I found a second cell phone in my husband’s glove box, and at first, I thought it was just an old phone he had forgotten about. It was a flip phone. The kind people used years ago. No smartphone screen. No apps. No obvious reason for him to still have it. I opened it. There were only three contacts. Except they weren’t saved as contacts at all. Just three numbers. No names. Something about that felt wrong. I took out my own phone and dialed the first number. It rang twice. Then a woman answered. “Hey baby, I was wondering when you’d call.” I froze. I didn’t say a word. I hung up. My hands were already shaking when I dialed the second number. Two rings. Another woman answered. Same words. “Hey baby, I was wondering when you’d call.” Different voice. Same greeting. I stared at the flip phone in my hand. I didn’t call the third number. Instead, I put the phone back exactly where I had found it. I closed the glove box and went inside as if nothing had happened. That evening, I made dinner. We sat at the table like we always did. He asked about my day. I asked about his. We talked about ordinary things. Work. Dinner. A bill that needed to be paid. But underneath every word, I was thinking about those two women. Eventually, I reached into my pocket and placed the flip phone next to his plate. His face changed instantly. I said, “I only called two of them. Want to tell me about the third?” His fork hit his plate so hard that the ceramic cracked. For several seconds, he didn’t move. Then he looked at me and whispered, “You weren’t supposed to find that.” That sentence hurt more than anything else could have. Not because it confirmed he was hiding something. But because it told me this wasn’t an accident. He had hidden that phone. He had three numbers. And apparently, at least two women believed they were in a relationship with him. I asked him who they were. He wouldn’t answer. I asked how long he had been talking to them. Still nothing. Then I asked the question I was almost afraid to hear answered. “Who is the third?” He looked toward the hallway. Then he said, “You need to listen to me before you call that number.” That was when I realized he wasn’t afraid of being caught cheating. He was afraid of what would happen if I called the third person. He finally admitted the first two women were not his girlfriends. They were people he had been paying to make calls. I stared at him, completely confused. He said the third number belonged to someone who had been watching our house. Someone who had been contacting him for months. Someone who knew things about our marriage that no stranger should have known. Then he told me something even worse. The flip phone wasn’t his secret phone. It belonged to the person who had been threatening him. And the three numbers weren’t three women. The first two were decoys. The third was the real number. The number he had been terrified to call. I looked at the phone sitting between us. Then I realized something. If he was telling the truth, whoever owned that third number already knew I had found the phone. And now, they knew I knew.