Denise never thought a broken phone could shatter her world. But when her husband, Andrew, handed her his lifeless device, a chilling discovery awaited.
A Simple Request Turns Chilling
It started with a simple loss—my earbuds vanished after a night out. Desperate for my morning run, I hurriedly asked Andrew to borrow his phone.
“Babe, give me your phone, please?” I extended my hand, seeking his call history.
A man with a guilty expression | Source: Pexels
Andrew’s face turned ghostly. “No, you can’t,” he stammered.
Our marriage wasn’t perfect, with its share of arguments and irritations, but his reaction was alarmingly off. “Why not?” I pressed.
“It’s… dead,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact and stirring his coffee with exaggerated focus. “I dropped it this morning.”
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His lie was painfully transparent. As hours passed, my mind replayed his recent late nights and mysterious calendar entries.
The Uncovering
“Where is it now?” I asked, offering to drop the phone off for repairs on my way to work.
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Reluctantly, Andrew fetched the phone. It was indeed dead. On the subway, I couldn’t revive it, but doubts lingered as I entered the repair shop where my old college buddy, Mike, worked.
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“Hey, Mike. Can you check this out?” I set Andrew’s phone before him.
Mike examined it and assured, “I’ll let you know what I find, Denise.”
My workday dragged, my mind swimming with worry. By day’s end, Mike’s urgent message awaited.
“Hey, can you drop by the shop? There’s something you need to see.”
Woman walking on the street while speaking on her phone | Source: Pexels
Nervously, I entered his shop. “Let’s go to the back,” he said seriously, handing me Andrew’s now functional phone and a folded note.
The Heart-Wrenching Proof
With trembling hands, I unfolded it. In Andrew’s handwriting, it read: “Please don’t fix this phone. Say it’s beyond repair. Email me, I’ll send you money. Thanks!”
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The ground felt like it vanished beneath me. “Why would he…?” I started, but Mike interjected gently.
“I didn’t email him and kept personal data private, but he’s clearly hiding something,” Mike said solemnly.
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Leaving in a rush, Andrew’s phone felt heavy with secrets as I boarded the train. My fists clenched as the likely reason pounded in my head—Andrew was cheating.
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Fueled by anger, I scrolled through his call history, imagining various acts of revenge. But then I stumbled upon repeated calls to “Dr. Whitman” and “Hospital.”
“What the heck…” I clicked through messages, finding appointment confirmations and medical test results.
A woman scrolling on a smart phone | Source: Pexels
My mind spun, piecing together a different scenario. Entering his photo gallery, my worst fears crystallized—the images painted a grim picture of a long-hidden illness.
Andrew wasn’t cheating; he was sick. Tears welled up as I hurried home, replaying his odd behaviors and secretive appointments.
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Anger, sorrow, and guilt churned within. Why didn’t he tell me? Facing our front door, the weight of Andrew’s secret bore down heavily.
The Confrontation
Inside, Andrew glanced up from his magazine. His face paled at the sight of the phone.
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“You got it fixed?” he asked, voice trembling.
I nodded. “Andrew, we need to talk.”
His dread was palpable as I sat next to him and whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Andrew sighed, eyes filling with tears. “I didn’t want you to worry. I wanted to keep our lives normal as long as possible.”
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“Protect me?” I shot back. “Finding out like this feels like a betrayal.”
“I’m sorry, Denise,” he choked out. “I thought I could handle it alone, not burden you.”
“We’re supposed to share our lives—the good and the bad.” I snapped. “This is our problem too.”
Andrew’s silent tears ripped at my heart. I closed the gap, embracing him. “I love you, but we need trust. We’re in this together.”
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He nodded, squeezing my hand. “No more secrets,” he promised.
A Heartbreaking Revelation
Holding each other, he finally revealed, “Lung cancer. It’s under control, but it’s serious.”
We spent the night talking about his diagnosis, his fears—the road ahead.
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It was going to be a long road, but we’d walk it together.
United at Last
The next morning, we made an appointment with Dr. Whitman. In the waiting room, Andrew reached for my hand.
“Thank you for not giving up on me,” he said softly.
“We’re a team. I’m not going anywhere,” I assured him.
Couple holding hands | Source: Pexels
He smiled, a real smile, and I felt hope despite the challenges. Together, we could face anything.
Click here to read about one woman’s shock when her son finds a folder full of incriminating photos on his father’s laptop.
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.
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