That thought gnawed at me until I could barely sleep. I’m not proud of what I did next, but it’s part of the story. One night, lying in bed while Emily slept beside me, I couldn’t shut off the anxiety.
Around two in the morning, her phone buzzed on the nightstand, lighting up the room. Curiosity—or maybe fear—took over. Who was texting my wife at two a.m.?
Yes—my own brother was texting my wife at two in the morning. A dozen horrifying scenarios crashed into my mind. Hands shaking, I unlocked her phone using the passcode I’d seen her type countless times, and I read their messages.
They weren’t explicit or romantic, but they were unsettling:Continue reading…