My Uncle Asked If I Was a Virgin. Then He Took Me to a Hotel Room.

At 6:55 that evening, I stood outside Room 214, wondering whether I had made the biggest mistake of my life.

My uncle Richard had been acting strangely for weeks. First, he asked me a question no uncle should ever need to ask his twenty-seven-year-old niece. Then he took me to a hotel outside the city and whispered that I should come to his room after the pool.

Now I was standing outside his door, my hand trembling.

I should have left.

I should have called someone.

But before I could make a decision, I noticed that the door was slightly open.

“Uncle Richard?”

Silence.

I pushed it with my fingertips.

The room was dimly lit, and the curtains were drawn despite the fading sunlight outside. A suitcase sat beside the wardrobe. Two glasses of water stood on the desk, and a thick brown envelope lay between them.