I FOUND HIS SECOND PHONE CHARGING BEHIND THE DUSTY DRESSER
My hand brushed against something hard and cold plugged into the wall behind the dusty dresser I hadn’t cleaned in months. I pulled it out, blinking in the dim light, and realized it was a cell phone, one I’d never seen before, charging hidden away. I tried his usual password just on a hunch, and the screen lit up, revealing a flood of messages from a name that appeared repeatedly at the top. My stomach instantly dropped into a frozen knot.
I scrolled through them rapidly, heart hammering against my ribs, seeing dates stretching back over a year. There were plans being made, inside jokes, even blurry photos from a weekend I thought he was away for work. A hot, sickening wave rushed up my neck and face, staining my cheeks.
He walked into the bedroom then, buttoning his shirt, and I just stood there by the dresser, holding the glowing screen in my trembling hand. He stopped dead, his face draining of color as his eyes fixated on the device. “What… what is that?” he stammered, taking a step backward. I couldn’t even form words, just shoved the phone at him, tears starting to blur my vision.
He snatched it defensively, fumbling with it before clutching it behind his back. “It’s nothing, just an old work phone,” he mumbled quickly, avoiding my gaze, the sickeningly sweet smell of his cheap aftershave suddenly suffocating in the small room. I knew, with a certainty that burned, that it was everything.
Then the phone screen lit up again with a name I didn’t recognize at all.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*”An old work phone?” I finally managed, my voice cracking. “For over a year? With this many personal messages? And blurry photos from your ‘business trip’ to Chicago?”
He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. “Okay, look,” he began, his voice taking on a pleading tone. “It’s… complicated.”
“Complicated?” I echoed, my voice rising in disbelief. “Is that what we’re calling it now? A secret phone, hidden away, filled with messages to… to who, exactly? Who is ‘Sarah’?”
He hesitated, then sighed, the fight seemingly draining out of him. “Sarah is… someone I met at a conference last year,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “We… we connected. I know it was wrong.”
The confession hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. The pain felt like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. “Connected?” I repeated, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. “So, all this time… all the promises… were lies?”
The phone screen flickered again, illuminating the name “Olivia” in bold letters. This time, I snatched the phone back, ignoring his protests. My thumb hovered over the name, and I pressed it, putting the call on speaker.
After a few agonizing seconds, a woman’s voice answered, bright and cheerful. “Hey, babe! I was just thinking about you. You still coming to the lake this weekend?”
I looked up at him, his face now a mask of horror. I held his gaze, the silence amplifying the woman’s question hanging in the air. Finally, I spoke, my voice cold and steady. “You should probably ask him yourself.” I tossed the phone on the bed and walked out of the room, and out of his life.