He brought a loaf of bread from a bakery near their apartment and stayed for coffee.
We talked about his work.
My years at the school.
The house.
His childhood.
He told me he’d grown up feeling that his family name came with obligations he never fully understood.
Not terrible obligations.
But constant expectations.
Achievement.
Appearance.
The correct people at dinner.
The right career.
His father wanted him to join the family’s real-estate business.
Ethan chose architecture instead.