Jessica was dusting her husband’s study when her cloth knocked over a stack of papers on the edge of the desk. The sheets scattered across the floor, and she muttered under her breath as she gathered them up. Something glinted beneath the armchair—a small black object. She reached down and pulled out a smartphone in a worn-out case.
“Odd,” she murmured, turning the phone in her hands.
James’s brand-new iPhone was always either in his jacket pocket or on his bedside table. This one was clearly cheaper, simpler, and… unfamiliar. She pressed the button—the screen lit up, showing the time and date. No password. Her heart tightened, and a lump rose in her throat.
She sank slowly into the chair, eyes fixed on the device. In twenty-three years of marriage, they’d had their ups and downs—arguments, grudges, mistrust. But a second phone? Jess had never considered herself the jealous type. She trusted James, took pride in their marriage. And now she was terrified to unlock this black box of potentially devastating secrets.
“Twenty-three years, two daughters… Was it all for nothing?” The thoughts spun in her head as her fingers flicked through the menu. No photos. Just a handful of contacts—unnamed numbers, labeled only with initials. And the messages… She froze at the sight of a chat with someone saved as “E.W.”
“Tonight at 7, as usual?” James had written three days ago.
“Yes, waiting,” came the short reply.
Two days later:
“Thanks for last night. Perfect, as always.” His message.
“Glad you liked it. Tomorrow?”
“I’ll try, but no promises. Jess is getting suspicious.”
Her vision blurred. Her? Suspicious? Until this moment, she hadn’t even entertained the idea! A burning mix of hurt, anger, and disappointment flooded her chest. Twenty-three years of trust—just like that?
The front door clicked shut downstairs. James was home early. Panicked, she stuffed the phone into the pocket of her dressing gown and snatched up the duster, pretending to still be cleaning.
“Jess, love, where are you?” His voice carried from the hallway.
“In the study, tidying up,” she called back, forcing her tone steady.
James appeared in the doorway—tall, fit, in his usual crisp suit. At fifty, he looked younger than his peers and still turned heads. She used to take pride in that. Now, it sent a chill through her.
“How was your day?” she asked, dusting a bookshelf with unnecessary vigor.
“Fine. Just tired—dealt with a fussy client all afternoon.”
“Which client?” she wanted to ask—”E.W.?”—but bit her tongue.
“You’re home early,” she said instead, turning to study his face for any hint of deceit.
“Missed you.” He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her from behind, nuzzling into her neck. He smelled of his usual cologne, but with a faint hint of cigarettes—even though he’d quit five years ago. The scent made her tense.
“I’m off for a shower,” he said, kissing her cheek before leaving.
Alone, Jess slumped onto the sofa. What now? Confront him? Follow him? Or just ask outright? The weight of the strange phone burned in her pocket. She pulled it out and reopened the messages. Nothing explicit, no love confessions or intimate photos. But the secrecy alone said enough.
Dinner was agonizing. They ate together, watched TV, talked about their daughters—Emily, married with a toddler, and Sophie, finishing university. James acted perfectly normal—joking, discussing work, asking about her day. Nothing suspicious… if she didn’t know about the phone.
At ten, he went to shower, and she made her move. Rifling through his jacket, she found nothing. His briefcase was empty too. Just as she gave up, she spotted a small card in the inner pocket—a business card for “Eve Wilson,” with a phone number. E.W. from the messages?
The shower stopped. Jess hurriedly put everything back and slipped into bed, feigning sleep. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he’d hear.
Morning came early. She watched him sleep, his familiar face suddenly foreign. How could he do this? What had she—what had they—lacked all these years?
Over breakfast, she cracked.
“James… are you happy with me?” she asked, stirring sugar into her tea.
He frowned. “Where’s this coming from?”
“Just answer.”
“Of course I’m happy,” he said, covering her hand with his. “Twenty-three years, Jess.”
His touch, once warm, now burned.
“Do you… want something else? Someone else?”
His frown deepened. “What’s going on? You’ve been off since last night.”
“Just answer.”
“I don’t want anyone else,” he said firmly. “You’re my wife, the mother of my girls, my rock. What’s gotten into you?”
His words sounded sincere, but Jess didn’t know what to believe. The second phone weighed heavy in her dressing gown. Eve Wilson’s card haunted her.
“Go on, you’ll be late,” she said, forcing a weak smile.
Once he left, she took out the phone and checked the messages again. She searched Eve Wilson online—a physiotherapist with a private practice. Social media showed a pretty woman in her forties with striking red hair.
“So this is E.W.,” she thought bitterly.
At lunch, she called her best friend, Lucy.
“Found a second phone in James’s study,” she blurted, voice shaking.
“What? Seriously?” Lucy gasped. “What’s on it?”
Jess spilled everything—the texts, the card, the redheaded physio.
“Oh, Jess… I’m so sorry. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Twenty-three years… I thought we were happy.”
“Maybe it’s not what it seems?” Lucy offered gently. “Talk to him.”
“And say what? ‘I snooped and found your secret phone’?”
“Better than torturing yourself.”
The call left her more confused. Part of her wanted to scream, to unleash the hurt. The other part feared destroying what they’d built. Maybe there was an explanation? But what explanation could a secret phone possibly have?
That evening, James came home with her favorite lilies.
“What’s this for?” she asked, stomach twisting. Guilt flowers?
“Just felt like surprising you,” he said, kissing her cheek. “You’ve seemed down lately.”
“Have I?” She forced a smile.
Dinner was small talk, but the phone in her pocket pulsed like a ticking bomb. Finally, she broke.
“James, what would you say if I… had a second phone? One I hid from you?”
He choked on his wine.
“What?”
“Exactly that—a secret phone. For private calls and texts.”
His brow furrowed. “I’d ask why. And who you were talking to.”
“What if I said it wasn’t your business?”
“Then I’d assume something was wrong,” he said, setting down his fork. “Jess, what’s this about?”
Silently, she stood, fetched the black phone, and placed it before him.
“I found this in your study. Under the chair. I saw the messages from E.W. And I found Eve Wilson’s card in your jacket.”
James’s face went slack. He stared at the phone, then at her—his expression pure disbelief.
“So that’s where it went!” He slapped his forehead. “I’ve been tearing the house apart!”
“That’s all you have to say?” Her voice shook. “Twenty-three years, James! How could you?”
“What?” He looked baffled. “Wait—you think—”
“I don’t think, I know!” She flung the card at him. “Secret meetings, texts about me suspecting things! That redheaded physio—how long has this been going on?”
Suddenly, James burst out laughing. Loud, genuine, tears-in-his-eyes laughter. Jess froze. No part of her expected this.
“God, I’m sorry,” he wheezed, wiping his eyes. “Jess, love, it’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it?” she snapped.
“Sit. I’ll explain, just… promise not to interrupt.”
Reluctantly, she sat.
“Remember last year, when I turned fifty?” he began. “You kept asking what I wanted as a gift, and I dodged it…”
She nodded.
“Truth is, I had this… silly, boyhood dream. Always wanted to learn guitar.”
“Guitar?” she echoed, skeptical.
“Yeah. Never got round to it. Then I thought—half a century old, time to finally do it. Signed up for private lessons with Eve Wilson. She’s not a physio—well, she is, but she also teaches music. The physio stuff is her side gig.”
“But the secret phone?”
“It was for the surprise,” he admitted sheepishly. “For our anniversary next month. I’ve been taking lessons twice a week, got this cheap phone so you wouldn’They sat at the kitchen table until dawn, James playing the hesitant chords of her favorite song, and Jessica realized that love—even after so many years—still had room for surprises.
