Cheating woman sex story My Sex Story of Betrayal and Desire

Yes, we don’t cheat for no reason. There’s always some lack, some unfulfilled need that drives us to it. I’m a 29-year-old woman, fair-skinned, tall, blonde, with colored eyes, and I wear a headscarf. I’ve been married for 11 years and have one child. Before I get into how I cheated, I want to say this: if men don’t continue to give the same attention they showed at the start of marriage, every woman will cheat.

I got married very young. Both my husband and I were overwhelmed by family pressure. We were engaged through an arranged match. I was so suffocated by my family that I would have accepted even a drunkard or a deadbeat if they had come to ask for my hand—that’s how desperate I was. Thankfully, my husband turned out to be a decent man. We were engaged for a year, and during that time, we were intimate whenever and wherever we could—cars, homes, anywhere we found an opportunity. We lived with great passion and desire.

After we married, under pressure from his family, we had a child right away because they wanted it so badly. But then my husband started to drift away from me. He buried himself in his work, and I forgot what it felt like to be a woman. For a long time, we barely had intimacy—maybe once a month, and even then, only if I pushed for it. He didn’t seem to care or want it. I tried to manage on my own for a while, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t just about physical needs; I craved attention, affection, loving glances, being pampered, and being reminded that I’m a woman. For two years, we lived like siblings, barely connecting.

One summer, I went to visit my family’s seaside house and stayed there for about two weeks. During that time, my husband called me only once. Instead of feeling trapped, I decided to enjoy the summer and the sea. I went swimming every day, left my child with my mother, and hung out with my girlfriends. People who saw me couldn’t believe I was married, let alone a mother. Despite having a child, I had kept my figure—tall, slim, with a beautiful face that drew attention. I spent the summer days wandering around, playing backgammon with my friends at beachside cafes, having fun until late at night.

One day, some relatives of a relative came to stay at the seaside house. When I heard they were staying for a while, I was annoyed. My family is quite conservative, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to dress or behave as freely as I wanted. I’d have to be mindful of my headscarf and clothes. I just wanted them to leave as soon as possible. One evening, my girlfriends came to the door and invited me to a cafe. My mother, seeing the guests and my child, encouraged me to go and not feel stuck at home. No matter how much I tried to signal her to let me stay, she didn’t budge. So, I went with them.

At the cafe, we sat and played backgammon. I cheated a bit during the game, and one of the guys noticed, winked at me, and in the next round, subtly helped me win. I had prejudged this guy, thinking he’d be boring, but I started to think, “Actually, he’s pretty cool.” At the time, I was 20, and he was 22. Let’s give him a fake name to avoid calling him “the guy”—how about Berk? We got bored of sitting at the cafe and decided to walk along the beach with the group. There were four girls, including me, and two guys. We went down to the shore. I teased one of my friend’s younger brothers, who’s five years younger than me—practically a baby to me—tickling him and joking around. Berk saw this and looked at me with a mix of surprise and a smile.

It got late, and the group started to disperse. Berk and I decided to head back home. While walking, he said, “I didn’t know you were this relaxed, especially with your family’s conservative nature. You seem so carefree. You’re married, right?” I replied, “Yes, I am,” but I didn’t elaborate. I laughed and quickened my pace, feeling shy. I was worried I might say something wrong.

The next morning, while I was preparing breakfast, Berk was sitting on the couch across from the kitchen, watching me while listening to music. The songs he played were emotional, like Emrah’s “Why Are You Forbidden to Me, My Love?” and Cengiz Kurtoğlu’s “Forbidden Love.” I was busy with breakfast, and every time I passed by, with my mother and his mother watching TV nearby, he kept looking at me. At one point, his mother went over to him and whispered something. Berk got annoyed, grabbed a sandwich, and left the house.

I went to the beach again that day. There are three coves in the area, and I usually stayed at the family-friendly one since the others were full of creepy guys. I gathered my friends and went swimming as usual, wearing shorts and a tank top with my hair loose. When we came out of the water, someone was sitting under our umbrella, fiddling with my phone. We rushed over and saw it was Berk. I didn’t show it, but I was internally furious. I hadn’t thought of him in any romantic way; in fact, his apparent feelings for me were starting to bother me. We sat there quietly for a while. My friends said they were hungry, and I was too after hours in the sea. As we discussed grabbing something to eat, Berk jumped in, saying, “I’ll take care of it,” and left. My friends giggled among themselves, teasing me, “He’s a handsome guy, why don’t you let him do something for us?” I brushed it off, saying, “Go ahead, girls, the field is yours. I’m a married woman,” and we laughed it off.

I checked my phone to see why he was messing with it. There was a song sent via Bluetooth—Emrah’s “Why Are You Forbidden to Me?” I tried to think positively, assuming he saw I had no music on my phone and sent it because it was the only song he had. I genuinely thought that way. Then I noticed a missed call from my husband. Since there was no signal on the beach, I ran up a bit to a spot with better reception, telling my friends I’d be back. I called my husband, told him I was at the beach, that I missed him, and asked him to come get me. He just said, “You’re having a great vacation. You won’t get this chance again, so enjoy it.” I said, “Okay,” and started walking back to the beach.

Berk was there in front of me, holding a sandwich and a cola he’d prepared for me. “I thought you must be starving,” he said. I thanked him but mentioned I was already on my way back and worried my friends might misunderstand. He replied, “There’s nothing for them to misunderstand. I just didn’t want the sandwich to get cold, so I brought it over.” While we were talking, I accidentally dropped the straw for the cola. As Berk bent down to pick it up, his hand brushed against my leg—or maybe he did it on purpose. I felt a rush of excitement, and in my nervousness, I held the sandwich upside down, spilling its contents. I got even more flustered and, trying to hide my excitement, put the sandwich aside and ran back to my friends. I told one of them I dropped my sandwich, and she shared hers with me. While eating, I kept glancing around to see where Berk was, but he was nowhere to be seen.

We returned home, and Berk didn’t show up for the rest of the day. I asked his mother if everyone was ready for dinner, mentioning Berk wasn’t around. She said she called him, and he was swimming in the sea. I thought it was odd since the water must be cold at that hour, but we dropped the subject and ate without him. By 8 PM, I went to my friends’ house, and they suggested going to the cafe again. As I mentioned earlier, I wear a headscarf, but since the seaside area was less crowded and more relaxed, I dressed casually. I wore black capris and a red T-shirt, with my long, thick, reddish hair uncovered and a cap on my head. My friends teased me, saying, “Your hair is going to break some hearts today,” as they played with it. We walked to the cafe late at night.

Berk was already there, smoking and watching some kids breakdancing. One of the dancers, a friend of my friend’s brother, snatched my cap off my head and started dancing with it. A lively foreign song was playing. Berk must have recognized me when my cap came off because my hair was down for the first time at the cafe. He stared at me for a long while. We stood there for a bit before deciding to sit at another table. One of my friends couldn’t sit still and started dancing too. Feeling overwhelmed, I went down to the beach. I heard someone approaching but assumed it was one of my friends, Sedef or Yasemin, so I didn’t turn around. Then someone sat beside me and asked, “Were you mad at me today?” My heart sank—it was Berk.

“No, why? When?” I stammered, unable to speak properly. I tried to stand up, but he grabbed my ankle with one hand and my elbow with the other. “Please, stay,” he said. I started trembling with excitement. What could I even say? This feeling was killing me. We sat in silence for a while. Then Berk spoke, “When I first came here, I thought you were such a grumpy girl, you know?” I replied, “Don’t worry, I thought even worse things about you at first.” He laughed, asking, “So, you don’t think that now?” I froze, unable to respond. “No, it’s not like that. I just didn’t know you back then,” I said. “You still don’t know me, trust me,” he replied, pulling his hand from my ankle and moving it toward my waist. He stroked my hair, took a deep breath as if inhaling its scent, and I felt like I was melting. Part of me wanted to run away, part of me worried someone might see us, and part of me thought this was a sin. I was a mess of emotions.

Since I didn’t reciprocate, Berk turned away and started playing with the sand. “Ah, damn it,” he muttered loudly, picked up a stone from the sand, threw it into the sea, and walked off. I returned to my friends, but my mind was in chaos. What was that just now? My friends said they’d stay longer, so I told them I was heading home before my mother got upset. The path home was quiet and isolated, and I was scared of stray dogs barking in the dark. I walked silently, but when I heard footsteps behind me, I panicked and started running. In the darkness, I dropped my slipper. When I turned back, Berk approached, laughing. The moonlight illuminated the dark path. As I searched for my slipper, he helped me find it and placed it by my foot, walking past me without a word. I called out, “Hey, can you walk a bit slower? I’m scared out here.” He turned, smiled, and waited for me to catch up. “Look, I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through. I shouldn’t have done it, but I couldn’t hold myself back,” he said.

I stayed silent, trying to process his words. My silence seemed to bother him. “See, you’re doing it again,” he said. “Doing what?” I asked, confused. “You’re not reacting, not pushing back or anything,” he said, then stopped. “But Berk, look, I’m married. How can you even think about this?” I said something along those lines. He laughed, “Married? Don’t make me laugh. We’ve been here for ten days—where’s your husband? Let us see this husband of yours.” I was stunned. He continued, “I read your messages, Derya.” I was shocked and embarrassed. I had texted my husband, “I miss you, come get me. I miss you, my dear husband.” His replies were just, “Me too.” Berk threw this in my face. “How do you put up with this marriage? You’re here, dumped with your family, while he’s living his own life. I’m sure of it,” he said. I got angry but didn’t show it and kept walking.

We reached a brighter area with cars passing by. He asked if I wanted ice cream. I didn’t respond; I was upset. He bought ice cream for both of us anyway, and I thanked him. Instead of heading home, we walked toward the town center. “If I had a wife like you, I’d never let her be away from me for so long, especially dressed like this. Goddamn,” he said. I laughed, “My husband wouldn’t allow it either. He doesn’t know I’m out like this.” He jokingly said, “Then give me your brother-in-law’s number. I’ll call him.” I laughed, “Are you crazy? He’d divorce me in a second.” He replied, “Then I’m calling right now. God gave you one pair of eyes, but I wish I had two to see you better.” We laughed together.

He started talking about his dreams and past. I asked why he hadn’t been engaged or married yet at his age. He told me he had a serious relationship with a girl in university, but her family wanted them to live close by, so they broke up. They had lived together for two years. “So, you lived with her, did everything, and then just walked away like nothing happened?” I asked. “Yes,” he said. “Everything, Derya, including that.” He showed me pictures on his phone of him with the girl—she was in the kitchen in her underwear and a tank top, washing dishes, with foam on her nose that he’d playfully put there. I was shocked. “Wow, what a relaxed family,” I said. He laughed.

“Derya, tell me about yourself a bit,” he urged. “I know a little, but I want to hear the rest from you.” “What do you know, and how?” I asked. Apparently, he had asked my friend’s younger brother, who was 15 at the time, and he told Berk what he knew. The rest he learned from his mother, who had heard things from my mother. I told him, “I got married very young, at 16.” He laughed, “You were a child.” “I was. I was very young,” I said. He smiled, “You still are, and you’re so beautiful.” I started walking faster, but he grabbed my hand. I tried to pull away, embarrassed, but he pulled me toward him. As I turned to face him, he kissed me. I froze right there, as if I’d turned to stone. He wrapped his arms around my waist, kissing me more intensely, even licking around my lips. I pushed him away, and he stopped. I ran off quickly down a dark shortcut to the house. He ran after me. I got tired and stopped to catch my breath. The path was dark and narrow, and I was scared. “Don’t be mad. I couldn’t resist,” he said. “I’m not mad, but…” I trailed off. “Then why are you running? Why don’t you respond?” he asked. I stayed silent. “Look, Derya, you’re irresistible. It’s hard to hold back around you,” he said, and more similar things. I started walking again, feeling his hand on my shoulder. He slowed me down, turned me toward him, and hugged me tightly, kissing me with even more passion. “Relax, don’t tense up,” he kept saying. His hand moved to my hips, and I thought, “What am I doing? I’m a mother. Snap out of it. Control yourself.” Seeing my stiffness, he stopped, looked at me, and said, “I’m sorry. Forgive me. It won’t happen again.”

And it didn’t. They stayed with us for a total of 15 days, and with 5 days left of his vacation, he avoided me for a couple of days. He didn’t come near me, didn’t show up at the cafe, but my eyes kept searching for him. One day, while my mother and his mother were at a local fair, Berk was lying on a hammock in the garden, listening to slow music. He didn’t notice me approaching; his back was turned, eyes closed, headphones on. I stood there, watching him. He had a muscular, well-built body for his age, and his face was so sweet. As I stared, he looked at his phone to change the song and saw my shadow. He turned, “Were you spying on me, little lady?” he teased, laughing. “No, I just… um, my mom and the others aren’t here,” I mumbled. “Hmm, they went to the fair. They took your kid too. He’s so cute, mashallah,” he said. “Thanks,” I replied. “Come on, let’s go too,” I suggested. “Nah, if you want to go, I’ll drive you and come back,” he said. I agreed.

I went inside to get ready, putting on my headscarf and a tunic. We left the house together. He’d left the car keys in his shorts and went back to get them. I started walking down the path, and he caught up with me in the car. “You’re abandoning me again,” he said, laughing. “Are you someone who gets abandoned?” I teased. We drove a bit further and stopped. We hadn’t reached the main road yet; it was a narrow, secluded path where cars rarely passed. He looked at me and said, “Derya, why are you always so quiet and unresponsive? I like you.” I stammered, “I… I do too, but I’m married.” He scoffed, “I’ve seen plenty of married people, but never someone like you. Your husband hasn’t been around for three months. You’re married, and I’m going to ruin your marriage right now.” He started driving fast. “What can I do? This is my marriage. I got married once, and I have to endure it. I have a child; I can’t leave,” I said. He stopped the car, turned off the engine, and asked, “So, your husband isn’t around, you can’t leave, and what? What do you do about your womanly needs?” I felt embarrassed and started fidgeting with my nails.

“Don’t be shy with me,” he said. “I felt bad for you when I read your messages.” He took my hand gently. “I don’t want to force you into anything or hurt you. Don’t be so distant with me. Not every man is like your husband, believe me. And trust me, your husband is probably cheating on you out there. No man can get used to married life and then live like a bachelor.” I snapped, “Let him cheat. I don’t care.” He said, “Okay, so you don’t love your husband, but don’t you love yourself?” He pulled me closer, tugged my headscarf off, held my chin, and said, “This beauty gets wasted on someone like him. What luck.” I laughed. “You’re such a quiet girl, like a locked box,” he said. “No, actually, I’m not. I’m just shy around you,” I admitted. “And it’s a sin,” I added. “To hell with sin. What’s the harm in your sin? I’ll take all your sins on me if it means you’ll be mine,” he said. He stared at me, then kissed me again. This time, I didn’t pull away. We were in the car on a narrow path with no room to open the doors fully. Tree branches scratched against the windows. This time, I didn’t want to run. I had grown to love his attention.

He started touching my chest, and I was already soaked with desire. “Relax, Derya, please, loosen up,” he said, looking at me again. “If you want, I’ll take you back home right now.” “No,” I said. There was a hint of frustration on his face. “No, I mean, it’s fine. I’ll stay with you,” I clarified. He smiled, “Hearing that from you is a miracle.” He laughed. “Are you hungry? I heard you argued with your mom this morning and left early for the beach without eating.” “You know everything, huh? No, I ate with the girls. I’m not hungry, thanks,” I said. “You didn’t swim. I can tell; there’s no sea salt on you,” he teased. “How do you know?” I asked. “Like this,” he said, and leaned in, kissing me again. This time, his movements were faster. His hand went under my skirt, and he noticed how wet I was. “Wow,” he said, looking at me with a grin. He pulled me closer with both hands, kissing my chest, face, everywhere, while squeezing my hips. I was in his lap. His car was a spacious SUV, but the steering wheel was digging into my back. He laid me down on my seat, taking off his shirt while spreading my legs. He looked at me for a long time, touching me, exploring every detail. I was torn between wanting it and feeling shy. When I shifted uncomfortably, he asked, “Are you not comfortable? The gearshift must be bothering you.” He laughed, put his shirt back on without a word, and started driving again. I wondered if I’d said something wrong. He glanced at me, planted a kiss on my nose, and kept driving, smiling and winking at me occasionally.

We arrived in front of a hotel where athletes stayed, a clean and safe place, he said. Apparently, he hung out there when he was bored. I didn’t want to get out at first, but he adjusted my skirt and headscarf, took my hand, and spoke to the hotel staff. They directed us, and he requested a room. I stood a bit behind, feeling shy. He took the key, held my hand tightly, and we went up in the elevator to our room. It was a bright, white, airy space. “Now you can relax,” he said, smiling. I took off my headscarf and went to the window to look at the view. Berk sat on the bed, relaxed, watching me with a smile. We looked at each other for about ten minutes before he came over, hugged me, and started kissing me. He pulled me toward the bed step by step, laid me down gently—so gently that my wrist hit the nightstand and hurt. He undressed himself down to his boxers and undressed me too, kissing every inch of me, stopping occasionally to look at me and sigh, “Damn, oh damn.” He wasn’t in a rush, even though I was already dripping with desire, multiple times over. “Do you know how many nights I’ve fallen asleep thinking of you?” he said, lying beside me. He traced the contours of my body with his finger, running it along my back. “I’m going to die leaving such beauty alone. Damn it,” he muttered again. I teased, “You sigh a lot. Anyone would think you’ve never been with anyone before and I’m your first.” He laughed, “I’ve been with plenty, but never with someone as white as foam, as beautiful as you.” I blushed and laughed shyly. He pulled my hand from my face, wrapped my arm around his neck, and we lay side by side, our bodies facing each other. I could feel his arousal and pulled back slightly. He noticed, laughed, and started squeezing my hips, pulling down my underwear. He turned me flat on my back, looked at me for a long time, touched me, and then slipped his hand inside me. It felt incredible. I closed my eyes and let myself go. He brought me to climax with his hand while kissing my stomach, back, and chest with intense passion. He took off his boxers and started rubbing against me slowly, with remarkable patience. I was amazed; as a woman, I wanted him inside me right away, but he took his time, savoring every moment. When I pushed myself toward him, he looked at me, smiled, and said, “Alright,” before entering me. I moaned, lost in the moment, as he moved slowly, gazing at me with hungry eyes while thrusting. It was thicker than my husband’s, and it felt so good. Hours had passed since we arrived at the hotel. I wondered how long it had been as a wave of lethargy washed over me. I didn’t sleep, but I felt drowsy. He was by the window, smoking, looking at my naked body. “Derya,” he called. “Yes?” I replied. “You’re so beautiful,” he said. I turned my face to the bed, unsure how to react to compliments, always shyly looking away. He came over, crouched by the bed, caressed my face, and kissed my nose. “Your mom called. I put your phone on silent since you were resting,” he said. “I wasn’t sleeping. Did you slip something in my drink? I feel so drowsy,” I joked. He laughed, “No, you’ve probably been holding it in for so long that letting go all at once drained you.” He was right; I hadn’t been intimate in three months. “Did I make you climax that much? Are you always like this?” he asked. “I don’t know. Did I climax a lot?” I asked. “Look at the sheets—they’re soaked,” he said. I was shocked; they were indeed very wet, even seeping into the mattress. Another reason to feel embarrassed. “Don’t turn away. There’s nothing to be shy about. I’ve never seen anyone like you,” he kept saying. He had already showered. I thought, “How did I sleep so much?” He asked if I wanted to shower. “No, I’ll do it at home. It’s 4 PM already. I don’t want my mom to notice or get mad. Let’s go,” I said. We left, and he dropped me off a bit away from the house. I went in first, pretending I’d just come back and was about to shower. I took a shower, ate with my family, and my mom noticed, “What’s wrong with your face, Derya? You look pale.” I said, “I left early on an empty stomach because of our arguments. I only ate now. The sea makes you hungry.” I suggested we have a barbecue that evening. His mother agreed, saying she’d make meatballs. Berk arrived with bags full of meat, cola, dessert, ice cream, and snacks. Apparently, his mom had secretly told him I wanted a barbecue, so he went to the butcher and got everything. His mom said, “Look, my son had a feeling,” laughing. While we prepared the meat for the barbecue, his mom went to talk to Berk. I used the excuse of carrying a pot and tableware to pass by them and sat in the garden, starting to prepare the meatballs there. I overheard his mom ask Berk when his vacation ended. He said he had called and had another week or ten days. His mom replied, “Son, it’s not right. She’s a married woman with a child. We shouldn’t overstay as guests,” and said more. They moved away, and we sat at the table. Under the table, Berk played footsie with me discreetly, but every time, I got so flustered that my cola went down the wrong way, and I fumbled with my hands and feet. His mom noticed, “This girl will get sick. Derya, don’t go to the sea tomorrow. Stay home and rest. You’ll get ill.” I said, “I’ll be fine,” but I actually did get sick with a feverish cold. For two days, I wandered around listlessly, out of touch with the world.

Finally, my husband came to take me home, but my mom insisted I recover first before leaving. My husband’s family missed their grandchild, so he took our child with him. He stayed for barely two hours. Berk found a chance to come to me. “Your husband is a complete idiot. Do you really plan to spend your life with him?” he asked. I pulled the blanket over my face and didn’t respond. He pulled it back, “Get better soon. I can’t stand seeing you like this. Where’s that lively girl?” I replied, “You’re the one who made me sick,” and laughed. “Where’s everyone?” I asked. “I took them to the beach for a picnic with the neighbors. They said I’m a man and they’d feel uncomfortable, so they kicked me out,” he said. “And you came straight here?” I asked. “If you don’t want me, I’ll leave,” he said. “No, no, stay. Don’t go,” I said. “I want to stay forever, but not like this,” he replied. “What do you mean?” I asked. “I really like you. I wish we’d met earlier, but it’s fate. If you have problems with your husband, don’t you ever think of leaving him? Haven’t you considered it?” he asked. “No, there’s no reason to separate. He doesn’t hit me, curse at me, or get angry. Why would I leave? People would blame me,” I said. “But there are other things in a marriage, and you don’t have those,” he countered. “Look, I’m leaving in two days. I want to keep seeing you after that, but I don’t want to think about you going back to your husband.” I said, “I have a child. I can’t leave.” He went on, “Your child is so young, doesn’t even know his father. Look, the man came, barely checked on you, asked if you needed anything, took the kid, and left. He’s using you. How can you let yourself waste away like this with such beauty?” I asked, “Are you trying to manipulate me? Are you trying to destroy my family?” He laughed, “What family, Derya? I saw your longing, your relief. I’ve gotten to know you a bit. I’m serious. Let’s end this.” He suggested coming over when my husband returned, pretending to have forgotten something, starting an argument between us, and getting my mom on my side. And that’s exactly what happened. He came over, and we staged a fight with my husband that night. My husband stayed with us but slept in another room. Berk occasionally went out to the garden under the pretense of getting water, smoking, and watching from the window. His mom called out, “Son, you’ve fallen asleep out here. Your body will ache,” so we got up. My husband was gone. I called him, but he didn’t answer. My mom called his family, and apparently, he had told them everything—how I was wandering around dressed inappropriately, not taking care of our child, and not respecting him as a husband. I couldn’t understand how my usually mild-mannered husband said all this. Everything was going as planned.

By September, my husband and I had agreed to split our belongings. That was the last time we spoke. We divided what was ours, but my mother-in-law, who adored my child, didn’t let me take him. The court awarded custody to my husband since I had no father, and my only income was rent, among other reasons. We divorced. During the separation, Berk and his mother were very supportive. They even arranged a car and helpers to move my things. However, during this time, Berk and I grew distant. We only spoke on the phone, and even that faded. He stopped reaching out, and I was heartbroken. I stopped eating and drinking, constantly thinking, “I cheated on my husband with him, got divorced, lost my stable life, and now he doesn’t even care about me.”

One day, his mother said, “Derya, my son’s mother is ill. I’m going to visit her.” We went together. She was genuinely sick with shingles, and Berk was devastated. His sister was in Germany and couldn’t come due to her children’s school. Berk was managing everything alone. The house was a mess, dirty and disorganized. My mom and I cleaned up and cooked. My mom went back home to handle some bills and other matters, planning to return in two days. I stayed there to help his mother, sleeping in a separate room. Berk was very upset and barely looked at me, constantly in touch with doctors or handling his own affairs. He had finished university, and at 25, his military service was approaching. He needed to defer it to care for his mother. During the two days I stayed, he kept saying, “God bless you,” but showed no personal interest in me.

My mom returned, and we took his mother to the hospital, where she stayed for a month due to cholesterol and diabetes issues, making home care difficult. I occasionally went to the house to bring clean clothes, tidy up, and air it out. One day, while I was vacuuming, I noticed cigarette butts everywhere, as if an ashtray had been thrown against the wall. The place was a wreck. Berk came over, watched me for a moment, then hugged me. “The doctor gave good news,” he said, smiling, and hugged me tighter. “Thank God,” I sighed. “Berk, I couldn’t recognize you. Your coldness and distant attitude really disappointed me,” I said. “You’re right, no matter what you say. I wasn’t myself. With my mom and work, I couldn’t keep up. Thank God you were here to support us,” he replied. “I’m going to the hospital tomorrow to pick up my mom. Be there; let’s go together,” he said. “Okay,” I agreed. “I ordered pide. Shall we eat?” he asked. “Of course, I’m starving,” I said. Finally, Berk was back to normal. Later, I learned his father had abandoned the family, and his mother had suffered nervous breakdowns. Berk was very protective of her to prevent a repeat of those times.

We ate the pide, and he looked at me, “Have you gained weight?” “Yes, about 5 kg. I’m around 58-60 kg now. I don’t know,” I said. “Let’s check,” he said, and quickly undressed me without undressing himself. “You must have missed my fingers,” he teased, bringing me to climax that way before undressing and continuing. He never did anything I didn’t want; it felt like he could read my heart. We were intimate, and he said, “You’re flooding again. You won’t have to endure this longing much longer, don’t worry.” I assumed he meant we’d do this again soon. His mother came home and settled in. She was better but couldn’t cook or bathe due to her unhealed wounds. I cleaned her with wet wipes. For the entire winter, I cared for her with medications and ointments. Meanwhile, whenever Berk and I found a chance, we had quick encounters. Sometimes, he’d just use his fingers to satisfy me, leaving me wanting more before walking away.

One day, while my mom and I were at their house, I was washing dishes. There were a lot of glasses, and I smelled women’s perfume in the house. I asked Berk about it, and he said, “No one, just relatives visiting my mom.” But his mom was at the hospital for a check-up issue, and I was upset but didn’t show it. His mom returned, and I cleaned the house, fed her, and put her to bed. I was exhausted and fell asleep. When I woke up, I heard Berk talking to his mother about wanting to get married and not waiting for his military service. How could Berk do this to me? I had destroyed my family for him, cared for his mother, and now our relatives were starting to gossip about my frequent visits to their house. Lately, Berk was less attentive but more physically intimate. I wondered if he had someone else.

His mom came to me on the balcony. “Derya, my dear, I want to discuss something with you before talking to your mom. I’d like your opinion,” she said. I thought, “Finally, the moment I’ve been waiting for.” She continued, “Berk doesn’t want me to be alone anymore, and he’s at the age to marry.” “Of course, auntie,” I said, smiling. Then she said, “Your mom suggested a girl from your relatives for Berk. Her engagement broke off. Do you know her? What kind of girl is she?” I felt like I’d been struck by lightning but didn’t show it. “Auntie, she’s a good, decent girl, but I don’t know her personally,” I said. “What does Berk think?” I asked. She explained that Berk had met her when she and her family visited while his mom was in the hospital. Berk had hosted them, and they lived nearby. He had visited their house. As she spoke, I bit my nails, feeling like I was losing my mind. My phone rang, and I said, “Auntie, excuse me,” rushing inside to the bathroom, where I cried uncontrollably. I went to Berk’s room, cut up his clothes, slashed the bed we had slept in together, tore his pillow, and even cut the TV cable. If Berk had been in front of me, I would have done worse.

By 7 PM, Berk and my mom arrived. My mom said, “Derya, you’ve made this place spotless again. Bless your hands.” Berk looked at me with a blank smile, as if nothing was wrong. I locked his room door and said, “Mom, I’m tired. I’m going home.” Berk offered, “I’ll drop you