He did not call his father a cheat or the woman a name; he was twelve, and he could have, and no one would have blamed him.

Instead he asked a question, a plain and reasonable question that any son might ask, and then a second one, and he let the questions do the work.

Because a question, asked in the right room at the right moment, is impossible to answer without either lying or telling the truth, and both were fatal to Julian in that instant.

If he denied it, in front of a woman whose hand had just been on his back, he would be caught lying to his own child in public.