Mr. Randall placed the tea carefully on the table before walking over to the photograph hanging on the wall. His voice softened as he said, “This is my family portrait. I’m the only one left now.”

“Family portrait?” I asked, my gaze shifting to the little girl in the red dress. “She’s part of your family too?”

“That’s my younger sister,” he replied, his tone heavy with a sorrow that seemed etched into his soul. “She was just two years old ...