One afternoon, I finally asked my mother directly whether my father had hurt her. She went pale and admitted that he was connected to the secret, but said she couldn’t explain everything yet. The following morning, my parents called me into their bedroom and placed an old wooden box on the table. Inside were photographs, including one showing my mother at about twenty-one years old in a hospital with both arms covered in bandages while my exhausted father slept beside her.
For years, my mother wore long sleeves even in the middle of summer. One day I finally asked, “Did Dad do something to you?” She went pale, closed the door, and said something that frightened me even more…
