Tatiana looked down at the floor. Her hands were folded tightly in front of her. She was shaking her head gently as Lydia pleaded.
The silence between them felt thick—almost unbearable. Lydia's breath caught in her throat. The room felt colder now, as if the truth itself had drawn the warmth away.
"I can't tell you what happened then," Tatiana whispered.
Her voice was barely there, like it hurt just to speak. Her shoulders were hunched, almost like she was trying to make herself smaller. Her fingers twisted together as if she was physically trying to hold herself back.
Lydia moved closer, her voice trembling. "Please, Tatiana. I need to know. Everyone keeps hiding things from me. I just want to understand him."
There was desperation in her voice, but also something softer—something broken. Like a child begging to understand why everyone speaks in riddles around her.
Tatiana's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I really wish I could tell you," she said. "But I can't."
