When he saw me enter, he slowly raised his hand, gesturing for me to come closer. I walked to him and stopped, head bowed, unable to meet his gaze. I was afraid to see the pain in his eyes, afraid to see his guilt, and even more afraid that the emotions I'd barely managed to suppress would come flooding out again.
"Good child," Julian's voice was hoarse and weary, heavy with helplessness and remorse. He reached out and gently took my ice-cold hand in his. His fingers were still warm. "You're a good child. You've been wronged. Ramona told me everything—all these years in the Simmons household, you've suffered far too much. I failed to raise that boy right. I've failed you, failed your grandfather, and failed those two poor children, Louise and Zelda."
His voice caught, and tears slid down the creases of his weathered face, dropping onto the back of my hand—scalding hot.