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…’”

“My mother rarely talked about the past.”

“And your father?”

“He didn’t like discussing his childhood. Whenever I asked about his younger years, he would say that some memories were better left alone.”

Richard closed his eyes.

“That sounds like him.”

“Why?”

“Because he was very good at making other people carry the weight of his silence.”

I felt anger rising inside me.

“You don’t get to bring me to a hotel, ask whether I’m a virgin, and then speak about my dead father in riddles. If there’s something I need to know, tell me. Otherwise, I’m leaving.”

I turned toward the door.

“Emily, wait.”

I stopped, but I didn’t turn around.

Richard’s next words made the blood drain from my face.

“Your father didn’t leave this family because he wanted a fresh start. He left because I discovered what he had done.”

I slowly faced him again.

“What did he do?”