I only learned about my father's illness after reading his death certificate.

As I watched the intense scene unfold on EastEnders, my heart sank. Elaine Peacock bravely confronted her late-husband's secret lover, Drew, about his affair with John Carter. I couldn't help but feel a knot form in my chest. John's fear mirrored my own father's in a way that was almost unbearable to witness.

It had been over 30 years since John passed away from a heart attack, but this week it was revealed that he had been living a double life with Drew. And to make matters even more complicated, Drew disclosed that he had been living with HIV since 1986. My mind raced with questions about John's love for Drew and his own health.

My father, Christopher Arthur Hillman, was a remarkable man. He was intelligent, driven, and endlessly curious about life. He was a chartered accountant with a deep passion for history, and he shared that passion with me from a young age. I have fond memories of him taking me to art museums and teaching me about our family's ancestry.

But despite his strengths, my dad struggled with his identity and the fear of being judged. Growing up, I could sense that there was a sadness he carried, a part of himself that he kept hidden. The stigma surrounding being gay in his generation ran deep and I believe it prevented him from living authentically and seeking the care he needed. So he stayed with my mother, even though she struggled with bipolar disorder.

After my mother passed away in 2012, my father tried to start fresh. He went to Thailand in 2012, where he found purpose in helping children access education. He often spoke of that time with pride and I cherish the photographs he took there, full of joy and light. But even in those moments of fulfillment, I could sense his dissatisfaction and see that he was wrestling with internal battles.

When he returned to the UK in 2014, my son and I were lucky to have him close. But earlier this year, on April 7, he passed away at the age of 71. His death certificate listed pneumonia and HIV. Seeing those words was surreal, I couldn't quite connect the dots at first. It felt like I was reading someone else's story.

But when my dad died, I was by his side. Those final moments were both heartbreaking and deeply intimate. I could see how much he had endured, yet he held onto his dignity until the end. It wasn't until after his death that his HIV diagnosis was confirmed. My father's journey to that point remains a mystery – how long had he known something was wrong? Did he ever suspect? I'll never know because he never opened up to me about it.

But what I do know is that stigma played a role in keeping him from seeking help. In his generation, HIV carried an enormous weight of shame and there was a lack of education and healthcare outreach for older adults. Regular testing simply wasn't normalized, and that gap in awareness was devastating.

Watching John Peacock's story unfold on EastEnders felt like reliving my father's struggles. The storyline doesn't shy away from the fear, shame, and stigma that come with an HIV diagnosis, especially for someone of John and Drew's generation. It's a powerful reminder of how these narratives still resonate today, and I'm grateful to see them explored so thoughtfully. I hope the show continues to delve into these complexities – to show not just the challenges, but the resilience of people living with HIV, and the importance of support and education.

Through my photography, I'm honoring my dad's memory. He was the one who sparked my love for storytelling through art, and now, my lens is my way of making sense of everything I've experienced. I've started a new project aimed at breaking down stereotypes about HIV. By celebrating the dignity and strength of men who have lived through similar experiences, I hope to show the world that there is beauty and resilience in authenticity.

If I could sit across from my dad today, I'd tell him that he wasn't defined by his illness or his struggles. He was a loving father, a man who nurtured my love for history and creativity. And through my work and my voice, I'll continue to honor him by fighting for a world where no one has to hide who they are or fear seeking help. That's why I am supporting National AIDS Trust and their vital campaigns for HIV rights.

HIV is a part of my dad's story, but it doesn't define him. And it's my hope that, someday, stigma won't define anyone else's. No one should have to live in the shadows like my father did. I wish he could have embraced his full self, free from judgement, and I wish he had been supported in seeking care sooner. That's why I'm sharing my story – because his and John's story should not have to be repeated.

I want people to understand this: HIV is not a moral failing, and it's not something to fear in silence. Testing is crucial – it's a simple act that can save lives. With modern treatments, people with HIV can live long, healthy lives. But for that to happen, we need to dismantle the stigma that prevents people from getting tested or seeking help. You can support National AIDS Trust's work fighting HIV stigma by making a donation here.

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