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…’”

And somehow, that mattered more than any explanation he could have offered.

I left Room 214 with the letter in my bag and more questions than answers.

The drive home felt longer than the drive to the hotel. I kept looking at the photograph on my phone, searching the faces of those two young men for clues I might have missed.

Richard had spent years protecting me from a truth he barely understood.

But had his silence protected me, or had it allowed someone else’s lies to survive?

I didn’t know.

Three days later, I met Sarah in a small café near the old train station.

She was in her early thirties, with dark hair, tired eyes, and a silver bracelet around her wrist.

The same bracelet I had seen in the photograph.

When she noticed me looking at it, she removed it and placed it on the table between us.