“Sometimes,” Ranka said slowly, her words coming from far away. “The people we love aren’t worthy of it. They betray our history, take away hope for any future that might have been. But it doesn’t change what they gave us. Not if we don’t want it to. And the knowing – the truth of it, that they weren’t who you thought? That you didn’t know sooner? It doesn’t make it any more our fault.”
