Aside from a bare handful- gestures of affection were frowned upon and outright discouraged by Reginald. Grace did what she could to work around his attention, to try and give the children what they needed, what they wanted even while navigating the tightrope of expectation and harsh standards. Whether or not she managed? She'll never know. Doing right by them now is far too little, far too late but- it might help?

It hurts no one for her to try.

Grace squeezes Vanya's hand, smile going small and soft and fragile for a moment, reading that wariness, that conflict in her daughter's posture. Of all the children she has had the most trying childhood, the most neglect, the most harm. There's no undoing that. "I thought it was very frank. I-"

It's difficult, at times, even with Reginald gone. To speak ill of him. Code strains and tangles enough to warp her voice into a tuneful warble as she pushes through, brows pinched, teeth grit against her protocols. "I agreed with your thoughts on your father."

One it's out she sags in her chair, blinking. If she needed to breathe, she'd be breathing hard. A little easier. It becomes a little bit easier every time she tries. "And I'm proud of you for writing it. The world has everyone else's story. I'm glad it has yours too."