14September2025
I was dusting the study when my cleaning cloth brushed against a stack of papers on the edge of the desk. The sheets fluttered to the floor, and I muttered a curse as I bent to gather them. Something glinted beneath the armchair a small black object. I reached in and pulled out a phone in a scuffed case.
Odd, I muttered, turning it over in my hands.
Jamess brandnew iPhone is always either in the pocket of his suit jacket or on the nightstand. This one looked cheaper, simpler, and unmistakably unfamiliar. I pressed the power button; the screen lit up, showing the time and date, no password required. My heart sank and a knot formed in my throat.
I sank slowly into the armchair, eyes glued to the device. Twentythree years of marriage have brought arguments, hurt feelings, and moments of mistrust, but I never imagined a second phone. I have never considered myself a jealous wife; I trust James, Im proud of our life together. Yet now the black rectangle seemed like a Pandoras box of possible ruin.
Twentythree years, two daughters all for nothing? the thought ran through my mind as my fingers instinctively swiped through the menu. No photos, just a handful of contacts numbers listed only with initials. And a conversation with someone called A.S. caught my eye.
Tonight at 7, as usual? James wrote three days ago.
Yes, Ill be there, I replied briefly.
Two days later:
Thanks for yesterday. Everything was spot on, as always. his message.
Glad you liked it. Can we meet tomorrow? I answered.
Ill try, but I cant promise, James replied, hinting that I was suspecting something.
A cold wave washed over my eyes. I was suspecting? Until this moment I had never even allowed that thought. A burning mix of hurt, anger and disappointment flooded me. Twentythree years of trust, and it could unravel over a cheap piece of plastic?
The front door slammed shut. James had come home from work earlier than usual. In a panic I slipped the phone into the pocket of my bathrobe, grabbed the cloth, and pretended to continue cleaning.
Emily, where are you? Jamess voice called from the hallway.
In the study, tidying up, I answered, trying to sound normal.
James entered tall, fit, in a crisp suit. At fifty he still looked younger than his peers and certainly still turned heads. I had once taken pride in that, but now a chill settled over me.
How was your day? I asked, while polishing the bookshelf.
Fine, he said, loosening his tie. Just a long day with a demanding client three hours wasted on him.
Which client? A.S.? I wanted to ask, but held my tongue.
What are you up to so early? he asked, looking at me as if he could read my thoughts.
Missing you, he said, stepping behind me and wrapping his arms around my neck. The familiar scent of his aftershave mixed with a faint trace of cigarettes hed quit five years ago hit me sharply.
Im off to the shower, James kissed my cheek and left.
Alone, I dropped onto the sofa. What now? Throw a fit? Follow him? Or just ask straight away? The phone in my robe pocket pressed heavily against my side. I pulled it out and read the messages again. Nothing explicit, no love notes or intimate photos. Yet the mere existence of that second phone spoke volumes.
The evening stretched in tense silence. We dined together, watched a drama, talked about the girls. Sarah, the elder, lives in Bristol with her husband and twoyearold son. Lucy, the younger, is finishing her degree. James behaved as usual chatting about work, cracking jokes, asking about my day. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, if one ignored the hidden phone.
At ten oclock he headed to the shower, and I decided to act. I took his classic navy blazer from the wardrobe and emptied its pockets nothing. I opened his briefcase also empty. Just as I was about to give up, I felt a thin card in the inner pocket of the blazer: a business card for Alison Reed, 07700123456. A.S. from the messages?
The sound of water ceased. I hurriedly put everything back, slipped into bed, and pretended to be asleep. My heart hammered so loudly I thought James might hear it.
I woke before him the next morning, watching his sleeping face familiar, beloved, now suddenly strange. How could he do this? What had he been missing all these years?
At breakfast I could no longer hold back.
James, are you happy with me? I asked, stirring sugar into my tea.
He raised an eyebrow, surprised.
Why such a question first thing?
Just answer, I pressed.
Of course Im happy, he said, laying his hand over mine. Twentythree years together, after all.
His touch, once warm, now felt like a brand.
Dont you ever want something someone else?
James frowned.
Emily, whats happening? Youve been odd since last night.
I just want an answer.
I dont need anyone else. Youre my wife, the mother of my children, my rock. What nonsense is this?
His words sounded sincere, yet I didnt know what to believe. The second phone still burned in my robe pocket, and Alisons card lay before my eyes.
Go, youll be late, I tried to smile, but it came out crooked.
When James left, I took the foreign phone again and opened the messages. I typed the name from the card into a search engine. Alison Reed turned out to be a private guitar tutor. Her profile showed a friendly woman in her forties with bright auburn hair and a fit figure.
So thats who A.S. is, a bitterness rose in my throat.
At lunch I called my old friend Nina.
Can you believe it? I found Jamess second phone, I said, voice trembling as soon as she answered.
What? Seriously? Whats on it?
I explained the messages, the card, the auburnhaired tutor.
Oh, Em thats rough. What are you going to do?
I dont know. Twentythree years I thought we were fine.
Maybe it isnt that blackandwhite, Nina suggested gently. Talk to him.
What do I say? Ive been spying on you and found a secret phone?
Better than living in limbo.
After talking to Nina I felt even more tangled. Part of me wanted a blowup, to let all the hurt out. Part of me feared destroying what wed built over decades. Could there be a reasonable explanation? What could a hidden phone possibly indicate?
That evening James came home with a bouquet of my favourite lilies.
Whats this for? I asked, feeling the flowers were an admission of guilt.
Just because I wanted to make you smile, he replied, kissing my cheek. Youve seemed down lately.
Really? I tried to smile, but it fell flat.
During dinner the phone in my robe pocket seemed to pulse, a reminder of the secret. Finally I couldnt hold it in any longer.
James, what would you say if I got a second phone and hid it from you?
James choked on his wine.
In what sense?
Literally. A secret phone for secret chats.
He frowned.
Id ask why you need it and who youre talking to.
I swallowed.
And if I said it wasnt your business?
Id suspect somethings off, he said, putting down his fork. Why are you asking this, Emily?
I stood, went to the bedroom, and returned with the black phone.
I found this under the chair in your study, I placed it on the table. Read the messages from someone called A.S., and I found Alisons card in your blazer.
Jamess face went pale. He stared at the phone, then at me, surprise flickering in his eyes.
So thats where it is! he exclaimed, slapping his forehead. Ive been looking for it everywhere!
This is all you can say? I whispered, voice shaking. Twentythree years, James! How could you?
What? he stammered. You think
I know! I snapped, thrusting the card at him. Evening meetings, secret texts, Emily suspects something! That auburnhaired guitar teacher How long has this been going on?
James burst into a hearty laugh, genuine and almost tearful. I stood frozen, not expecting such a reaction.
Sorry, he said, wiping away tears. Emily, love, its not what you think.
What then? I crossed my arms.
Sit down, Ill explain. Just promise not to interrupt.
Reluctantly I sat.
Remember last year when I turned fifty? James began. You kept asking what I wanted for my birthday, and I kept saying nothing.
I nodded.
Ive had a childish dream for ages. Ive always wanted to learn the guitar.
The guitar? I asked, doubtful.
Yes. Since I was a lad, but I never got the chance. I finally signed up for lessons with a private tutor Alison Reed. Shes a guitar teacher; massage is just a hobby of hers.
But why the secret phone? I persisted.
Because I wanted to surprise you for our upcoming anniversary. I booked twiceaweek lessons, bought a cheap phone so you wouldnt see the messages or the schedule. I wanted to play your favourite song on the day.
You wrote Emily suspects something?
That was me reacting when you started asking why I was late. I feared youd discover the surprise early. And the everything was spot on comment was about the lessons.
His story sounded absurd, yet his eyes held a genuine, embarrassed hope.
Prove it, I demanded.
He sighed, left the room, and returned with a guitar case hidden behind the winter coats. He pulled out an acoustic guitar, sat on the chair, and fumbled through a few chords. Then, in a rough but earnest voice, he sang the song I love, All Thats Mine. He was far from perfect, stumbling over chords, but the effort was clear.
Tears welled up, a mixture of embarrassment and relief.
I’m sorry, I whispered as the last note faded. I jumped to conclusions.
James set the guitar down and knelt before me.
No, Im the one who should apologise. I didnt want to disappoint you, but I should have been honest.
Youre a fool, I said, rubbing his cheek. Id never have imagined you taking guitar lessons at our age.
Now I know, he replied, kissing my hand. Should I keep lessons, or is my grey head too much of a joke?
Keep them, I smiled through tears. Just no more secret phones.
We stayed up late in the kitchen, him showing off shaky strums, me laughing and wiping my eyes. He confessed how nervous he was, fearing Id find out before the anniversary. I laughed, admitting my own paranoia.
Honestly, I said as we finally lay in bed, its amazing you can still surprise me after so many years.
I hope I can keep doing that, he murmured, pulling me close.
The next morning I called Nina.
You wont believe it, everything turned out far less dramatic, I told her, relief in my voice.
No way! Guitar lessons? At his age? Thats adorable!
Yes, I agreed. It made me realise how little we talk about our real wishes. All work, kids, chores We need more surprises, more sharing of dreams.
She laughed. Sounds like you two need a regular dream night.
Later that day James arrived home to find a candlelit dinner on the table and a small box beside his plate.
Whats this? he asked, puzzled.
Open it, I said, a mischievous grin on my face.
Inside lay a guitar pick engraved with For my personal musician and two notes: one for piano lessons Id always wanted, the other a reservation for a weekend at a country B&B.
Lets dream together, I said simply.
James embraced me, and we stood there, feeling as if we were rediscovering each other after a long pause. Many more years lie ahead, and now I know theres still room for new discoveries and surprises.
Lesson learned: even after decades, honest communication about our hidden hopes is far better than secrecy; a little vulnerability can turn suspicion into a shared melody.
