It was courtesy, the specific courtesy you extend to a stranger, and by extending it Hugo told me, with perfect precision and no anger at all, that a stranger was exactly what I was.

A cruel boy would have screamed that I was not his father.

Hugo did something far more devastating: he was unfailingly polite, brought me water when I looked unwell, addressed me with respect — and made it unmistakable that I had earned the treatment due a stranger and nothing more.

There was even a terrible generosity in it.

He was not going to punish me.

He was simply not going to pretend.