I was serving dinner in my own home when my father calmly said it belonged to Hugo—but he didn’t realize what I was about to reveal

to laugh. He opened his mouth, ready with one of his usual lines.

It didn’t come out.

I saw his hand resting on the table beside his glass—and it was trembling. Hugo, who had never once looked at me with fear, now couldn’t keep his hand steady.

He grabbed his phone. Dialed. Once. Twice. Three times.

No one answered.

And I understood then, watching him, continue reading …