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 looked up sharply.

“Why does she have my mother’s bracelet?”

Richard said nothing.

“Who was Claire?”

He pulled out a chair but didn’t sit down.

“She was someone your father wanted the family to forget.”

My heartbeat grew louder.

“Was she his girlfriend?”

Richard’s silence was answer enough.

I stared at him.

My father had been married to my mother for more than thirty years. I had grown up believing their marriage was imperfect but loyal, that they had struggled financially when I was young, and that my father had worked long hours to provide for us.

Now my uncle was suggesting that another woman had existed in his life.

“When did this happen?”

“Before you were born.”

“Then why does this matter to me?”

Richard looked directly into my eyes.

“Because Claire had a daughter.”

The room seemed to tilt.

I gripped the back of the chair beside me.