The smell of coffee filled the dining room when I came downstairs the next morning. My father was already at the table, newspapers spread out in front of him like he was king of the world. My mother sat beside him, silent as usual, stirring her tea even though she hadn’t taken a sip.

The maids moved quietly, their heads bowed.

“Morning,” I said, walking in with my phone in hand. My voice echoed a little too loud in the heavy silence.

My father looked up from his paper, his sharp blue ...