Yuko shook her head so violently that strands of hair whipped against her wet cheeks.
"No—no, I swear. I would never. Never again. I—" Her hands clenched on her thighs. "Please. I'll do anything. Anything to prove it?"
I let the silence stretch a heartbeat longer, then spoke—voice deliberately thin, fragile, cracked at the edges from supposed exhaustion.
"Aunt Julie… please don't blame Sister Yuko." I let my eyelids flutter, as though even speaking cost me. "It wasn't… all her fault. I should have told her sooner. I should have explained everything from the beginning. I let her believe—I let her think—" I exhaled, shaky. "I'm at fault too."
Julie's gaze flicked to me.
For the briefest instant—less than a second—her right eye closed in a deliberate, conspiratorial wink. Then the mask snapped back into place: protective fury, maternal outrage.
"Jack." She made my name sound like both a caress and a reprimand.
