Cleaning the bathroom on a mundane Tuesday evening was never fun, but it had to be done. As I scrubbed the toilet, I noticed the water kept running after flushing.
Annoyed, I opened the tank to check. Wrapped in a plastic bag was a cheap burner phone. My heart raced as I dried it off and turned it on.
“Password,” I muttered. Easy guess, our wedding date. It worked.
My hands shook as I scrolled through the text messages. The sender: Lola. Explicit conversations between her and my husband, Matt, filled the screen.
I felt sick reading about their plans to meet at that fancy downtown restaurant on Friday night. I dropped the phone, almost breaking it, but caught it just in time.
“Jenna, you got this,” I whispered to myself, trying to keep calm.
Carefully, I wrapped the phone back up and replaced it in the toilet tank. I made sure it looked undisturbed before leaving the bathroom. As I walked into the kitchen, I encountered Matt, who was rummaging through the fridge.
“Hey, babe, what’s for dinner?” he asked, glancing up.
I plastered on a smile. “Thinking of making pasta. How’s work?”
This is my hubby’s kryptonite; he just can’t resist asking for more
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