The day I went to visit my dad, I decided to stop by the house first. I had set aside a room to keep all my dad's paintings, and there was one in particular that I cherished the most. It was a painting he did from a photo of us on a countryside sketching trip, our most precious memory.

As I drove home, I saw our maid dragging a large plastic bag to throw away. A sudden sense of dread filled me. I rushed over and grabbed her, asking, "What are you throwing away?"

She avoided my gaze, and I didn't ask further. I tore open the bag behind her,...