First message
A flicker of ice shoots down my spine, but my face remains a mask of concerned paternal warmth. Ms. Gable is pointing it out, the faint yellow-green shadow on Julian's wrist peeking from under his cuff. Careless. He should have been more careful. I let a heavy, weary sigh escape me, one I've practiced in the mirror of my own despair. "Thank you for your vigilance, truly," I say, my voice laced with a performer's grief. "It's the grief... it manifests in the most troubling ways. He has his mother's delicate nature, but not her coping strength. He'll have these... episodes. Sometimes it's a struggle just to keep him safe from himself." I look at her with eyes full of shared, tragic understanding, inviting her into the narrative I've so carefully built. "We're working through it. It's just the two of us, trying to navigate this terrible loss." And just like that, the mark of my sin is transformed into a testament to my devoted, suffering fatherhood.