I Asked a Friend to Repair My Husband's Phone — What He Found Inside Made My Blood Boil

When Denise's husband tells her his phone is broken, she takes it to an old college buddy for repairs. But when she picks up the phone later, her friend shows her a note inside that proves her husband is hiding a dark secret.

I never would've imagined that a lost pair of earbuds would lead me to the most devastating discovery of my life.

There I was, dressed and ready for my morning jog when I realized I must've lost my earbuds in the Uber that brought my husband, Andrew, and me home the previous evening. I rushed into the kitchen, where Andy was making coffee.

"Babe, give me your phone, please?" I held out my hand. "I need to look at your call history."

Andrew went pale as a sheet. "No, you can't," he replied quickly.

Now, I'm not going to claim Andy and I have a perfect marriage. We argue and sometimes get on each other's nerves, but that's normal, right? On this occasion, something about his response raised a red flag.

"Why not?" I asked.

"It's… dead." He looked away as he replied, stirring his coffee like it was the most important thing in the world. "I, uh, dropped it this morning."

It was so obvious he was lying that I was speechless for a minute. I didn't understand what was going on. Then I started thinking about all the times he'd come home late recently.

I also noticed strange appointments in his calendar when I double-checked the date for his parents' upcoming anniversary celebration. It seemed so obvious in hindsight: Andrew was hiding something from me.

"Where is it now?" I asked. "I can drop it off to get repaired on my way to work, if you like?"

Andrew hesitantly went into the bedroom to fetch his phone. It seemed to take ages, but finally, he handed me his phone.

It was indeed dead, the screen as black as night. I tried turning it on while I was on the subway, but it seemed Andrew had been telling the truth.

I should've been relieved, but my suspicions from earlier still nagged at me as I entered the repair shop. My old college buddy, Mike, owned the place. He greeted me warmly as I approached the counter.

"Hey, Mike. Can you take a look at this?" I set the phone down in front of him.

Mike took the phone and turned it over in his hands. "Sure thing, Denise, I'll let you know what I find."

The day dragged on at work, my mind a whirl of worries. By the time I got off, there was a message from Mike waiting for me.

"Hey, can you come by the shop? There's something you need to see."

My stomach churned as I walked into Mike's shop. He looked up from the counter, a serious expression on his face.

"Let's go to the back," Mike said.

My heart pounded as I followed him to a small room. Mike closed the door behind us, then handed me Andrew's phone, now powered on and functional. But there was more.

"I found this inside the phone," he said, passing me a small folded note.

With trembling hands, I unfolded the paper.

Scrawled in Andrew's handwriting, it read: "Please don't fix this phone, say it's beyond repair. Email me, I will send you money for it. Thanks!"

I felt like the ground had fallen away beneath me. "What the heck?" I muttered, "Why would he…"

I looked at Mike, but he raised his hands. "I didn't email him, and I didn't look at any personal stuff on the device either." He let out a sigh and looked sadly at me. "But he obviously has something to hide."

I know he meant to be kind, but his words felt like a slap in the face.

I thanked Mike, paid him, and left in a hurry. Once I was seated on the train home, I pulled out Andrew's phone. He'd gone to such lengths to keep me from seeing his call history, but why?

My hands clenched into fists as the most obvious answer sprang to mind: Andrew was cheating on me.

So, I was all fired up as I started scrolling through phone numbers. My imagination was already filling up with various ways to get revenge on him, so what I found caught me completely off guard.

Most calls were to a number labeled "Dr. Whitman," and several others marked "Hospital."

"What the heck…" I muttered, clicking on the messages next. They were filled with appointment confirmations, test results, and reminders for follow-ups.

My mind raced, trying to piece together what this could mean.

Was Andrew sick? I tapped into his photo gallery, and my worst fears were confirmed. Scans, x-rays, and medical documents filled the screen. Each image painted a grim picture of a long, hidden battle with illness.

Andrew wasn't cheating; he was sick, and he'd kept it from me all this time. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I quickly wiped them away.

The rest of the subway ride felt like an eternity. My mind replayed every moment from the past few months, every late night, every strange appointment.

Feelings of anger, sorrow, and guilt cycled through me. Why hadn't he told me? How could he go through this alone?

I took a deep breath as I approached our home, feeling the weight of Andrew's secret pressing down on my chest. Fresh tears stung at my eyes, but I clenched my jaw and kept moving.

When I finally walked through the front door, Andrew was sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine. He looked up, and his face fell when he saw the phone in my hand.

"You got it fixed?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

I nodded. "Andrew, we need to talk."

He looked away, the dread evident in his posture. I sat beside him, taking his hand in mine. "Why didn't you tell me?" I whispered, my voice breaking.

Andrew sighed, tears forming in his own eyes. "I didn't want you to worry. I wanted to protect you, to keep our life normal for as long as possible."

"Protect me?" I echoed, my voice rising. "How could you think this would protect me? Finding out like this feels like a betrayal."

"I'm sorry, Denise," he said, his voice cracking. "I thought I could handle it on my own. I didn't want to burden you with my problems."

"We're supposed to share our lives, Andrew," I snapped. "The good and the bad. How could you think this isn't my problem too?"

He hung his head, silent tears streaming down his face.

"I know I should have told you," he whispered. "But I was so scared. I didn't want you to see me as... broken."

My heart ached as I watched Andrew hang his head and turn away. I closed the gap between us, placing my arms around him as I tried to make sense of it all.

"Andrew, I love you," I said. "Nothing will ever change that. But I need you to trust me. We're in this together, remember?"

He nodded, squeezing my hand tightly. "I'm so sorry, Denise. I promise, no more secrets."

I held him tight as I felt his body shake with sobs. "We'll get through this," I whispered. "Together. But I need you to tell me what the doctors found."

Andrew let out a shaky breath. He wiped his tears as he turned to face me and said two words that changed my life forever.

"Lung cancer." Andrew's lower lip quivered as he attempted a brave smile. "It's under control for now, but it's not good, Denise."

For a long while, we just sat there, holding each other. The weight of his secret was still heavy, but sharing it made it a little easier to bear. We talked late into the night about his diagnosis, his fears, and what we needed to do next.

It was going to be a long road, but at least we'd be walking it together.

The next morning, we made an appointment with Dr. Whitman. As we sat in the waiting room, Andrew reached for my hand.

"Thank you for not giving up on me," he said softly.

I looked into his eyes, seeing the vulnerability and strength there. "We're a team, remember? I'm not going anywhere."

He smiled, a real smile this time, and I couldn't help but smile back. Despite all the drama and heartache, I knew then that no matter what happened next, we'd be okay.

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.