“I Picked Up My Friend’s Phone and Heard My Husband’s Voice”

After a long day at work, all I wanted was to get home, kick off my shoes, and relax. But as I was driving, I remembered that my friend Sarah had asked me to stop by. Sarah and I have been inseparable since our college days. We’ve shared countless memories, from late-night study sessions to celebrating each other’s milestones. Recently, she’s been going through a rough patch after her divorce, and I’ve tried to be there for her as much as possible.

I pulled into her driveway and knocked on the door. Sarah greeted me with a warm smile, though I could see the sadness lingering in her eyes. We settled into her cozy living room, chatting about everything and nothing. It felt good to be there for her, to offer a shoulder to lean on.

As we talked, Sarah’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. She excused herself to the kitchen to grab us some drinks, leaving her phone behind. Out of habit, I glanced at the screen. It was a call from “John.” My heart skipped a beat. My husband’s name is John too, but it couldn’t be him. Could it?

Curiosity got the better of me, and I picked up the phone. “Hello?” I said tentatively.

There was a brief silence before a familiar voice responded, “Hey babe, I was just thinking about you.”

My blood ran cold. It was my husband’s voice. I felt like the ground had been pulled out from under me. “John?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

There was a pause on the other end. “Who is this?” he asked, his tone suddenly wary.

“It’s me, Emily,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

The line went dead. I stood there, frozen, the phone still clutched in my hand. Sarah walked back into the room, holding two glasses of wine. She saw the look on my face and immediately knew something was wrong.

“Emily, what’s going on?” she asked, setting the glasses down and rushing over to me.

I handed her the phone without a word. She looked at the screen and then back at me, her face pale. “I can explain,” she started, but I didn’t want to hear it.

“How long?” I demanded, my voice shaking with anger and betrayal.

Sarah looked down at her feet. “A few months,” she admitted quietly.

I felt like I had been punched in the gut. My best friend and my husband had been seeing each other behind my back for months. The room started to spin, and I had to sit down.

“I trusted you,” I said, tears streaming down my face. “Both of you.”

Sarah tried to reach out to me, but I recoiled. “Don’t,” I said sharply. “I need to go.”

I grabbed my things and left her house in a daze. The drive home was a blur of tears and anger. When I got home, John was waiting for me, looking guilty and ashamed.

“Emily, please let me explain,” he pleaded as soon as I walked through the door.

But I couldn’t bear to hear it. “I don’t want to hear your excuses,” I said coldly. “Pack your things and leave.”

John tried to protest, but I was firm. “You made your choice,” I said. “Now live with it.”

As he packed his bags and left, I felt a strange sense of relief mixed with overwhelming sadness. My marriage was over, and so was my friendship with Sarah. The two people I trusted most had betrayed me in the worst possible way.

In the days that followed, I struggled to come to terms with what had happened. The pain was unbearable at times, but slowly, I began to rebuild my life. It wasn’t easy, and there were many dark moments, but I knew that I deserved better than what they had given me.