Greta sighs softly, caught somewhere between the relief of having a more solid explanation and the guilt of having her own culpability confirmed. Her fingers twitch, her own budding explanations feeling a little too much like excuses that aren't worth airing. But it doesn't seem fair to deny Regan something she'd demanded of her mere minutes ago, and after a few moments, she lifts her hands again.

"I wasn't really thinking," she admits. "It was normal, back home, to rely on older children for help. It's what everyone did. But none of those children were spending half their days in school on top of it all." She shakes her head, cheeks prickling with embarrassment, and scrubs her hands over her face. "I shouldn't be putting so much on you."

Beneath the mortification is the more practical concern of how to deal with this problem now that they've named it, and after thinking it over for a beat or two, she looks over at Regan. "What would help? What can I do?"