Emily Turner was dusting the study when her rag brushed against a stack of papers perched on the edge of the desk. The sheets fluttered to the floor, and she muttered curses as she bent to collect them. Something gleamed beneath the leather armchair a small, black object. She reached in and pulled out a smartphone in a worn case.
Odd, she whispered, turning the device over in her hands.
James Whitakers brandnew iPhone was always tucked into the pocket of his blazer or left on the nightstand. This one looked cheaper, simpler, and utterly unfamiliar. She pressed the power button the screen lit up, displaying the time and date without a password. Emilys heart tightened, a lump forming in her throat.
She sank slowly into the chair, eyes glued to the screen. Twentythree years of marriage had seen arguments, hurts, and doubts, but a second phone? Emily had never liked to label herself jealous. She trusted James, took pride in their life together. Now a black box hinted at secrets that could shatter everything.
Twentythree years, two daughters could it all have been a lie? she thought, her fingers flicking through the menu. No photos, just a handful of contacts numbers reduced to digits and initials. Then a conversation with A.S. caught her breath.
7pm tonight, as usual? James had typed three days earlier.
Yes, Ill be waiting, she replied.
Two days later:
Thanks for yesterday. As always, it was brilliant. James.
Glad you liked it. Can you make it tomorrow? Emily.
Ill try, but I cant promise, James typed, followed by a cryptic Emily suspects something.
Emilys eyes went dark. Suspects? She had never even allowed the thought to surface. A burning blend of hurt, anger, and disappointment swirled in her chest. Twentythree years of trust, crumbling like a house of cards.
The front door slammed open. James had come home early from work. In a panic, Emily slipped the phone into the pocket of her housecoat, grabbed the rag, and pretended to continue cleaning.
Emily, where are you? James called from the hallway.
In the study, tidying up, she replied, forcing a normal tone.
James entered tall, fit, in a sharp suit. At fifty he looked younger than his peers and still turned heads. Emily had once taken pride in that; now a chill of fear ran down her spine.
How was your day? she asked, polishing the bookshelf.
Fine, he loosened his tie, stretching. Just exhausted. A client was a nightmare, three hours of that.
What client? A.S.? she wanted to ask, but held back.
What are you doing up so early? he probed, eyes scanning her face for any sign of deceit.
Just missed you, he said, wrapping his arms around her from behind, his scent a mix of aftershave and the faint ghost of cigarettes hed quit five years ago. The smell pricked her nostrils.
Im heading to the shower, James kissed her cheek and slipped out.
Alone, Emily sank onto the sofa. Should she explode now? Follow him? Or simply confront him? The phone in her coat pocket pressed heavily against her side. She fished it out and opened the messages again. Nothing explicit no love notes, no intimate photos. Yet the mere existence of a second phone spoke volumes.
Evening passed in a taut silence. They dined together, watched a series, chatted about the girls. The elder, Charlotte, lived in Manchester with her husband and a twoyearold son. The younger, Olivia, was finishing university. James behaved as usual jokes about work, questions about her day. Nothing seemed out of place, if one ignored the hidden phone.
At ten oclock he went to the bathroom for a shower, and Emily seized the moment. She rummaged through his polished blazer, searching pockets empty. She opened his briefcase also empty. Then, in a side pocket of the blazer, she discovered a small card: a business card for Ava Sinclair, 02079461234. Ava Sinclair the A.S. from the messages?
The water stopped. Emily hastily returned everything to its place, slipped back into bed, and pretended to be asleep. Her heart hammered as if James might hear it through the walls.
Morning arrived before James stirred. She stared at his sleeping face familiar, beloved, now suddenly strange. How could he do this? What had he been missing all these years?
At breakfast she could no longer hold back.
James, are you happy with me? she asked, stirring sugar into her tea.
He raised an eyebrow, surprised.
From where do these questions come? he asked.
Just answer, she pressed.
Of course I am, he replied, laying his hand over hers. Twentythree years together, after all.
His touch, once warm, now felt like a brand.
Dont you ever wish for something someone else? she pressed.
James frowned.
Emily, whats happening? Youve been 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, but Emily no longer knew what to trust. The second phone still burned against her coat pocket, the card for Ava Sinclair staring back at her.
Go, youll be late, she muttered, trying a crooked smile.
When James left, Emily pulled the mysterious phone again and opened the messages. She typed the name from the card into a search engine. Ava Sinclair turned out to be a freelance guitar teacher, not a masseuse as shed imagined. A photo showed a friendly woman in her forties with bright auburn hair and a fit silhouette.
So thats who she is, Emily whispered, bitterness rising in her throat.
Later, she called her longtime friend Nina Blake.
Can you believe it? I found Jamess second phone, Emily said, voice trembling as soon as Nina answered.
What? Are you serious? Nina gasped. Whats on it?
Emily recounted the messages, the card, the auburnhaired teacher.
Oh, Emily Nina sighed. Im sorry. What are you going to do?
I dont know, Emilys voice wavered. Twentythree years I thought we were fine.
Maybe it isnt that blackandwhite, Nina suggested gently. Talk to him.
And what do I say? I spied on you and found a secret phone?
Better than drowning in guesses, Nina replied.
After the call, Emily felt more tangled. Part of her wanted a fullblown argument, to unleash all the pain. Another part feared tearing apart the life theyd built. Could a second, hidden phone have any innocent explanation?
That evening James returned with a bouquet of lilies Emilys favourite.
Whats this for? she asked, feeling the flowers compress like guilt.
Just thought Id cheer you up, he smiled, planting a kiss on her cheek. Youve seemed a bit down lately.
Really? she forced a smile, but it fell flat.
During dinner the concealed phone in her coat pocket seemed to pulse, a silent reminder. Finally, Emily could hold back no longer.
James, what would you say if I got a second phone and hid it from you? she blurted.
James choked on his wine.
In what sense? he asked.
Literally. A secret phone 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 off, he said, setting down his fork. Why the questions, Emily?
She rose, went to the bedroom, and returned with the black phone in hand.
I found this in your study, under the armchair, she said, placing it on the table. Read the messages from someone called A.S., and I found Ava Sinclairs card in your blazer.
Jamess face stretched. He stared at the device, then at Emily, his eyes widening in surprise.
So thats where it was all along! he exclaimed, slapping his forehead. Ive been looking for it!
This is all you have to say? Emilys voice trembled. Twentythree years, James! How could you?
What? he looked bewildered. Wait, you think
I dont think, I know! she shouted, thrusting the card at him. Evening meetings, secret texts, Emily suspects something! That auburnhaired teacher How long has this been going on?
James burst into a loud, incredulous laugh, tears spilling down his cheeks. Emily froze, stunned by the unexpected reaction.
Sorry, he sniffed, wiping his eyes. Emily, love, it isnt what you think.
What then? she asked, arms crossed.
Sit down, Ill explain, he said, pulling a chair close. Just promise not to interrupt.
Emily hesitated, then sat.
Remember last year when I turned fifty? James began. You kept asking what I wanted for my birthday, and I kept shrugging it off
She nodded.
Ive had a silly, boyish dream for ages Ive always wanted to learn the guitar, he confessed.
The guitar? Emily asked, doubtful.
Yes. Since I was a lad, but never found the time. I finally signed up for lessons with a private tutor. Thats Ava Sinclair. Shes a guitar teacher; massage is just a hobby of hers.
But why a secret phone? Emily pressed.
Because I wanted it to be a surprise, he said sheepishly. Our anniversary is next month. I booked lessons twice a week, bought this cheap phone so you wouldnt stumble on the schedule or messages. I wanted to learn your favourite song and play it for you.
Emily stared, unsure whether to believe him. The story sounded absurd, yet something in his tone felt genuine.
Prove it, she demanded.
James sighed, left the room, and returned with a guitar case hed hidden behind winter coats. He pulled out an acoustic guitar, set it on the chair, and fumbled through a few chords. Then, in a hoarse but earnest voice, he sang Emilys favourite song, Everything About You. He hit wrong notes, stumbled over the changes, but the effort was clear.
Emily covered her face, tears streaming down, a mix of shame and relief.
Forgive me, she whispered as the last chord faded. I let my imagination run wild.
James set the guitar down, knelt, and took her hand.
Its you who should apologize, he said, kissing her knuckle. I never meant to hurt you. I thought it would be a funny surprise, a bit of romance and it turned into a mess.
Why didnt you tell me you wanted to learn the guitar? she asked.
It felt foolish at my age, he shrugged. I thought youd laugh.
Fool, she chuckled, brushing his cheek. Id have loved it.
Then keep the lessons going, he suggested, grinning. No more secret phones, I promise.
Only if you keep the guitar, Emily replied, smiling through tears.
They stayed at the kitchen table until the night grew deep, James showing off his shaky progress, Emily laughing and apologising for her suspicions. Eventually they moved to the bedroom, collapsing onto the duvet.
Isnt it amazing, Emily said, that after all these years you can still surprise me?
I hope it never stops, James murmured, pulling her close.
The next morning Emily called Nina again.
You wont believe how it turned out, she said, relief bright in her voice.
No way! He was learning guitar? Nina laughed. Thats adorable!
Exactly! And it made me realise we hardly ever talk about our dreams, our secret wishes. Its all work, kids, chores
Sounds like you both need more surprises, Nina replied.
That evening James arrived home to find a candlelit dinner set 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 shed signed up for herself, the other a booking for a weekend stay at a country inn.
Lets dream together, she whispered.
James embraced her without a word, and they stood there, as if rediscovering each other after a long, strange night. Ahead lay many more years, now filled with room for new discoveries and quiet, unexpected gifts.
