Chapter 1139:

George’s face shifted instantly, as if a storm cloud had passed over him. He carefully set down his fork, inhaling deeply, trying to keep his emotions in check. When he finally looked up, his eyes were rimmed with the telltale signs of unshed tears.

Anthony noticed the subtle shift immediately. He leaned in, eyebrows knitted with concern and curiosity. “Dad, what’s wrong? You’ve been sentimental lately—it’s unlike you.”

He handed George a couple of tissues, his thoughts spinning, wondering if age was softening his father.

George ignored Anthony’s question, pausing before turning to Elyse. “I didn’t expect you to have such a sensitive palate, like him.”

Elyse blinked, genuinely puzzled.

George took a slow sip of his warm milk, his tone deceptively light. “What’s your father’s name?”

Anthony jumped in, his voice soft but firm. “Dad, that’s a little forward, don’t you think? You can’t just ask for someone’s parent’s name like that.”

“It’s fine,” Elyse said gently, turning to George. Her voice was steady. “His name is Rickey Benson.”

George seemed to freeze, the weight of Elyse’s words hitting him like a punch. He was utterly still for a moment before whispering, “Did you know who I was from the start?”

Elyse shook her head softly. “No, I only found out yesterday. Linda from the ranch mentioned your name, and it clicked—you’re the friend my father wrote about in his diary.” A warm smile played on her lips. “Mr. Hill, it’s an honor to meet you.”

George’s mouth hung slightly open, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I can’t believe it; you’re his daughter.”

Anthony, listening with growing confusion, frowned. “Dad, what’s going on? Do I know her father?”

George glanced at his son. “You do. Rickey Benson is my friend. We all call him Benson.”

Anthony’s jaw dropped, disbelief evident on his face. “Wait… you’re Benson’s daughter? Wow, what a crazy coincidence!”

Elyse chuckled at Anthony’s over-the-top expression. She raised her hands in mock surrender, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t look at me! I only pieced it together yesterday.”

She paused, gathering her thoughts. “To jog your dad’s memory, I played ‘Valse Sentimentale’ on purpose. Luckily, those memories hadn’t faded, and it gave me the chance to perform the ‘Violin Concerto in E Minor.’” . . .