The truth was that he had failed at protecting her. The second he'd gone into her mother's room and gone back out knowing that in nine months Nora would have her baby, he had failed. If he could go back and do it all over again, everything would be different. Violet would be alive. He wouldn't have a child who looked at him, as if he could see him when he wasn't visible, as if he weren't a child at all. If he could go back, he would leave the gay couple alone and he wouldn't talk to Nora, because in the end, she hadn't wanted a baby after all. All the disaster and the hurt and the death had been for nothing in the end. It had been for nothing because Nora couldn't stand having to listen to a screaming baby.
And after it all, Tate was just the Murder House's resident monster.
"I don't know." It came out as half a cry, half sob, half something that was broken. "I don't know anything anymore. I thought I was protecting you. I wasn't. I thought everything would be okay. Nothing was okay and I..." His sentence trailed off and he found that he couldn't pick it back up.
Afraid that she would disappear if he let her go, he held onto her hand. "But you're not alone, Violet. You're different than most of us. You're happy."