Something about the words makes her go still, her stomach dropping uncomfortably, though it takes Jyn a moment to place why. However much she might be struggling with this, it's not necessarily that she thinks otherwise about herself. It's that some part of her assumed he did. There are any number of reasons why she hasn't brought up what happened as they left Eadu's orbit, not the least of which is that she has no desire to revisit how she felt then, the raw, gaping wound that was learning that her father was alive, finding out that he had still cared about her all of those years, and then losing him all over again. Part of it, too, is that she knows she was cruel, lashing out because she didn't know what else to do, because anger has always been easier for her than grief.

But another part, that she's barely allowed herself to think about, is that she hasn't wanted to revisit what he said to her, too worried that he might have meant it. Even if he did, she knows it can't matter much. He loves her enough to have married her; he's said he trusts her, and she believes him. It should be enough to hear him say otherwise. Having that lingering doubt brought back, though, it's hard to shake it, especially since he's talking about then and not now, telling her exactly the opposite of what she thought his opinion of her was.

She doesn't stop eating, mostly out of old, deeply ingrained habits. Even feeling vaguely ill, she can't bring herself to turn away food. Jyn goes a little quiet, though, and a little drawn in on herself, before she speaks again. "Isn't that what you thought I was doing?" she asks, soft and self-conscious, staring at her plate rather than looking up at him. "Just looking out for myself?"