When Saturday arrived, the house smelled of freshly baked chicken and thyme. I baked fresh bread myself and made apple cookies. I was exhausted, but I needed to keep busy. The table was meticulously set, candles lit. It was as if it was saying, “We’re fine, thank you. We’re a very normal family.” Kader was the first to arrive. She wore a lot of makeup, and her laugh was very high-pitched, like someone trying to play the role of innocence. Levent’s eyes barely met hers. But that look was there; a brief flash… just enough for me to notice.
Then my parents arrived. Uncle Kemal poured the drinks, and my mother pulled me aside. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Leyla?” she asked. “You look very tired, my dear.” “I am tired, Mom,” I confessed. “But I wanted this evening… even if only for a short time, to feel normal.” My mother took my hand. “You’re a wonderful mother, Leyla,” she said. “And you do more than most people can, especially when you have a sick husband to look after.” Something trembled in her voice, and for a moment I doubted she understood everything. We ate our meal at a calm pace, passing bowls around while chatting about trivial things. The conversation ranged from herbal remedies for colds to how expensive diapers were. Kader laughed very loudly at the stories my stepfather told; one of those forced laughs, as if trying to prove she belonged there… Levent hardly spoke. He sipped his wine with his head bowed, only nodding unless someone asked him directly. My mother, sitting directly opposite him, kept her gaze shifting between the two of them.
Her smile had faded. At one point, she asked, “Is something wrong with Levent? He’s very quiet tonight.” “He’s still recovering, Mom,” I said gently. “Those were tiring days.” My mother shook her head, seemingly unconvinced. When the dessert plates were cleared and the twins were still awake upstairs, I stood up with my glass in hand. “I want to say something,” I said, unconsciously gripping the stem of the glass. Levent turned slightly to the side, his body stiffening. To add some warmth to the atmosphere, my mother immediately interjected, “To our family’s honor!” “Yes, to our family’s honor,” I said. “And to the truth.” The air suddenly grew heavy, noticeably but undeniably so… “These last few days have taught me a lot,” I began. “Like how quickly a virus can destroy a home…
Especially when the babies aren’t yet old enough to be vaccinated. Especially if the virus was brought home by someone you trusted.” My stepfather asked, “Are you talking about Levent being sick?” “We’re glad he’s recovered, my boy.” “My husband came back from his business trip with chickenpox,” I said, turning to Levent. Then I looked at Kader. “And my stepsister came back from her girls’ trip with exactly the same thing.” Kader slowly put down her fork. The expression on her face froze completely. I leaned closer to the table and maintained my composure. “Now, please help me understand; how can two separate people on two different trips get the same illness at the same time? Unless, of course, those trips aren’t actually that ‘separate’…” “Leyla, not here,” Levent said, letting out a heavy breath.
“Please, let’s not do this in front of everyone.” I took out my phone and slowly placed it on the table. I unlocked the screen and pushed the phone towards my parents. My mother blinked when she saw the photos, her mouth agape in surprise. I had sent those photos to my own phone that night while sitting alone in the laundry room. Uncle Kemal took the phone. His jaw locked. Levent looked at the screen over Uncle Kemal’s shoulder and shouted, “Put that down! This is private life!” “You cheated on me,” I said in a voice that didn’t tremble.
“You put our children in danger and you lied to my face while I was looking at you.” Kader stood up, her eyes already filled with tears. “We didn’t want it to be like this, Leyla,” she said. My mother whispered, “I can’t believe it. I think you should go, Kader.” “Mom, please…” Kader began. “No, my daughter. Look inside yourself. And this isn’t the place for that,” my mother said.
Kader left the room as if fleeing, and Levent tried to follow her. “Yes, you should go too,” I said. “I’ll let you know where to send the divorce papers.” My stepfather roared: “If you ever go near Leyla or the babies again, you’ll find me standing against you, Levent. Understand?” Levent froze. He looked around, as if expecting someone to defend him. No one did.
And he just walked away. The silence he left behind was like the first breath of fresh air in weeks. The next morning, I cleaned the house thoroughly and finally brought the twins down to the living room. Even they seemed more peaceful since Levent left. But since yesterday, Levent had been bombarding my phone with messages.
He was begging to come back, attributing everything to work stress, the tension created by two newborn babies, and the burden of looking after the house alone while I was on leave. He wanted a second chance. I sent him only one reply: “You put our children’s lives at risk, Levent. Everything you did is unforgivable.
“Don’t contact me again unless it’s through your lawyer.” Here’s what you need to understand: Sometimes, the thing that almost destroys you—that lie, that betrayal, that virus—is actually what ultimately sets you free. Levent brought the virus home, but in the end, it turned out I was the one who needed to recover from this illness.
