I was dusting the study when the rag I was using brushed against a stack of papers on the edge of the desk. The sheets fluttered to the floor and, cursing under my breath, I started picking them up. Something glinted under the chair a small black object. I reached down and pulled out a smartphone in a worn case.
Odd, I muttered, turning the phone over in my hands.
Jamess brandnew iPhone was always either tucked into the pocket of his jacket or set on the nightstand. This one looked cheaper, simpler, and utterly unfamiliar. I pressed the power button the screen lit up, showing the time and date, no lock. My heart sank and a lump rose in my throat.
I sank slowly back into the chair, eyes never leaving the device. Twentythree years of marriage had seen its share of arguments, hurts, and doubts, but a second phone? Id never thought of myself as a jealous wife. I trusted James, was proud of our life together. Now the black box felt like a Pandoras chest full of potentially ruinous secrets.
Twentythree years, two daughters could it all be for nothing? the thought ran through my mind as my fingers automatically scrolled through the menu. No photos, just a handful of contacts numbers listed only by digits and initials. And messages I froze when I saw a conversation with the contact O.C.
Tonight at seven, as usual? James had written three days ago.
Yes, Ill be there, a short reply.
Two days later:
Thanks for yesterday. As always, topnotch. a message from James.
Glad you liked it. Can you make it tomorrow? my reply.
Ill try, but I cant promise. James wrote.
Something feels off, I thought.
My eyes went dark. Me? Suspicious? Id never even entertained the idea. A burning mix of hurt, anger, and disappointment flooded my chest. Twentythree years of trust, and this?
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 and, grabbing the rag, pretended to continue cleaning.
Emily, where are you? Jamess voice called from the hallway.
In the study, tidying up, I replied, trying to sound normal.
James appeared in the doorway tall, fit, in a crisp suit. At fifty he looked younger than his peers and still caught strangers eyes. Id once been proud of that; now a cold shiver ran down my spine.
How was your day? I asked, wiping the bookcase.
Fine, he loosened his tie and stretched. Just tired. A client was a real nightmare, three hours just on him.
Which client? O.C.? I wanted to ask, but held my tongue.
Whats with you up early? I turned to him, trying to read any sign of deception on his familiar face.
Missed you, he said, coming around behind me and wrapping his arms around my neck. He smelled of his usual aftershave with a faint hint of cigarette, even though hed quit five years ago. The scent pricked me unpleasantly.
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 out? The phones weight pressed against my robe pocket. I fished it out and opened the messages again. Nothing explicit, no love notes or intimate photos. Yet the mere existence of a second phone said a lot.
The evening dragged on in a painful tension. We ate together, watched a series, talked about the girls. The older, Charlotte, lived in Manchester with her husband and a twoyearold son. The younger, Grace, was finishing university. James behaved as usual chatting about work, cracking jokes, asking about my day. Nothing seemed off, if you didnt know about the hidden phone.
At ten he went to the shower, and I decided to act. I pulled his smart blazer from the wardrobe and checked the pockets empty. Then the briefcase also empty. I was about to give up when I spotted a tiny card in the jackets side pocket. A business card for Olivia Clarke with a phone number. O.C. from the messages?
The water stopped. I hurried everything back into place, slipped under the covers, and pretended to be asleep. My heart hammered so loudly I thought James would hear it.
In the morning I woke before him, staring at his sleeping face. Familiar, beloved, suddenly foreign. How could he do this? What had 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 ask that first thing?
Just answer, I pressed.
Of course I am, he said, covering my hand with his. Twentythree years together, after all.
His touch, once warm, now felt like a burn.
Dont you ever want something else? Someone else?
He frowned.
Emily, whats happening? Youve been strange since last night.
Just answer.
I dont need anyone else. Youre my wife, the mother of my children, my rock. What nonsense is this?
His words sounded sincere, but I didnt know what to trust any more. The second phone still burned in my robe pocket, the Olivia Clarke card lay before my eyes.
Dont be late, I managed a crooked smile as he left.
When he was gone, I pulled the foreign phone out again and opened the messages. I typed the name from the card into my computer. Olivia Clarke turned out to be a private guitar teacher, not a masseuse as Id imagined. Her socialmedia profile showed a smiling woman in her forties with bright auburn hair and a fit figure.
So thats who she is, I muttered, bitterness rising.
At lunch I called my longtime friend Helen.
Can you believe it? I found Jamess second phone, I said, voice shaking as soon as she picked up.
What? Seriously? What did you find?
I told her about the messages, the card, the auburnhaired teacher.
Oh, Emily Im sorry, Helen sighed. What are you going to do?
I dont know, I admitted. Twentythree years I thought we were fine.
Maybe it isnt that simple, she suggested gently. Talk to him.
And say what? Ive been spying and found a secret phone?
Its better than living with doubts, Helen replied.
After talking to Helen I was even more tangled. Part of me wanted a blowup, to pour out all the hurt. Another part feared destroying everything wed built. Could there be an explanation? What could a secret phone possibly explain?
That evening James returned with a bouquet of my favourite lilies.
Whats this for? I asked, feeling the flowers press against my throat, like a guiltladen gift.
Just wanted to cheer you up, he smiled, kissing my cheek. Youve seemed down lately.
Really? I tried to smile, but it fell flat.
During dinner the hidden phone seemed to pulse in my mind. Finally I could take it no longer.
James, what would you say if I got a second phone and kept it from you?
He choked on his wine.
In what sense?
In the literal sense. A secret phone for secret chats.
He frowned.
Id ask why you needed it and who you were talking to.
I swallowed.
And if I said it wasnt your business?
Id suspect somethings wrong, he said, setting down his fork. Why the questions, Emily?
I stood, went to the bedroom, and returned with the black phone.
I found this in your study, under the chair, I placed it on the table. Read the messages from some O.C. and the card for Olivia Clarke in your jacket.
Jamess face went pale. He stared at the phone, then at me, and his eyes showed surprise?
So thats where it is! he exclaimed, slapping his forehead. I searched everywhere!
Thats all you can say? My voice trembled. Twentythree years, James! How could you?
What? he stammered. Wait, you think
I dont think, I know! I thrust the card at him. Evening meetings, secret texts, Emily suspects something! That auburnhaired teacher how long has this been going on?
James suddenly burst into laughter, a loud, genuine laugh that brought tears to his eyes. I stood frozen, not expecting that reaction.
Sorry, he wiped the tears away. Emily, love, it isnt what you think.
What then? I crossed my arms.
Sit down, Ill explain, he pulled a chair close. Just promise not to interrupt.
Reluctantly I sat.
Remember last year when I turned fifty? James began. You kept asking what I wanted as a gift, and I kept saying nothing.
I nodded.
Ive had a silly, childish dream for years Ive always wanted to learn the guitar.
The guitar? I asked, doubtful.
Yes. Since I was a lad, but never got the chance. So I finally signed up for lessons with a private tutor. Thats Olivia Clarke. Shes a guitar teacher; massage is just a hobby of hers.
But why the secret phone? I still didnt believe him.
Because I wanted to surprise you for our upcoming anniversary. I took lessons twice a week and bought a cheap phone so you wouldnt stumble on the messages or the schedule. I wanted to learn your favourite song and play it on the day.
And you wrote Emily suspects something?
That was because you kept asking why I was staying late. I was afraid youd spoil the surprise. And as always, topnotch was about the lessons. Olivia said I was progressing well for a beginner.
I stared at James, unsure whether to trust him. The story sounded absurd, but the guitar was there.
Prove it, I demanded.
He sighed, left the study, and returned with a guitar case.
I kept it in the back of the wardrobe, only taking it out when you werent home, he explained, pulling out an acoustic guitar and sitting on a chair. He managed a few shaky chords, then sang, in his rough but earnest voice, the song we both loved, Everything That Concerns You. He was far from perfect, stumbling over chords, but it was clear hed been practicing.
Tears welled up, then fell, a mix of embarrassment and relief.
Forgive me, I whispered when he finished. I let my mind run away.
James set the guitar down and knelt before me.
No, youre the one who should apologise. I never meant to hurt you. I thought it would be a fun surprise, a bit of romance it turned into a mess.
Why didnt you tell me you wanted to learn the guitar?
I was ashamed, he shrugged. At my age, doing something so kidlike felt foolish. I thought youd laugh.
You fool, I said, rubbing his cheek. I would never
Now I know, he said, kissing my hand. Should I keep the lessons or is my greying head enough embarrassment?
Keep going, I smiled through my tears. Just no more secret phones.
We stayed at the kitchen table until late, James showing off his modest progress, recounting the nervousness of keeping the lessons hidden. I laughed and we kept apologising to each other for the misunderstandings.
You know, I said later, lying in bed, its amazing you can still surprise me after all these years.
I hope its always like that, he pulled me close.
The next morning I called Helen again.
Can you believe it? Everything turned out different, I said, relief in my voice.
No way! A normal explanation?
You wouldnt guess hes learning guitar at his age. Its sweet.
Helen laughed. Thats adorable! You two really need to talk more about your dreams. All the daily grind, the kids, the work
Seems we need more surprises for each other, I agreed.
That evening James came 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 with a mischievous grin.
Inside lay a guitar pick engraved For my personal musician and two notes: one for piano lessons for me, the other a reservation for a weekend stay at a country inn.
Lets dream together, I said simply.
James wrapped his arms around me, and we stood there for a long while, feeling as if we were rediscovering each other after a long separation. Ahead lay many more years, and now I knew there was still plenty of room for new discoveries and surprises.
