When I encountered Lucas again, he was sixteen, dressed like a small-time thug, and accompanied by a restless delinquent. They passed in front of my bakery.

Over the years, I’ve been living comfortably, traveling occasionally and volunteering at orphanages. My life has been quite carefree.

When our eyes met, Lucas's expression was a mix of shock, anger, and a fleeting hint of shame. The extreme methods of Sarah’s rigid parenting had clearly fostered a rebellious streak in him. At home, he remained the quiet Lucas, but outside, he mingled in various shady places with a group of delinquents, indulging in smoking and drinking at such a young age.

“Lucas, let’s...