June 12
I was polishing the dust from my study when the rag brushed a stack of papers on the edge of the desk. The sheets fluttered to the floor and I muttered under my breath as I knelt to gather them. Something metallic glinted beneath the armchair a small black rectangle. I slipped it out and stared at the cheap-looking smartphone in a scuffed case.
Its odd, I whispered, turning it over in my hands.
My brandnew iPhone is always either snug in the jacket pocket or perched on the nightstand. This device, however, was clearly older, cheaper, and utterly unfamiliar. I pressed the power button; the lock screen lit up, displaying the time and date without asking for a passcode. My pulse quickened, a knot tightening in my throat.
For twentythree years of marriage Emily and I have weathered arguments, misunderstandings, bouts of mistrust, and moments of deep affection. I have never imagined a second phone would ever surface. I never considered myself a jealous husband; I trusted Emily, took pride in our life together, and never felt the need to question her. Yet now this black box sat on the floor, heavy with the threat of hidden truths.
Twentythree years, two daughters Is it all for nothing? I thought, while my fingers automatically scrolled through the menu. No photos. Only a handful of contacts numbers listed by initials. Then a conversation with A.S. caught my eye.
19:00 tonight, as usual? James wrote three days ago.
Yes, Ill be waiting, came the brief reply.
Two days later:
Thanks for yesterday. As always, you were brilliant.
Im glad you liked it. Can we meet tomorrow?
Will try, cant promise. Emilys reply hinted at suspicion.
My eyes widened. Suspecting? I hadnt even entertained such a thought. A hot mix of hurt, anger, and disappointment surged through me. How could twentythree years of trust unravel so quickly?
The front door burst open. Emily had come home early from work. Panic drove me to slip the phone into the pocket of my dressing gown and pretend I was still tidying up.
Emily, where are you? James called from the hallway.
In the study, putting things straight, I answered, trying to sound normal.
James entered, tall and still looking younger than his fifty years, his navy suit crisp as ever. Hed always turned heads; Id once taken pride in that, but now a chill ran down my spine.
How was your day? I asked, wiping the bookshelf.
Fine, he loosened his tie and sighed. Just a demanding client three hours of his nonsense.
I wanted to ask, Which client? A.S.? but held my tongue.
Why are you up so early? I probed, studying his face for any sign of deceit.
Missed you, he said, wrapping his arms around me from behind. His cologne mixed with a faint scent of old cigarettes a habit hed supposedly quit five years ago. It made my stomach knot tighter.
Im heading for a shower, James kissed my cheek and left.
Alone, I sank onto the sofa. Should I start a scene now? Follow him? Or simply confront him? The phone in my pocket pressed against me like a weight. I pulled it out again, scrolling through messages. Nothing explicit, no love notes or compromising photos. Yet the mere existence of this second device spoke volumes.
Evening passed in strained tension. We ate together, watched a drama, talked about the girls. Harriet, our eldest, lives in Manchester with her husband and a twoyearold son. Blythe is finishing university. James behaved as usual jokes about work, asks after my day. Nothing hinted at the secret.
At ten he disappeared for a shower. I grabbed his formal jacket from the wardrobe and checked the pockets nothing. The briefcase was also empty. Just as I was about to give up, I spotted a small card in the side pocket: a business card for Anna Saunders Guitar Tutor with a phone number. Could this be the A.S. from the messages?
The water stopped. I hastily returned everything to its place and slipped back into bed, feigning sleep while my heart hammered as if it might wake James.
Morning found me staring at his sleeping face, the man Id loved for so long now looking strangely distant. How could he do this? What had he lacked 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.
Whats with the question 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 comforting, felt suddenly scorching.
Dont you ever want something someone else? I asked.
He frowned.
Whats going on, Emily? Youve been odd since yesterday.
I just need an answer.
I need nothing else but you, your children, our life, he replied firmly. Dont let foolish ideas creep in.
His words sounded genuine, yet I no longer knew what to trust. The second phone, the card for Anna Saunders all stared back at me.
Go, youll be late, I managed a weak smile and turned away.
Later, after James left, I pulled the foreign phone from my gown pocket again, opened the messages, and typed the name from the card into the search bar. Anna Saunders turned out to be a guitar teacher with a private studio. Her social profile showed a cheerful woman in her forties with bright red hair and a fit figure.
So thats who A.S. is, I thought, bitterness rising.
I called my longtime friend Nina at the local pub.
Can you believe it? I found Jamess second phone, I said, voice trembling.
What? Seriously? What did you see?
I recounted the messages, the card, the redhaired tutor.
Nina, what should I do? I asked.
Maybe talk to him, she suggested gently. Better than spiralling into suspicion.
Her advice only deepened my confusion. Part of me wanted a blowup, another part feared destroying what wed built. Could there be any innocent explanation for a secret phone?
That evening James returned with a bouquet of my favourite lilies.
Whats this for? I asked, feeling the flowers might be a token of guilt.
Just thought youd like them, he smiled, planting a kiss on my cheek. Youve seemed down lately.
I forced a smile, but it fell flat.
Dinner turned into another round of small talk, the hidden phone humming in my gown pocket like a pulse. Finally, I could bear it no more.
James, what would you say if I got a second phone and hid it from you? I asked, my voice low.
He swallowed his wine.
What do you mean?
I mean a secret phone for secret conversations.
He frowned.
Id ask why you needed it and who you were talking to.
I swallowed.
And if I said it wasnt your business?
Then Id suspect somethings off, he said, setting down his fork. Why the questions, Emily?
I stood, fetched the black phone from the sofa, and placed it on the table.
I found this in your study, under the chair, I said. Read the messages from Anna Saunders, and I found her card in your jacket.
His face went pale, then a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes.
So thats where it was! he exclaimed, tapping his forehead. Ive been looking for it everywhere!
What? Thats all you have to say? My voice trembled. Twentythree years, James! How could you?
He stared at the phone, then at me, bewildered.
I dont… I know! I shouted, thrusting the card at him. Evening meetings, secret texts, Emily suspects that redhaired tutor! How long has this been going on?
He burst into a laugh, loud and genuine, tears streaming down his cheeks. I froze, shocked by his reaction.
Sorry, he sobbed, wiping his eyes. Emily, love, its not what you think.
What then? I asked, arms crossed.
Sit down, Ill explain. Promise not to interrupt.
Reluctantly I pulled a chair.
Remember last year when I turned fifty? he began. You kept asking what I wanted as a present, and I kept shrugging it off
I nodded.
Ive always dreamed of playing the guitar. Its a childish wish I never pursued. I finally signed up for lessons with a private tutor Anna Saunders. Shes a guitar teacher; the massage thing was just a hobby she mentioned. I bought a cheap second phone so I could keep lesson times and messages hidden, fearing youd think I was up to something else. I wanted to surprise you for our upcoming anniversary learn your favourite song and play it for you.
A guitar teacher? I echoed, still doubtful.
Yes, a teacher. The youre suspecting something messages were me trying to cover my tracks when I was running late for lessons, he admitted. The all as usual note was about the lessons themselves.
I stared at him, unsure whether to believe or not.
Prove it, I demanded.
He sighed, walked to the wardrobe, and returned with an old guitar case. Inside lay a modest acoustic guitar, tucked away among winter coats.
He set it on the table, strummed a few shaky chords, and sang, in a hoarse but earnest voice, the song we both loved Everything About You. He was far from perfect, stumbling over chords, but the effort was clear.
Tears welled in my eyes, a mixture of shame and relief.
Im sorry, I whispered as the last note faded. I let my mind run wild.
He set the guitar down, knelt beside me, and took my hand.
Its my fault, he said softly. I should have told you I was learning. I was embarrassed, thinking it was too late for me to start something so youthful.
Fool, I teased, rubbing his cheek. Id never have imagined youd be a secret guitarist.
He laughed, a little embarrassed. Now, no more hidden phones, alright?
Only if you keep practicing, I replied, smiling through the tears.
We stayed up late, him showing me his tentative progress, me listening and occasionally teasing. The phone, now harmless, lay forgotten on the nightstand.
Later, lying in bed, I said, Its amazing that after all these years you can still surprise me.
He pulled me close. I hope I can keep doing that.
The next morning I called Nina.
Can you believe it? It wasnt what I thought at all, I said, relief evident.
Wow, a guitar lesson? At your age? Thats adorable! Nina laughed. You two need to talk more about your dreams, not just the daily grind.
Ive realised we never really discuss our secret wishes, I admitted. Just the chores, the kids, the work. Maybe we should make space for those little hopes.
Sounds like a plan, she replied. And maybe surprise each other more often.
That evening James returned to find a modest candlelit dinner set on the table, a small gift box beside his plate.
Whats this? he asked.
Open it, I said, a twinkle in my eye.
Inside lay a guitar pick engraved with For my personal musician and two notes: one for a piano lesson for me, the other booking a weekend stay at a countryside B&B.
Lets dream together, I said simply.
He embraced me, and we stood there, feeling as though we were rediscovering each other after years of routine. There are still many years ahead, and I now know theres plenty of room for new discoveries and surprises.
Lesson: Even after decades together, honesty about our hidden hopes is essential; keeping secrets only builds walls, while sharing dreams keeps the heart young.
