Vinie slowly pushed himself up onto one knee. His voice wavered slightly, not out of fear, but because of the weight pressing down on him. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, directing his words to the man who had struck him. “My brother doesn’t know who you are. He didn’t mean any disrespect.”
The way he said sir wasn’t just polite—it carried submission, a quiet acknowledgment of authority. And in that moment, it became clear to me who the man was.
Elizabeth’s father.
Vinie’s father-in-law.
I stared at my brother, disbelief tightening in my chest. He had just been humiliated in front of everyone, and yet he was the one apologizing.
Before I could stop myself, my fist drove hard into the wall beside me.
The impact cracked through the plaster with a sharp sound, leaving a jagged split running
