For three years I cooked and cleaned for the Blackwood family, and every Christmas my wife gave my seat to her assistant. That night I arrived late to find him in my chair, in my tuxedo altered to his size, the family sapphire on his finger. When the ring vanished, my wife called it theft and made me apologize. I signed the divorce papers hidden for years, moved my father specimens out, and left. The family voted her out, and every branch came to me. I chose the studio: a life with no ranks.
