Olivia stood frozen, her heart hammering in her chest, her body exposed and vulnerable under Kafka's gaze. The soaked, clinging fabric of her underwear revealed every detail, the dark, wet patch a glaring confession of her arousal.
She braced herself, expecting disgust, rejection, a horrified outburst from her son that would shatter the fragile bond they'd built.
Her whispered apology "Kafi, I...I'm sorry..." hung in the air, trembling with the weight of her shame.
But instead of the condemnation she feared, Kafka's voice cut through the silence, casual and unbothered, as if he were commenting on the weather.
"Wow, Mom." He said, his tone light and almost playful, his eyes fixed on the damp fabric between her thighs. "You're really sweaty down there, huh? So damp it's practically dripping onto your thighs."
"...Must be sweltering for you to sweat like that."
He tilted his head, his expression one of innocent curiosity, not a trace of judgment or revulsion in his eyes.
