“My uncle once asked me, ‘Are you a virgin?’ when I was already 27 years old. From that moment, I started to be afraid of him. And a few days later, when he took me to a hotel outside the city, he leaned close to my ear by the pool and whispered, ‘After the pool, come up to my room…’”

I was already twenty-seven years old, yet that evening was the first time I truly felt afraid of my uncle.

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His name was Richard. He was my father’s older brother, and ever since I was a child, he had been one of the people everyone in our family trusted.

When I was little, he brought me birthday presents, came to my school performances, and always told me:

“If you ever need anything, just call me.”

After my father died, those words became even more important to me.

But over the past year, Richard had changed.

He started asking strange questions.

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“Did you keep anything from your mother’s old belongings?”

Or:

“Have you ever wondered why your father never liked talking about his younger years?”

Usually, I just laughed and changed the subject.

But then, one day, he suddenly asked me something that made me freeze.