The moment I laid eyes on you, lingering in the shadows, I sensed a depth to you that held something dark inside. Yet, I was inexorably drawn to you. My gaze wandered over your lean frame, barely concealed by your dark attire, and when you lifted your son onto your shoulders, a glimpse of your toned physique caught my attention. A sudden, intense desire to connect with you sparked within me—to touch, to hold, to breathe in your scent, and to taste the warmth of your skin. Without understanding why, I found myself captivated.

Over the months, I watched you from afar, almost unwittingly tracking your movements. You seemed oblivious to my presence, or so I thought.

The day I saw a flicker of sadness in your eyes, it resonated deeply within me. The ache in my chest was unexpected, yet undeniable, and it prompted me to muster the courage to approach you and ask if you were alright.

You looked into my eyes and said, “No, I’m struggling.”

I didn’t press you any further. Instead, I simply held my arms out to you, and you walked right into them. I hugged you tightly for as long as I could, until you eventually pulled away.

Strangely, you felt like home.

Something was seriously wrong with me when a stranger could feel more like home than my own long-term partner.

After the hug broke off, we exchanged numbers, and I told you that if you ever needed to offload to someone, you could offload to me. I honestly never expected you to message me, but you did, later that evening, in fact.

You told me how you’d noticed me more than a few times and had hoped that, one day, we would talk properly. You also told me that you could tell I was sad and lonely too.

We spoke for hours, and then virtually all day, every day, for weeks. It was like we had known each other our whole lives. We just clicked.

Our chats often turned sexual. I confided in you about how miserable I was in my relationship and how he didn’t even notice me anymore.

You always told me how beautiful I was and how stupid he was for not noticing.

The very first time we physically crossed the line, James and I had been arguing. I’d gotten dressed up, done my hair and makeup, and was waiting to surprise him when he got home, but he didn’t even notice.

I snapped a picture and sent it to you. You were floored by how insanely good I looked and couldn’t believe he had said nothing.

Later that evening, I texted James and told him I felt like I was going to cheat on him, and he didn’t even care.

So, you sent me your address as a tease, a challenge, if you will.

I had never planned to go, but somehow, I ended up on your doorstep, spending hours with you. We talked, flirted, and wanted to reach out and touch each other, but I wasn’t brave enough to make the first move.

It was getting late, and I said I needed to head home. I told you I’d tell James that I had just been walking and lost track of time.

But as I went to leave, you pushed me up against your gate and kissed me passionately, holding my waist and letting your fingers slip just inside the waistband of my trousers.

I couldn’t help myself. I reached for you, feeling how much you wanted me. You reached beneath my clothes, and for a moment, everything else disappeared.

I knew I had to stop this from happening, so I pulled away and left.

On my walk home, you texted me, asking if I was okay.

I said yes, but admitted that I wanted more than I should.

You said you did too.

And then we spent all night and into the morning sexting.

I couldn’t go more than an hour without looking at my phone, checking when you were last online, waiting, needing to hear from you.

I knew I was falling hard.

I knew I needed more. I needed all of you. But you couldn’t give me that—not in your mental state.

One night, a few weeks later, James and I had another argument. This time, he scared me shitless, punching the wall behind my head and throwing things.

I immediately texted you, asking if I could come to you, and you didn’t hesitate.

I picked up a few things and left, coming to you in the dead of night with tears streaming down my face

You didn’t pry. You simply held me, welcomed me in, and then held me some more as I lay on your sofa in front of you, your arms wrapped around me.

I had never felt safer in my life than I did in your arms.

Every time James made me feel unsafe, I ran to you. Your arms held me tight, never questioning anything. You simply became my safe place.

Until one night, we decided to take it further.

I could feel how much you wanted me just from the way we touched, and I wanted more, so I pushed back against you.

You started to kiss my shoulder, then my neck, as you pulled me closer.

I briefly thought we shouldn’t do this, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I didn’t want to stop myself.

I needed to remember what it felt like to be wanted.