MY BOYFRIEND HAD A SECOND PHONE TUCKED INSIDE HIS WORK BOOT
I kicked his muddy work boots near the door after a long day of work, that’s when I saw it. I picked one up to move it aside, but the weight felt wrong, too heavy somehow. Something hard was stuffed deep inside near the toe, hidden beneath the worn insole. I pulled out a cheap, beat-up flip phone, old but charged.
My hands started shaking uncontrollably as I held it; the cold, hard plastic felt slick against my suddenly damp skin. He walked into the hallway, saw the phone in my hand, and his face just drained of all color. “What is that?” I managed to whisper, my voice barely there.
He mumbled something about it being old, just for work emergencies, but I was already flipping through the messages on the screen. They were all recent, all from a single unsaved number. Every text just said cryptic things like “Meetup?” or “Almost there. Same spot?”
I scrolled down further, my heart hammering against my ribs. The last message sent tonight, just an hour ago, read: “Got it. See you in 10.” He stammered, “Look, it’s not what you think,” but the faint smell of cheap motel air freshener clung to his jacket collar.
Then my own phone started vibrating on the table, displaying that exact same unsaved number.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…**Full story continued…*
I stared at my vibrating phone screen, the same unsaved number flashing there. My boyfriend lunged forward, grabbing for it, but I snatched it away just in time, my hand shaking so hard I nearly dropped it. His eyes were wide with panic, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Don’t answer that!” he choked out, his voice hoarse.
I ignored him, pressing the ‘answer’ button with a trembling finger. I lifted the phone to my ear, the silence stretching for a second before a woman’s voice, unfamiliar and slightly impatient, spoke.
“Took you long enough,” she said, a hint of annoyance in her tone. “Everything go okay? Did you get it?”
My breath hitched. “Who… who is this?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end. Then, a sharp intake of breath. “Wait… this isn’t… is this *her*?” The woman’s voice was suddenly laced with something I couldn’t quite identify – surprise, maybe fear?
Before I could respond, my boyfriend ripped the phone from my grasp. “Give it back!” he yelled, backing away from me, pressing the phone to his own ear. “Hello? Listen, this isn’t a good time…”
I watched him, frozen, the pieces slamming together in my mind. The hidden phone, the cryptic texts, the smell of motel air freshener, the woman on the phone asking if he “got it”…
His face was pale and drawn as he listened, his eyes darting between the phone and me. He mumbled apologies, pleaded, promised he’d call her back. Finally, he hung up, the silence in the hallway deafening.
He stood there, phone in hand, avoiding my gaze. Tears were streaming down my face now, hot and heavy. “Who was that?” I asked, my voice broken. “What did you ‘get’? What is ‘it’?”
He finally looked at me, his eyes filled with misery. “I…” he started, then stopped, seemingly unable to form the words.
“Tell me the truth,” I demanded, my voice gaining strength despite the tears. “Right now. The phone, the texts, her… the motel smell…”
He crumpled slightly, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, okay,” he sighed, defeated. “It’s… it’s complicated.”
“It doesn’t sound complicated,” I said, gesturing towards the hidden phone still in my hand. “It looks exactly like what I think it is.”
He swallowed hard. “Look, that phone… it’s how we communicate.”
“How *who* communicates?” I pushed.
He finally confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. The woman was someone he’d met a few months ago. The hidden phone was their secret line of communication, the cryptic texts coordinating their meetings. The “Got it. See you in 10” wasn’t about drugs or anything illegal in that sense, but about acquiring something specific she wanted, something he was helping her get discreetly. He didn’t elaborate on *what* ‘it’ was, just that it was the reason for the late-night meetups and the use of the hidden phone. The cheap motel wasn’t where they spent the night, but a pre-arranged spot near where he’d gotten ‘it’ and where they’d met briefly before he came home. She had called *me* because, in his panic earlier, he’d accidentally given her *my* number from his regular phone instead of his hidden one when arranging the final pickup details.
He stood there, breathless, waiting for my reaction. My heart ached with a pain so sharp it felt physical. It wasn’t exactly cheating in the traditional sense – he claimed it wasn’t romantic or sexual, but a secretive transaction and connection he’d developed with someone else, built on lies and deception. But the betrayal felt just as deep. The hidden phone, the lies, the secret life he was leading – it shattered everything I thought I knew about him and our relationship.
I looked at the cheap flip phone in my hand, then at his pleading face. The weight of it all settled upon me. There was no going back from this.
“Get your boots,” I said, my voice cold and steady. “And get out.”