Emily Harper was dusting the study when her cloth brushed a stack of papers on the edge of the desk. The sheets fluttered to the floor, and she muttered a curse as she knelt to gather them. Under the chair something glinted a small black object. She reached in and pulled out a smartphone in a worn leather case.
Odd, she murmured, turning the phone over in her hands.
Simon Clarkes brandnew iPhone was always either snug in his jacket pocket or perched on the nightstand. This one was plainly cheaper, simpler, and unmistakably unfamiliar. She pressed the power button the screen lit up, showing the time and date, no password needed. Emilys heart tightened, a lump forming in her throat.
She sank slowly into the armchair, eyes fixed on the device. Twentythree years of marriage had brought arguments, grudges, distrust everything a long partnership can hold. Yet a second phone? Emily had never considered herself a jealous wife. She trusted Simon, took pride in their life together. Now the black rectangle seemed to pulse with hidden, potentially destructive secrets.
Twentythree years, two daughters all for nothing? the thought swirled as her fingers thumbed through the menu. No photos, only a handful of contacts numbers reduced to digits and initials. Then a conversation with the label A.S. caught her breath.
7p.m. today, as usual? Simon had written three days earlier.
Sure, Ill be waiting, came a terse reply.
Two days later:
Thanks for yesterday. As always, topnotch. a message from Simon.
Glad you liked it. Can you do tomorrow? Emilys answer.
Ill try, no promises, Simon typed. Emily, somethings nagging me.
Emilys vision darkened. She, nagging? She had never even entertained such a doubt. A scorching mix of hurt, anger, and disappointment roiled inside her. Twentythree years of trust, and this could dissolve with a single swipe?
The front door slammed shut. Simon had come home from work earlier than usual. In a panic Emily slipped the phone into the pocket of her housecoat and, grabbing the dustcloth, pretended to continue cleaning.
Emily, where are you? Simons voice echoed from the hallway.
In the study, tidying up, she called, trying to sound normal.
Simon appeared in the doorway tall, trim, in a crisp suit. At fifty he looked younger than his peers and still turned heads. Emily had once taken pride in that, now she felt a chill of fear.
How was your day? she asked, polishing a bookshelf.
Fine, he said, loosening his tie. Just a demanding client that ate three hours of my time.
What client? A.S.? Emily wanted to ask, but swallowed the words.
Whatre you up early for? she turned to him, searching his face for any sign of deceit.
I missed you, he said, slipping his arms around her from behind, his nose brushing her neck. The familiar scent of his aftershave mixed with a faint trace of cigarettes even though hed quit five years ago pricked her nostrils.
Im off to the shower, Simon kissed her cheek and left.
Alone, Emily sank onto the sofa. What now? Throw a tantrum? Follow him? Or just ask straight out? The foreign phone weighed heavy in her coat pocket. She fished it out and opened the messages again. Nothing explicit, no love notes or intimate photos. Yet the mere existence of a second phone spoke volumes.
The evening stretched in tense anticipation. They dined together, watched a series, talked about the girls. The elder, Grace, lived in Bristol with her husband and a twoyearold son. The younger, Olivia, was finishing university. Simon behaved as usual sharing work anecdotes, joking, asking about her day. Nothing suspicious, if one ignored the secret device.
At ten oclock he slipped into the bathroom for a shower, and Emily seized the moment. She retrieved his formal blazer from the wardrobe and examined every pocket. Empty. She opened his briefcase also empty. As she was about to give up, a slim card slipped from the blazers side pocket: a business card for Anna Stevens with a phone number. A.S., the name from the messages?
The bathroom water ceased. Emily hurriedly replaced everything, slipped back into bed, and pretended to sleep. Her heart hammered so loudly she imagined Simon could hear it.
Morning found her awake before Simon, watching his sleeping face. Familiar, beloved, suddenly foreign. How could he have hidden this? What had he been missing all these years?
At breakfast she could no longer hold back.
Simon, are you happy with me? she asked, stirring sugar into her tea.
He raised an eyebrow, surprised.
Why such a question first thing?
Just answer, she pressed.
Of course I am, he said, covering her hand with his. Twentythree years together, after all.
His touch, once warm, now felt like a brand.
Dont you ever want something someone else?
Simon frowned.
Whats going on, Emily? Youre odd since last night.
Just answer.
I dont need anyone else, he said firmly. Youre my wife, the mother of my children, my rock. What nonsense is this?
His words sounded sincere, yet Emily no longer knew what to trust. The second phone burned a hole in the coat pocket that hung in the closet. Anna Stevenss card stared back at her.
Go on, youll be late, she tried to smile, but it came crooked.
When Simon left, Emily pulled the foreign phone again, opened the messages, and typed the name from the card into a search engine. Anna Stevens turned out to be a private guitar teacher, not a masseuse. Her socialmedia profile showed a kindly woman in her forties with bright auburn hair and a slender build.
So thats who A.S. is, Emily whispered, bitterness rising in her throat.
At lunch she called her longtime friend, Nina.
Guess what? I found Simons second phone, Emily said, voice trembling as soon as Nina answered.
No way! Whats on it?
Emily recounted the messages, the card, the auburnhaired teacher.
Oh, Emily Im sorry, Nina sighed. What are you going to do?
I dont know, Emily admitted, the words breaking. Twentythree years I thought we were fine.
Maybe its not that simple, Nina suggested gently. Talk to him.
And say what? Ive been spying and found a secret phone?
Better than living in doubt.
After the call Emily felt even more tangled. Part of her wanted to explode, let the hurt spill out. Another part feared tearing apart the life theyd built. Could there be any reasonable explanation for a hidden phone?
That evening Simon returned with a bouquet of lilies her favourite.
Whats this for? Emily asked, the flowers feeling like a guiltladen token.
Just because I wanted to cheer you up, he said, smiling, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Youve seemed a bit down lately.
Really? she tried to smile, but it sounded hollow.
During dinner the phone in the coat pocket seemed to pulse, a silent reminder. Finally Emily could bear it no longer.
Simon, what would you say if I got a second phone and kept it hidden from you?
Simon 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.
Emily swallowed.
What if I said its none of your business?
Then Id suspect somethings off, he said, setting down his fork. Why the questions, Emily?
She rose silently, went to the bedroom, returned with the black phone in hand.
I found this in your study, under the chair, she placed it on the table. Read the messages from a certain A.S. and the card from Anna Stevens in your blazer.
Simons face stretched. He stared at the phone, then at Emily, his eyes wide with surprise?
So thats where it was! he exclaimed, tapping his forehead. Ive been looking everywhere!
Thats all you can say? Emilys voice quivered. Twentythree years, Simon! How could you?
What? he stammered, bewildered. Wait, you think
I dont think, I know! she snapped, throwing the card at him. Evening meetings, secret texts, Emily, somethings nagging me! That auburnhaired teacher how long has this been going on?
Simon burst into a loud, genuine laugh, tears streaming down his cheeks. Emily froze, shocked not the reaction shed imagined.
Sorry, he sobbed, wiping his eyes. Emily, love, its not what you think.
What then? she crossed her arms, eyes narrowed.
Sit down, Ill explain everything, he said, pulling a chair close. Just promise not to interrupt.
Reluctantly she sat.
Remember last year when I turned fifty? Simon began. You kept asking what I wanted as a gift, and I kept saying nothing.
She nodded.
Ive had a foolish, boyish dream for years Ive always wanted to learn the guitar.
The guitar? Emily repeated, skeptical.
Yes. Since I was a kid, but never found the time. So I finally signed up for lessons with a private teacher. Thats Anna Stevens. Shes a guitarist; massage is just a hobby of hers.
But why the secret phone? Emily pressed.
Because I wanted to surprise you on our anniversary next month. I took lessons twice a week, bought a cheap phone so you wouldnt see the lesson times or messages. I wanted to learn your favourite song and play it for you on the day.
And the Emily, somethings nagging me?
That was me, worrying youd notice I was staying late. And as always, topnotch was me talking about the lessons. Anna said I was progressing well for a beginner.
Emily stared, torn between belief and disbelief. The story felt absurd, like a fever dream.
Prove it, she demanded.
Simon sighed, disappeared into the study, and returned with a guitar case hidden behind winter coats. He pulled out a modest acoustic guitar, perched on a stool, and fumblingly played a few chords. Then, in a cracked but earnest voice, he sang her favourite ballad, Everything About You. He missed notes, tangled strings, but the effort was unmistakable.
Emily covered her face with her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks now from embarrassment and relief.
Forgive me, she whispered as he finished. I let my imagination run wild.
Simon set the guitar aside and knelt before her.
No, you forgive me. I never meant to hurt you. I thought it would be a cute surprise, a bit of romance it turned into a nightmare.
Why didnt you tell me you wanted to learn the guitar?
Its embarrassing at my age to start something so childish, he shrugged. I thought youd laugh.
You fool, Emily said, rubbing his cheek. Id never have objected.
Now I know, he replied, kissing her hand. Should I keep the lessons, or is my greying head too much of a joke?
Keep them, she smiled through tears. Just no more secret phones.
They lingered in the kitchen late into the night, Simon showing off his shaky chords, recounting his nervousness about being caught. Emily laughed and cried, apologising repeatedly for her suspicions.
You know, she said as they finally lay in bed, its amazing you can still surprise me after all these years.
I hope I can keep doing that, he murmured, pulling her close.
The next morning Emily called Nina.
Can you believe it? It wasnt what I thought at all, she said, relief bright in her voice.
No way! He actually wanted to learn the guitar? Thats adorable!
Exactly! And I realised we hardly ever talk about our secret wishes. Its all work, kids, the daily grind
Sounds like you both need more surprises.
That evening Simon returned to find a candlelit dinner set on the table, a small box beside his plate.
Whats this? he asked, eyebrows raised.
Open it, Emily said, a mysterious smile playing on her lips.
Inside lay a guitar pick engraved with For my personal musician and two notes: one for piano lessons shed secretly signed herself up for, the other a reservation for a weekend retreat in the Cotswolds.
Lets dream together, she whispered.
Simon wrapped his arms around her, and they stood there for a long, lingering moment, as if rediscovering each other after a long sleep. Ahead lay many more years, and now Emily knew there was still plenty of room for new dreams and unexpected gifts.
