked across his cheeks. The rain hid his tears as the older boys finally grew bored and left him there, shivering.
Night fell, and Harry crawled back to his bunk, soaked and shaking. He hugged his rabbit tight, even though it smelled of mud and mold. His lip trembled as he whispered to the dark:
"Dada… please… I wanna go home…"
But home was far away, locked behind gates and walls and a father who didn't fight for him.
And so, the days at St. Brenard's stretched ahead like an endless road lonely, cruel, and cold.
A harsh new journey had begun, and little Harry, only five years old, had no choice but to try to survive.