“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…’”

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Three months later, I opened my little photography studio.

On opening day, the first photograph I put on the wall wasn’t one of my own.

It was an old picture of my father and Richard when they were young.

Underneath it, I wrote just one sentence:

“Sometimes the door you are most afraid to open does not hide your greatest fear… but the love of someone who spent years waiting for you to finally find it.”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: