“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…’”

The entire bed was covered with photographs.

Dozens of them.

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Maybe more than a hundred.

And I was in almost every single one.

Me at three years old.

Me in my school uniform.

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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.

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.

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I turned around.

Richard was standing there.

“Don’t be afraid.”

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

He looked as if he wanted to speak, but for a few seconds, no words came out.

Then he picked up an old brown envelope from the table.