“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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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.

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?”

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.