“Once, when I was 27, my uncle asked me, ‘Are you a virgin?’ From that moment on, I began to be afraid of him. A few days later, when he took me to a hotel on the outskirts of the city, he leaned close to my ear by the pool and whispered, ‘After the pool, come up to my room…’”

Dozens of them.

Perhaps more than one hundred.

And I was in almost every single one.

Me at three years old.

Me in my school uniform.

Me at thirteen years old.

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Me at my university graduation.

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

Hanging on the wall was a large  photograph of my mother.

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

Next to the bed was an open suitcase.

I took a step back.

“What is this?”

At that moment, the door moved behind me.

I turned around.

Richard was standing there.

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“Don’t be afraid.”

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

He seemed to want to speak, but for a few seconds, the words wouldn’t

come out.

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