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On August 18, 2021, I spent the night at the Anne Frank Museum in the Annex. Anne Frank, whom people know even if they don't know much about her. How to rate her famous diary, which all schoolchildren have read and which no adult really remembers? Is it a testimony, a testament, a literary work? That of a girl who will only be able to go up and down some stairs, less than forty square meters to cover for seven hundred and sixty days. That night seemed to me like a retreat, like a silence. I imagined that night was auspicious to welcome the absence of Anne Frank. I made a mistake. The night is inhabited, reflections illuminate it; In the heart of the Annex, there was still lurking an urgency that had to be found.