When the night fell, all of us gathered at the kitchen table for dinner. While I'm spooning mashed potatoes as a side dish for Greyson's plate, Garren suddenly spoke.

"He doesn't like potatoes."

I took back the spoonful of potatoes and apologized, "Sorry, sir. I didn't know."

"You've been here for more than three months now. You should be familiar with all his likes and dislikes."

He said those words calmly, but I felt like he humiliated me with the tone of his voice nonetheless. What's wrong with this man?!

"Dad, it's fine. I haven't told Cleo yet that I don't like potatoes. You don't have to be mean to...