Her family was going through a difficult time.One evening, she came to me, her voice hesitant but hopeful.
"Bruna needs a place to stay for a while. Just until things calm down at home."
I agreed without thinking twice. It felt like the right thing to do — help her family, support the woman I loved.
Bruna was eighteen, quiet but confident, with the kind of youthful energy that filled every room she entered.At first, it was normal — polite conversations, shared dinners, the routine of three people learning to live under the same roof.
But as weeks passed, things subtly changed.My wife started going out more with her friends — harmless nights out that I didn't question.And I, buried in work and study, began spending more evenings at home.
That's how it started — small moments that didn't seem important at first.Bruna would wait up until I came home, offer me dinner, chat about her classes, her dreams, her frustrations.She was kind. Easy to talk to. Familiar.
Little by little, a strange comfort grew between us — the kind that blurs the line between what's right and what's dangerously close to wrong.
One night, my wife went out again. It was late — around half past ten — when I got home.Bruna greeted me with a smile, already setting the table.There was something different in her eyes that night, something unspoken.
We talked like always, but the air felt heavier.A glance lasted too long. A laugh lingered too close.For the first time, I saw her not as my wife's sister, but as a woman — and I hated myself for it.
Later, as I went to shower, the sound of the door opening behind me froze me in place.I turned — and she was there, looking at me with a mixture of innocence and boldness.
"Do you think I'm beautiful?" she asked quietly.
Time seemed to stop.It wasn't attraction. It was confusion. A moment where loneliness, temptation, and weakness collided.I wish I could say I walked away. But I didn't.
The next moments blurred into something I would regret for the rest of my life.
When it was over, guilt hit harder than anything I'd ever felt.I sat there for a long time, unable to look at her, unable to look at myself.I had betrayed the person who had given me everything — love, trust, a home.
The next few days were unbearable.The house felt colder, quieter. Every time our eyes met, there was a shadow of shame between us.After a week, Bruna packed her things and went back to her parents' house.
And though nothing was ever said, I knew that the silence between us would haunt me forever.