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…’”

“I handled this terribly, Emily. I should never have asked you that question the way I did. I should have explained what I knew and allowed you to decide whether you wanted to hear more.”

For the first time that day, I believed him.

Not because he had explained everything.

But because he had finally stopped demanding that I trust him.

I sat down across from him.

“Tell me about Claire.”

Richard took a breath.

“Claire was your father’s first love. They were young, and their relationship ended badly. Years later, she returned to the city with a little girl. Your father helped her financially, but he never told your mother the full story.”

“What story?”

“That Claire had discovered something about him. Something she threatened to reveal.”

“What?”

Richard looked at the photograph.

“I don’t know yet.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“You brought me all the way here, made me think you were hiding something terrible, and you still don’t know the truth?”