I Found My Husband’s Secret Phone in His Closet — There Was Only One Number in the Contacts

Kristen thought that she had a normal life with a happy marriage and a happy home. But one day, while she’s organizing the closet in her room, she stumbles upon her husband’s secret phone. Why does he have another phone? And why is there only one number? As she goes on a wild goose chase, she discovers a secret that will change all of their lives…

I always thought that I had a pretty good handle on my life. At 32, I was married to my husband, Alan, and a mom to Reece, our seven-year-old son. I owned a flower shop, which was just booming with business. So, all in all, I thought that everything was good.

Alan, though, worked a lot. He was always the more driven half of our relationship and put his job first.

“If I were you, I’d be so frustrated, Kristen,” my mother said when Alan missed another family dinner at her place.

“I do get frustrated, Mom,” I admitted. “But because of his hard work, Reece is able to go to private school. As annoying as it gets when he’s away all the time, his job has provided us with opportunities.”

“Yeah, I get it,” my mom said. “But at the same time, keep an eye on him. I have a strange feeling that something is going on.”

I nodded, but I didn’t take it to heart.

I mean, Alan and I had been together for ten years, married for eight, and I figured that we had a solid foundation.

That was until the day I found the phone.

I wasn’t looking for anything suspicious. It was just a regular afternoon, and I was clearing out the closet in our bedroom. Reece was with some friends, having a movie night, and Alan was away at work.

“May as well do something with yourself, Kristen,” I told myself.

Alan’s side of the closet was an absolute mess. There were clothes crammed in haphazardly, old boxes stacked up, and shoes scattered everywhere.

“Your mother would be ashamed,” I said, rolling my eyes as I removed socks from the corner of a shelf.

But it was there that I noticed a small, battered box shoved toward the back corner of the shelf too.

Naturally, curiosity got the better of me, so I pulled it out. Inside, nestled among some old papers and random junk that only my husband would keep, was a phone.

“Whoa, I haven’t seen one of these in forever,” I said.

It was ancient, probably from about 15 years ago, with a cracked screen and a worn-out casing. But it looked like it had been used recently because it was on, and there was no dust on it.

“Why would you need another phone? And why are you hiding it?” I asked the empty room.

I knew that snooping was a bad idea. But at the same time, I couldn’t understand what Alan was up to.

Scrolling through the phone, I saw that the background was plain with outdated apps, and the only active thing was the text message icon.

“Why are you texting, Alan?” I muttered under my breath.

My heart skipped a beat as I opened the contacts list, expecting to find a series of contacts that would lead to questions of affairs.

But there was just one number saved: Dylan – Auto Shop.

Immediately, my mind started racing. I didn’t know anything about a Dylan. And more than that, why would Alan have a separate phone just to contact this one person?

It made absolutely no sense to me.

A part of me wanted to confront Alan immediately, but I knew that he’d probably come up with an excuse or something. One thing about my husband was that he always seemed to have an answer for everything.

No. I needed to be smart about this one.

I decided to text Dylan myself, just to understand what sort of vibe he would reply with. But before I could type anything, the phone buzzed in my hand.

Hey, Al. I need you to come to the garage tonight. Midnight. This is important. -D.

I stared at the message for a few minutes, my pulse quickening as a frown appeared on my face.

Midnight? Why would Alan need to meet someone at midnight, and why was it so secretive?

I could almost hear my mother’s words in my head. She had sensed that something was going on.

I fought the urge to reply and focused on staying calm. Instead, I carefully put the phone back in the box and returned it to the closet.

“What is going on here?” I asked myself as I went to the kitchen to start dinner. It was Saturday, which meant roast chicken with all the trimmings.

Dinner that night was tense. As much as I tried to act normal, the only thing that I could think about was that damn phone. Alan seemed oblivious, chatting about work and some upcoming family reunion with ease. But it was clear, his mood had changed drastically after his shower when he came downstairs to the table.

He was all smiles and excited.

But then, out of nowhere, he dropped the bomb.

“Listen, honey,” he said, spearing a roast potato with his fork. “I have to go into the office at midnight tonight. We’re meeting with an overseas client, and this was the only time that we could all make it work.”

My stomach dropped. Of course, I knew he was lying.

“On a Saturday night? What’s going on at work?” I asked, feigning interest as I helped myself to a spoonful of peas.

“Just some last-minute stuff with a deal,” he replied, too quickly. “It shouldn’t take too long, but don’t wait up for me.”

I nodded, forcing myself to smile.

“Okay, just be careful driving at that hour, honey. Text me when you get to the office.”

My husband smiled back at me, but something was off.

I spent the rest of the meal in a complete daze, barely registering what Alan was saying about promising his mother that I would bake my lemon meringue pie for her tomorrow.

All I could think about was the phone and the message from Dylan. With Reece at his friend’s house for the night, I didn’t have any distractions, and I knew that I was driving myself crazy.

At midnight, I waited by the window, watching the driveway as Alan backed out and drove away. The moment he was out, I grabbed my keys and followed him, keeping a safe distance.

He drove through the quiet streets, heading toward the industrial part of town.

“What are we doing here?” I asked myself.

Was Dylan some kind of criminal? Was Alan in trouble? Were we safe?

I kept a safe distance as my husband pulled into a small, rundown auto repair shop.

Parking a little down the street, I sat and watched Alan get out of his car and walk into the garage.

“Come on, Alan. Leave this place,” I muttered.

I sat there for ten minutes before the curiosity took over me. I couldn’t just sit there and wait. I needed to know what was going on. Taking a deep breath, I got out of my car and quietly made my way toward the building.

The garage door was open just enough for me to slip inside unnoticed. I could hear Alan talking to someone. They were standing next to a car, their voices too low for me to hear. I crept closer, hiding behind a stack of tires.

Then, everything became stranger.

Alan and the man, who I assumed was Dylan, moved toward a small office at the back of the garage. They left the door open, clearly not expecting anyone to be around.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.

There, in the dim light of the office, was Alan. Alan, my husband, who was locked in a passionate kiss with Dylan, their bodies pressed close together as if they were the only two people left in the world.

I gasped loudly, blowing my cover.

“Kristen!” Alan said out loud, the shock in his eyes evident.

“No!” I shouted, running out.

Without saying a word, I turned and fled, tears blurring my vision as I ran to the car.

I drove home in a daze, my thoughts spinning out of control.

I spent the next few hours in our living room, replaying the scene over and over in my mind. How long had this been going on? Had our entire marriage been a lie? I thought about confronting Alan when he came home.

Instead, I packed some clothes for myself and Reece, ready to leave my life behind. I would go to my mother’s house, and then fetch Reece in the morning.

And then, I’d file for divorce. I deserved better than a man who kept secrets that affected his entire family.

What would you have done?

If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |

When Celia inherited her grandparents’ house, she did everything she could to preserve their memory while still making it her own. But a few weeks into her big move, strange things start happening, including a random note to meet a stranger in her own attic at midnight. Will Celia go?

When I inherited my grandparents’ house, it felt like a dream come true. This was the place where I’d spent countless summers as a child, playing in the garden, helping Grandma bake in the kitchen, and listening to Grandpa’s stories by the fireplace.

The house was filled with memories, and there was a deep sense of comfort that made me feel safe, even when I moved in by myself.

But lately, that comfort had turned into something else—something unsettling.

“What’s it like, Celia?” my mother asked me as we unpacked all my belongings. “Is it different without them?”

“Of course, Mom,” I said, putting the pots and pans in their cupboards. “It feels familiar and strange at the same time.”

“As long as there’s a sense of comfort, that’s all you need to get going in your new place,” she said.

And it was fine. I eased into my new house, slowly making it my own with yellow accent pieces all over.

It was only a few weeks ago that things started to feel very strange.

Read the full story here.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.