Abigail's gaze fell to her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. She could feel the weight of Anastasia's potential judgment bearing down on her, and her apprehension grew. The question that had been haunting her—the fear of being condemned for her sister's actions—finally escaped her lips in a voice laden with uncertainty.
"Do you hate me too?" she asked.
The room seemed to hold its breath as Abigail posed that question; the tension was palpable. The very air seemed to crackle with emotions—guilt, fear, and a desperate longing for acceptance.
"No. I don't hate you."
Anastasia's response was measured and deliberate as if she were choosing her words carefully. She reached out, her fingers lightly touching Abigail's hand, a small but powerful gesture of reassurance.
