She was still holding me on her lap, her palm resting right over that shameful, familiar betrayal in my pants. My face was burning. I was 36, a software lead who managed teams across continents, and here I was — a boy again, helpless, cradled by the woman who’d been the fault line in my whole life.She didn’t move her hand. Just let it sit there, warm, heavy, like a verdict. “You never answered me, Ravi,” she whispered, her voice dropping lower, the way people talk when the rest of the world has gone to sleep. “After all these years… do