[ That desperation is so familiar, because there are two ghosts living in Peter: one that constantly whispers it was all your fault and the other that just needed someone, anyone to tell him it wasn't. ...And someone had, here. Someone he loves, trusts, someone who knows him. She'd held him and told him what happened wasn't his fault, and half of him couldn't believe her and the other half clung to those words like it was a lifeline. He's still... both parts of it. His guilt is a part of him now, like some piece of his identity. So maybe it's hypocritical to tell this boy otherwise now, but— ]

It could have been anyone. Any time. It wouldn't have happened if I wasn't there, either. [ Maybe it's easier to be objective when you're trying to help someone else. When you can't stand to see someone else blame themself the way you do. ]

It's okay. It was just an accident. I don't— blame you.