The confrontation in the kitchen lingered in my mind for days.

Mr. Reynolds had always been a quiet presence in Daddy’s world — efficient, dignified, and almost invisible. But after that night, I couldn’t stop wondering about him. Why did he stay? Why did he look at me with that mix of pity and sadness?

One late afternoon, while Daddy was in his office handling business calls, I found Mr. Reynolds alone on the eastern terrace, polishing silver under the golden sunlight. He looked older in that moment, the lines on his face deeper.

“Mr. Reynolds,” I said softly, approaching him.

He straightened immediately, surprise flashing across his face.

“Miss...