He came to my mother’s shop one evening to buy something, and while I attended to him we had a good conversation. When he returned the next day we talked again, and that was how he took my number. Something so ordinary became the beginning of a friendship.

We started talking every day. He would message me about school, my courses, my friends, how I was doing. It felt harmless at first, until the tone of his texts changed. Suddenly he was asking very personal questions. The questions about my life turned into questions about my body, and then he asked me to send him photos. Wild photos. Pictures of me touching myself, doing things to please him.

I told him, “Your wife can do all those things for you. Why me.” He said their marriage was broken into pieces. When I told him to fix it, he said it was impossible, that they were beyond repair. We argued like children. If he said five, I said ten, as if I knew anything about marriage.

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By then I had already sent him the photos he wanted, even while I was questioning him. He complimented them, and that became the order of our texts from then on.

I went to his house some days later; he invited me. He said since I had so many questions about his marriage we should talk face to face. So I went. He cooked and served me at the dining table. Later we moved to the living room, watching Netflix with drinks, and the conversation drifted until it ended in the bedroom.

He was taking me home when we met his wife on the way. She recognized me as the girl from the shop. She was kind, too kind. She asked me to greet my mother and told her husband she would meet him at home. My hands turned sweaty, my legs shook, I stammered as I tried to speak. Would she beat me, would she shout, would she disgrace me. Her husband, my boyfriend, was indifferent. He didn’t flinch. After we drove off I kept looking behind me, afraid she would follow. He dropped me home, and I thought the worst was over since she hadn’t put the pieces together.

Days later I got a call from an unknown number. It was her. “Did you sleep with my husband?” she asked. I denied it three times. She didn’t care. She asked if we used a condom. After questioning me she began to advise me. I couldn’t understand what was happening. Wasn’t she supposed to scream at me, curse me, tell me I would suffer, tell me she was coming for me.

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Instead she told me I was young and should focus on school. She told me to stay focused in life because I was very young. She said they were never at the point of divorce, that they were still together, forever. She even said, “Feel free to contact me whenever you need something. I am concerned about you becoming a responsible person.” We spoke for a long time. She told her truth, and I learned mine.

Now I am covered in shame. Ask me what a 22 year old university student is doing with a man old enough to be her father. Why did I entertain him.

And now, about her proposal. What do I do with it. Do women forgive cheating. Do women become friends with the women their husbands cheated with. I am terrified she has other intentions and might hurt me.

—Loria

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