Emily was dusting the study when her rag brushed against a stack of papers on the edge of the desk. The loose sheets fluttered to the floor, and she cursed under her breath while gathering them up. Something glinted beneath the chair a small, black object. She reached in and pulled out a smartphone in a worn case.
Odd, she murmured, turning the phone over in her hands.
Jamess new iPhone was always either in his jacket pocket or on the nightstand. This one was clearly cheaper, simpler, and utterly unfamiliar. She pressed the power button the screen lit up, showing the time and date, no password required. Emilys heart tightened, a knot forming in her throat.
She sank slowly into the armchair, eyes never leaving the device. Twentythree years of marriage had brought fights, hurt, and doubt, but never a second phone. Emily had never considered herself a jealous wife; she trusted James, took pride in their life together. Now a black box held the promise of ruin.
Twentythree years, two daughters could it all be for nothing? she thought, thumb scrolling through the menu. No photos, only a handful of contacts numbers reduced to digits and initials. Then a conversation with A.S. caught her breath.
19:00 today, as usual? James had texted three days earlier.
Yes, Ill be waiting, shed replied.
Two days later:
Thanks for yesterday. As always, you were brilliant. James.
Glad you liked it. Can you do tomorrow? Emily.
Ill try, but I cant promise, James wrote, followed by Emily, I think youre onto something.
Emilys eyes went dark. She had never even entertained suspicion. A searing mix of betrayal, anger, and disappointment flooded her. Twentythree years of trust, undone in an instant.
The front door slammed open. James was home early from work. Panicked, Emily slipped the phone into the pocket of her housecoat and grabbed the rag, pretending to continue cleaning.
Emily, where are you? Jamess voice echoed from the hallway.
In the study, sorting things out, she called, forcing a normal tone.
James stepped in tall, fit, in a sharp suit. At fifty he still looked younger than his peers, still turning heads. Emily had once been proud of that, now a cold dread settled over her.
How was your day? she asked, wiping a bookshelf.
Fine, he loosened his tie, stretching. Just a tough client, three hours of his nonsense.
Which client? A.S.? she wanted to ask but held back.
Whats with you, up early? he pressed, trying to read her.
I missed you, he said, slipping his arms around her from behind, his cologne mixing with a faint whiff of stale cigarettes hed quit five years ago a scent that pricked her.
Im off to shower, James kissed her cheek and left.
Alone, Emily dropped onto the sofa. What now? Start a scene? Follow him? Or just confront him? The phone in her coat pocket pressed hard. She pulled it out, reopened the messages. Nothing explicit, no love notes or intimate photos. Yet the existence of a second phone spoke volumes.
The evening stretched in strained tension. They ate together, watched a series, talked about the girls. Olivia lived in Manchester with her husband and a twoyearold son; Grace was finishing university. James behaved normally, chatting about work, cracking jokes, asking about Emilys day. Nothing out of the ordinary, if you ignored the hidden phone.
At ten he vanished for a shower, and Emily seized the moment. She rummaged through his formal jacket in the wardrobe, checking every pocket empty. The briefcase was also barren. She was about to give up when a small card slipped from the jackets side pocket: a business card for Alison Spencer with a phone number. A.S. at last.
The bathrooms water hissed to a stop. Emily hurried everything back, slipped under the covers, pretending to sleep. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure James could hear it.
Morning found her awake before him, watching his sleeping face familiar, beloved, suddenly alien. How could he do this? What had he lacked all these years?
At breakfast she could hold back no longer.
James, are you happy with me? she asked, stirring sugar into her tea.
He raised an eyebrow, surprised.
Why ask that now?
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?
James frowned.
Emily, whats happening? Youve been off since yesterday.
I need an answer.
I dont want anyone else. Youre my wife, the mother of my children, my rock. What nonsense is this?
His words sounded sincere, but Emily no longer knew what to trust. The second phone still burned a hole in her coat pocket. Alisons card lay before her eyes.
Go on, youll be late, she tried to smile, but it came out crooked.
When James left, she retrieved the foreign phone and opened the messages again. She typed the name from the card into her laptop. Alison Spencer was a freelance guitarist, her social profile showing a fairhaired woman in her forties, slender and smiling.
So thats who A.S. is, Emily muttered, bitterness rising.
At lunch she called her longtime friend Claire.
Can you believe it? I found Jamess second phone, Emilys voice trembled as Claire answered.
What? Seriously? What did you see?
Emily recounted the texts, the card, the guitarist.
Oh, Em Im sorry. What will you do?
I dont know. I thought we were fine after twentythree years.
Maybe talk to him? Claire suggested gently. Its better than guessing.
Should I say, Ive been spying and found a hidden phone? Emily asked, voice cracking.
Better than living with doubt.
After the call Emily felt even more tangled. Part of her wanted a blowup, to unleash all the hurt. Part of her feared destroying a life built over decades. Could there be a simple explanation? What could justify a secret phone?
That evening James returned with a bouquet of lilies, his favourite flowers.
Whats this for? Emily asked, feeling the petals compress like guilt.
Just thought Id brighten your day, he smiled, kissing her cheek. Youve seemed down lately.
Really? she forced a smile that didnt reach her eyes.
Dinner continued with small talk, while the phone in her coat pocket seemed to pulse, a silent reminder. Finally she could bear it no more.
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 device for secret talks.
He frowned.
Id ask why you needed it and who you were talking to.
Emily swallowed.
And if I said it wasnt your business?
Then Id suspect somethings wrong, he said, setting down his fork. Why the questions, Em?
She stood, went to the bedroom, and returned with the black phone, placing it on the table.
I found this in your study, under the chair, she said, voice trembling. Read the messages from a certain A.S., and I found Alison Spencers card in your jacket.
Jamess face went blank, then his eyes widened in surprise.
So thats where it was! he exclaimed, slapping his forehead. I searched for it everywhere!
This is all you have to say? Emilys voice shook. Twentythree years, James! How could you?
What? he stammered, looking lost. You think?
I know! she snapped, thrusting the card at him. Evening meetings, secret texts, Emily, I think youre onto something! That redhaired guitarist how long has this been going on?
James burst into a fullblown laugh, tears spilling onto his cheeks. Emily froze, shocked by his reaction.
Sorry, he sniffed, wiping away laughter. Emily, love, its not what you think.
What then? she demanded, crossing her arms.
Sit down, Ill explain, he said, pulling a chair close. Just promise not to interrupt.
Reluctantly she sat.
Remember last year, when I turned fifty? James began. You kept asking what I wanted as a gift, and I kept saying nothing.
She nodded.
Ive had a foolish dream for ages I wanted to learn to play the guitar.
Guitar? Emily said, skeptical.
Yes. Since I was a boy, but I never got the chance. So I finally signed up for lessons with a private teacher. Thats Alison Spencer. Shes a guitarist; massage is just her hobby.
But why the secret phone? Emily asked, still doubtful.
Because I wanted to surprise you for our anniversary next month. I took lessons twice a week, bought a cheap phone so you wouldnt see the messages or my schedule. I wanted to learn your favourite song and play it for you.
And the text Emily, I think youre onto something?
That was me, worried youd notice I was staying late. All as usual was about the lessons. Alison said I was a good beginner.
Emily stared at James, unsure what to believe. The story sounded absurd, yet the guitar in his hands proved hed been practising.
Show me, she said quietly.
James sighed, disappeared into the study, and returned with a guitar case hidden among winter coats. He pulled out an acoustic guitar, sat on the chair, and fumbled through a few chords. Then, in a hoarse but earnest voice, he sang her favourite tune, Everything About You. He was far from perfect, stumbling over chords, but the effort was real.
Emily covered her face with her hands, tears streaming down, a mix of shame and relief.
Im sorry, she whispered as the song ended. I let my imagination run wild.
James set the guitar down, knelt before her.
Its me who should apologise, he said, pressing a kiss to her palm. I didnt want to disappoint you, so I tried to make it a secret surprise. I was embarrassed, thought Id look foolish learning something new at my age.
You fool, Emily said, brushing his cheek. Id never have guessed
Now I know, he replied, smiling. Should I keep the lessons or is my embarrassment enough?
Keep them, she said through tears, but no more hidden phones.
They stayed at the kitchen table until late, James showing off his modest progress, confessing his nerves about being caught. Emily laughed and wept, apologising for the accusations.
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, James whispered, pulling her close.
The next morning Emily called Claire.
Can you believe it? Everything was different from what I thought, she said, relief in her voice.
Dont tell me! A guitar lesson? At his age? Thats adorable!
Exactly! It made me realise how little we talk about our own dreams. Its all work, kids, routine
Sounds like you both need more surprises.
That evening James returned to find a candlelit dinner on the table and a small box beside his plate.
Whats this? he asked, bewildered.
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 for herself, the other a reservation at a countryside hotel for the weekend.
Lets dream together, she said simply.
James held her, and they stood that long, feeling as if they were discovering each other anew after decades. Ahead lay many more years, and now Emily knew there was still room for new hopes and unexpected gifts.
