Chapter 3 — The Second Phone

Claire

The house was unnervingly quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Claire moved through the living room with deliberate steps, careful not to disturb the stillness that felt like thin glass underfoot. It was a Saturday afternoon, and Nathan had taken Isabel and Ethan to the park. She’d suggested it, needing the space to think. To breathe. To act.

The errant text still looped in her mind, its words scrawled like graffiti across her thoughts: *I can’t wait to see you tonight. Love you.* She’d replayed every moment since its appearance, the same way she would examine a damaged fresco, layer by layer, searching for the story hidden beneath. The late-night “work emergencies.” The new cologne he’d brushed off as a gift from a colleague. The phone he always kept face down, as if shielding it from the world—or from her. Breadcrumbs, scattered carelessly, now forming a trail she couldn’t ignore.

Claire stood at the threshold of Nathan’s home office, her hand resting lightly on the doorframe. She rarely ventured in here—this was his domain, a space that seemed to hum with the energy of his ambition. But today, the room seemed to call to her, a whispered insistence that something was waiting to be found.

She stepped inside. The faint scent of Nathan’s aftershave hung in the air, sharp and clinical. The room was pristine, almost sterile, a stark contrast to the warmth of the rest of their home. Everything had its place: pens lined up in a silver holder, architectural blueprints stacked with geometric precision, a leather-bound planner centered perfectly on the desk. Her fingers brushed the edge of the planner but stopped. No, Nathan wouldn’t leave anything incriminating there. He was too meticulous for that.

Her eyes swept across the room, searching for something out of place. A photo frame on the desk caught her attention—it was slightly askew, the only imperfection in an otherwise orderly space. She reached out to straighten it but stopped herself. A strange unease prickled at the back of her neck. Her heart quickened as her gaze landed on the sleek desk drawer. It was part of the furniture’s seamless design, almost invisible unless you knew to look for it. She hesitated, her pulse a steady drumbeat in her ears. The silence around her thickened, and for a moment, she thought she heard the creak of a floorboard. She froze, her breath caught in her throat, but the sound didn’t repeat. She wasn’t sure if it had been real or just her own nerves.

The memory of the text resurfaced, hardening her resolve. Slowly, she pulled the drawer open.

Inside was a jumble of ordinary objects—paper clips, business cards, a half-empty pack of gum. Claire sifted through them methodically, her hands steady despite the storm brewing in her chest. And then her fingers brushed against something smooth and unfamiliar. She pushed aside a stack of receipts, and there it was: a sleek, black smartphone with a cracked screen.

Her breath hitched. Nathan already had a phone—the one he clutched like a lifeline. Why would he need another? The answer came unbidden, sharp and clear: *To hide things.*

She picked it up, the weight of it unfamiliar in her hand. The cracked screen was a jarring flaw in Nathan’s polished world, its jagged lines catching the light like a scar. The symbolism wasn’t lost on her; Nathan, who prided himself on his flawless facade, had been careless enough to leave this behind.

She pressed the power button. The screen flickered to life, revealing a password prompt. Of course. Nathan was nothing if not careful. But Claire had spent years observing him, absorbing the details he probably didn’t think she noticed. She tried their anniversary date first. Nothing. Then Isabel’s birthday. Still nothing.

Her thumb hovered over the screen as doubt crept in, whispering that she was crossing a line. What if she was wrong? What if this was some misunderstanding, a mistake she couldn’t undo? But then Isabel’s thoughtful eyes and Ethan’s mischievous grin flashed in her mind. This wasn’t just about her. It was about protecting them. About breaking the cycles she feared they might inherit.

The code came to her suddenly: the number Nathan had chosen for their garage door. “Easy to remember,” he’d said. Her fingers moved before she could second-guess herself.

The phone unlocked.

The home screen was almost unnervingly bare—no wallpaper, just a default black background. A neat grid of unfamiliar apps stared back at her, each one a potential doorway to the truth. Her gaze fell to one in particular, an encrypted messaging app she didn’t recognize. Her thumb hesitated over the icon, her breath shallow. This was it. The moment she crossed from suspicion to certainty.

She tapped the icon. The app opened, revealing a string of messages.

The first one was from earlier that week: *Last night was amazing. Can’t stop thinking about you.*

Claire’s stomach twisted, the words carving into her like a chisel against stone. She scrolled further, each message deepening the sense of betrayal. Plans for secret dinners. Shared jokes. Declarations of love. Her hands tightened around the phone as she fought the urge to hurl it across the room.

And then there were the photos.

The first was of Nathan, smiling in a way she hadn’t seen in years—genuine, unguarded. The second was of a woman. A striking blonde with sharp green eyes and a confident smile, perched on a barstool with her hand resting casually on Nathan’s knee. Claire stared at the image, her mind blank and numb, as though her brain had short-circuited in an effort to protect itself.

But the numbness didn’t last. A wave of anger surged through her, hot and electric, burning away the shock. She swiped through the photos—receipts for expensive dinners, trips she hadn’t known about, gifts she’d never received. One receipt in particular stood out: a charge for a luxury hotel stay in a city Nathan had supposedly visited for work. The date coincided with a weekend Claire had spent alone with the kids, reassuring them that “Daddy would be home soon.”

Her vision blurred with tears, but she forced herself to focus. She couldn’t let emotion drown her—not now. Not when Isabel and Ethan needed her to stay strong. She set the phone down on the desk, her hands trembling. The room seemed to tilt around her, the walls pressing in, but she planted her feet firmly on the ground, willing herself to stay steady.

She thought of her work—the delicate process of restoration, the way she stripped away layers of grime to uncover the truth beneath. She had always believed in the beauty of renewal, in the possibility of repairing what was broken. But as she stared at the evidence of Nathan’s betrayal, she realized that some fractures couldn’t be mended.

Claire picked up the phone again, her resolve solidifying like a protective shell around her. She slipped it into her pocket, its weight a silent reminder of what she now carried. Questions flooded her mind: How long had this been going on? How much of their life together had been a lie? And most importantly, who was this woman in the photos? What role did she play in Nathan’s life—and what role would she play in the truth Claire was determined to uncover?

As she left the office, she paused in the doorway, glancing back at the meticulously ordered space. The pristine surface of Nathan’s world had always seemed impenetrable, but now she saw it for what it was: a facade, fragile and fractured.

Claire stepped into the hallway, the phone burning like a secret against her hip. She didn’t have all the answers yet, but she knew one thing with certainty: she couldn’t stop now. Not until she uncovered the truth. Not until she protected what mattered most.