“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.