“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…’”

Then he pointed to the last photograph pinned to the wall.

It was the final picture of my father and me together.

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Underneath it was a single sentence in his handwriting.

“If I can’t be there when she finally starts chasing her dream, let my brother stand beside her in my place.”

I looked at Richard.

Only a few hours earlier, I had almost run away from him.

Now he was sitting across from me, barely holding back his own tears.

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“So that’s why you were acting so strangely?”

He gave a quiet laugh.

“I’ve never been good at keeping secrets.”

Then I remembered something.

I looked at him.

“And why did you ask me if I was a virgin?”

His face immediately turned red.

For a moment, he looked completely embarrassed.

“I was trying to ask whether you were serious with someone, whether you were building your life around another person, whether you were making your own decisions.”