“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…’”

Why had he brought me here?

Why a hotel?

Why couldn’t he simply tell me what he wanted?

Twice, I almost grabbed my bag and left.

But then I thought about my father.

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Richard had never hurt me.

Maybe there really was something important he needed to tell me.

At 6:55 that evening, I was already standing in front of Room 214.

I raised my hand to knock, but then I noticed that the door wasn’t completely closed.

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“Uncle Richard?”

No answer.

I pushed the door open slightly.

And the moment I stepped inside, I stopped.

My heart started pounding.

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The entire bed was covered with photographs.

Dozens of them.

Maybe more than a hundred.

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And I was in almost every single one.

Me at three years old.

Me in my school uniform.

Me at thirteen.

Me at my university graduation.