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Husband Discovers the Second Phone
“Youre late again, Emily! Third time this week!” Victor tossed the newspaper onto the coffee table with a huff. “Ive been waiting two hours for dinner!”
“There were queues at the shop,” Emily hurriedly unloaded groceries onto the kitchen counter. “Besides, you couldve cooked something yourself. Its not like your arms wouldve fallen off.”
“Its not about the dinner,” Victor stepped closer, fixing her with a hard stare. “Its about you always disappearing. Work delays, shopping queues, sudden catch-ups with friends. And now your phones switched off? I called you three times.”
Emily sighed, her shoulders sagging.
“Ran out of battery, probably. You know how rubbish the old one isbarely holds a charge anymore.”
Victor watched as she neatly arranged groceries in the fridge. Fifteen years of marriage had sharpened his eye for detailthe slight tension in her movements, the evasive glances, the too-careful words. Something was off, and that “something” had been gnawing at him for months.
“Fish fingers or bangers and mash?” Emily asked, as if nothing was amiss.
“Whatever,” Victor grumbled, retreating to the living room.
He turned on the telly, but his mind was miles away from the news. There was a time when Emily rushed home to meet him after work. Theyd chatter over dinner, share updates, plan weekends. Now? Now there was an invisible wall between them.
Half an hour later, dinner was served. They ate in silence, exchanging only the usual pleasantries about the weather and rising petrol prices.
“Mum rang today,” Emily finally broke the quiet. “Asked if were coming to the cottage this weekend.”
“Whatd you say?”
“That we probably would. You dont mind, do you?”
Victor shrugged. “Why not? Been ages since we got out of London.”
After dinner, Emily vanished into the bathroom while Victor cleared the table. Her handbag sat on the kitchen chaira bulky thing with too many pockets. He hadnt meant to snoop, but as he moved her purse to the hallway shelf (an old habit), something clattered onto the counter.
A phone. But not her battered old smartphonethis was brand new, sleek and black.
Victor froze, staring at the device. A second phone. His wife had a secret phone.
Dazed, he sank into a chair, turning it over in his hands. Flashes of memory surfacedEmily stepping away to take calls, her odd habit of carrying her bag everywhere, even to the balcony, the unexplained absences.
The screen was dark, locked. He didnt try guessing the passcode. Instead, he slipped it back where hed found it.
When Emily returned, Victor was staring blankly at the telly.
“You alright?” she asked, eyeing him.
“Just knackered,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.
That night, sleep wouldnt come. Beside him, Emily breathed softly while his mind spiralled. Why did she need a second phone? Only one answer made sense, and it shattered him. An affair. Secret calls, messages, meetings Could fifteen years really end like this?
The next morning, he studied her as they prepped for work. Same as everbrewing tea, buttering toast, packing her bag.
“Late again tonight?” he asked, forcing casualness.
“Doubt it,” she said. “But Ill call if I am.”
*Which phone will you use?* he almost asked.
At the office, he couldnt focus. All he saw was Emily whispering into that hidden phone. Who to? About what? A colleague joked he looked like hed just caught his wife cheating. Victor forced a laugh, unaware how close to the mark it was.
By lunch, he cracked. He rang his old mate Paul, a private investigator.
“Listen, mate, weird situation,” Victor began over pints at a pub near his office. “Found a second phone in Emilys bag. One shes never mentioned.”
Paul nodded knowingly. “Think shes having an affair?”
“What else am I supposed to think?” Victor scoffed bitterly. “Why hide a phone if theres nothing dodgy on it?”
“Dont jump to conclusions,” Paul took a sip. “Get the facts first. I could help, but you dont want to hire a PI to tail your own wife, do you?”
Victor shook his head. “No, thats too far. Ill handle it.”
“Then just ask her,” Paul shrugged. “Honestys usually the best policy.”
But Victor wasnt ready. What if his suspicions were true? What thenforgive, divorce, split assets, start over at forty-three?
Returning home early, he found Emily still out. He checked her wardrobe, pockets, handbagsnothing suspicious except that second phone, which shed taken with her.
He waited. At seven, the key turned in the lock.
“Youre home already?” Emily blinked. “Everything alright?”
“We need to talk,” Victor said grimly.
She stiffened. “About what?”
“Your second phone. I found it yesterday when I cleared the table. It fell out of your bag.”
Emily paled, sinking into a chair. “Oh.”
“Thats it?” Victors temper flared. “Fifteen years, and youWho is he? How longs this been going on?”
“What on earth are you on about?”
“Your bloody lover!” Victor nearly shouted. “Why else have a secret phone? Planning a coup with the PM?”
To his shock, Emily didnt deny it. She just sat there, staring at her hands, then slowly pulled the black phone from her bag.
“See for yourself,” she said quietly. “Passcodes our wedding date.”
Victor hesitated, then typed it in. He expected texts from a secret lover, incriminating photosproof. Instead, he found a drawing app, nature photos, and one saved contact: “Bloomsbury Press.”
“Whats this?”
Emily took a deep breath. “Its my work phone. Well, my hobby-turned-side-hustle phone.”
“What hobby?”
“I write books, Vic,” she said softly. “Childrens stories. Three years now. Started as a whim, then I sent some to publishers. Six months ago, one bit.”
Victor gaped. “Youre a writer? And you hid this from me?”
“I thought youd laugh,” she admitted. “Remember how you mocked my uni poetry? Pretentious drivel, I think you called it. And later I didnt want to jinx it. Thought Id tell you once the first book was out.”
Victor flushed, recalling that cruel jab years ago.
“So all those delays?”
“Library research. Café writing sessions,” she nodded. “The separate phones for the publisher and notes. Didnt want work calls interrupting. Plus, the drawing appsI sketch illustrations too.”
Victor scrolled, finding drafts, character sketches, editor emails.
“Why not tell me?”
“First, I feared ridicule. Then, failure. When it worked out I wanted to surprise you,” Emily smiled faintly. “Books out in two months. Planned to give you the first copy on our anniversary.”
Victor was silent, his jealousy crumbling into shame. His wife wasnt cheatingshe was writing childrens books.
“Can I read one?”
She blinked. “Seriously?”
“Course,” he scooted closer. “Need to see what talent Ive been missing.”
After a pause, she opened a file and handed it over.
“Its about a little hedgehog afraid of the dark,” she said shyly.
Victor read, and with each line, his smile grew. The story was tender, clevereverything a childrens book should be.
“This is brilliant,” he said sincerely. “Youre amazing, Em.”
“Really?” She searched his face. “Not just saying it?”
“I swear,” he took her hand. “Im proud of you. And so sorry I thought you know.”
“That I was cheating?” She gave a wry laugh. “Fifteen years, never jealousuntil now.”
“Forgive me,” he kissed her hand. “I was a prat.”
“We both messed up,” she sighed. “I shouldve told you instead of all the secrecy.”
They talked for hours. Emily showed him stories, sketches, dreams. And Victor listened, stunned by how little hed known about the woman hed married.
“Yknow,” he said later, “Im almost glad I found that phone. Feels like Im meeting you all over again.”
“Me too,” she smiled. “No more sneaking off to cafés. Can write at home now.”
“On one condition,” he pulled her close. “I get to read your stories first. Before any editors.”
“Deal,” she laughed. “But no pretentious drivel, yeah?”
“Promise,” he grinned. “Only honest, constructive criticism.”
That night, Victor lay awake, humbled by how close hed come to wrecking everything over baseless suspicion. Beside him, Emily slepthis wife, far more remarkable than hed ever realised. He vowed then to pay more attention, to cherish her dreams as much as his own.
Two months later, on their anniversary, Emily gifted him the first copy of her booka vibrant collection of stories with hand-drawn illustrations. Inside the cover, shed written:
*”To Vicmy harshest critic and dearest love. Thank you for believing in me.”*
And it was the best story hed ever read.
