When my husband, Mark, who had always shared every password with me, suddenly got a new phone and kept it private, I was speechless. He snatched it away from the kids, stepped outside to take calls, and locked it in the car trunk every night. He said it was for work, but my gut twisted every time he said it.
Was he cheating?
At 2 a.m., I finally gave in. I took his keys, crept outside, and tried our son’s birthday. The trunk unlocked.
The phone lit up the moment I picked it up. No password. Just a single app open.
Messages. Hundreds of them.
Not from a woman — from dozens of people.
Names I didn’t recognize. Dates. Addresses. Photos of houses. Notes like “Delivered” and “No witnesses.”
Then I saw my own name.
A thread labeled Next Assignment.
Before I could process it, the trunk slammed shut behind me. Mark stood there, his face calm, almost tired.
“I told you,” he said softly. “I didn’t want you to find out.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
A new message appeared on the screen in my hand:
“Target has accessed the device. Proceed?”
Mark smiled.
“We’re running out of time,” he said. “And now… you know too much.”
