The colour drains from his face, rapidly, like cold water swirling down a sink and disappearing completely.

I smile. I shouldn’t – I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. Everyone who has been brought to the Confession Room was brought for a reason. He shouldn’t need a photograph in a box to understand. The answer is obvious. His shock is laughable.

If anyone deserves to be here – it is him.

He lifts the photo close to his face, his hands shaking violently, and after a few more moments of staring, his eyes wild, he screws them shut, as if he can’t bear to look for a moment longer.

But that is the entire purpose of this place. To force you to stare down your actions and see a reflection of yourself. A reflection of who you are. There’s no consequence-free confession here. No anonymous atonement. No turning away or averting your gaze.

Look.

Look at what you have done.