Revisiting the house where I was born and where my father died, allows me to re-read the family story. I’m 7 years old. Our house, which my father had been renovating for years, burns down. He decides to rebuild it a second time.

What I would understand much later is that he was, at the same time, building a story in which he was going to lock us up. Through forty years of archives, I establish that a domination was exercised inside the house. An emancipation process is then underway.