“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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“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.

 

There were even photographs I had never seen before in my life.

 

A large picture of my mother hung on the wall.

 

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Old letters, documents, and sealed envelopes were scattered across the table.

 

Beside the bed stood an open suitcase.

 

I took one step backward.

 

“What is this…?”

 

At that moment, the door moved behind me.

 

I turned around.

 

Richard was standing there.

 

“Don’t be afraid.”

 

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“Don’t be afraid? You filled an entire hotel room with pictures of me. What is going on?”