02-06-2026, 12:18 AM
Prakash’s call came without warning on a Wednesday afternoon.
“Menaka, I’m coming home tomorrow. The project finished early. I’ll be there by evening. I’ve missed you and Ayan so much.”
She froze mid-moan, eyes wide with panic.
Prakash was coming home.
Menaka tried to clean the house thoroughly, washing bedsheets multiple times
She scrubbed her body raw in the shower, trying to erase the marks on her breasts, thighs, and neck. She wore high-necked blouses and sarees tied higher than usual to hide the hickeys.
Prakash walked through the door at 7 PM the next evening, looking tired but happy. Ayan ran to him excitedly.
Menaka greeted him with a forced smile, her heart pounding. She was wearing a modest saree
Prakash hugged her tightly. “I missed you so much, Menaka.”
She hugged him back, feeling a sharp pang of guilt
That night, when Prakash tried to be intimate with her, Menaka froze. His touch felt wrong — too gentle, too familiar, too pure
She made an excuse about being tired from looking after Ayan. Prakash was understanding, but she could see the slight disappointment in his eyes.
That night, after Prakash fell asleep, Menaka sat on the balcony alone, staring at the city lights.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she whispered to herself:
I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself… but I have to try. For Ayan. For Prakash. For whatever is left of me.”
What am I doing?
Tears welled up in her eyes as she gripped the sink tightly.
This has to stop. All of it.
She closed her eyes, and for the first time in weeks, a wave of pure, unfiltered guilt crashed over her without the mask of lust to soften it.
I can’t keep living like this. I have a husband who loves me. A son who looks up to me. I’m destroying everything for moments of pleasure. No matter how good it feels, no matter how addicted my body has become… this is not who I am.
Prakash doesn’t deserve a wife who spreads her legs for men while he’s away working for our family. Ayan doesn’t deserve a mother who sneaks around like a whore in her own home.
I’ve gone too far. Way too far. one day it will all come crashing down. And when it does, I’ll lose everything that truly matters.
Today, I stop. Completely. No more messages. No more opening the door. No more excuses. I will be the wife and mother I was supposed to be. I owe it to Prakash. I owe it to Ayan. And most of all, I owe it to myself.
Menaka wiped her tears, took a deep breath, and whispered to her reflection:
“No more. This ends today.”
She knew it wouldn’t be easy. Her body still craved the depravity.
The fear of blackmail hung over her like a shadow.
But for the first time in many months, Menaka had chosen her family over her addiction. For the first time in months, she felt a small, fragile sense of control returning.
Whether she could stay strong… only time would tell.
“Menaka, I’m coming home tomorrow. The project finished early. I’ll be there by evening. I’ve missed you and Ayan so much.”
She froze mid-moan, eyes wide with panic.
Prakash was coming home.
Menaka tried to clean the house thoroughly, washing bedsheets multiple times
She scrubbed her body raw in the shower, trying to erase the marks on her breasts, thighs, and neck. She wore high-necked blouses and sarees tied higher than usual to hide the hickeys.
Prakash walked through the door at 7 PM the next evening, looking tired but happy. Ayan ran to him excitedly.
Menaka greeted him with a forced smile, her heart pounding. She was wearing a modest saree
Prakash hugged her tightly. “I missed you so much, Menaka.”
She hugged him back, feeling a sharp pang of guilt
That night, when Prakash tried to be intimate with her, Menaka froze. His touch felt wrong — too gentle, too familiar, too pure
She made an excuse about being tired from looking after Ayan. Prakash was understanding, but she could see the slight disappointment in his eyes.
That night, after Prakash fell asleep, Menaka sat on the balcony alone, staring at the city lights.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she whispered to herself:
I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself… but I have to try. For Ayan. For Prakash. For whatever is left of me.”
What am I doing?
Tears welled up in her eyes as she gripped the sink tightly.
This has to stop. All of it.
She closed her eyes, and for the first time in weeks, a wave of pure, unfiltered guilt crashed over her without the mask of lust to soften it.
I can’t keep living like this. I have a husband who loves me. A son who looks up to me. I’m destroying everything for moments of pleasure. No matter how good it feels, no matter how addicted my body has become… this is not who I am.
Prakash doesn’t deserve a wife who spreads her legs for men while he’s away working for our family. Ayan doesn’t deserve a mother who sneaks around like a whore in her own home.
I’ve gone too far. Way too far. one day it will all come crashing down. And when it does, I’ll lose everything that truly matters.
Today, I stop. Completely. No more messages. No more opening the door. No more excuses. I will be the wife and mother I was supposed to be. I owe it to Prakash. I owe it to Ayan. And most of all, I owe it to myself.
Menaka wiped her tears, took a deep breath, and whispered to her reflection:
“No more. This ends today.”
She knew it wouldn’t be easy. Her body still craved the depravity.
The fear of blackmail hung over her like a shadow.
But for the first time in many months, Menaka had chosen her family over her addiction. For the first time in months, she felt a small, fragile sense of control returning.
Whether she could stay strong… only time would tell.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)