Those words hit him like a freight train.
He shut the laptop.
Sat there, frozen.
For the first time in two years, he didn’t feel numb.
He felt ashamed.
The truth was, he hadn’t “appeared” for a long time. He had given money, yes. He had signed every form, provided every luxury. But love? Attention? Presence?
He had failed.
And a maid—one who had no obligation to care—was doing it instead. Quietly. Steadily. Without expectation of reward.
What kind of man had he become?
