by Tinoy Mama

Created on: August 10, 2009   Last Updated: August 11, 2009

For years, it was almost like a running joke between my husband and me. I'd ask for "permission" to play with his spiffy, state-of-the-art cell phone, and time after time he'd find ways to divert my attention to something else. Every once in a while, under his direct supervision, he'd grant me a few precious moments of exploration on the phone. I never thought anything of it; after all, I was fiercely protective of my laptop and hardly ever let anyone play around with it.

Then, my husband got a better, even more sophisticated phone. One evening we were at my parents' house, and after dinner I was a little bored and asked him for his phone. He casually answered, "Sure, but I have to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back." Now let me clarify something about my husband. He either is in the bathroom for thirty seconds, or for forty-five minutes with a book. There is no in between. Ever. So when he came out of the bathroom after only five minutes I was a bit suspicious.

As soon as he came out of the bathroom, my husband generously handed the phone over and I started exploring it. Just by chance, I happened to go into the call history of the phone, and noticed it was empty. "It takes up too much memory space," my husband helpfully explained after I raised a curious eyebrow.

Back home later that night, hubby came on to me like he hadn't done in years. After fifteen years together, eleven of them married, sex had become somewhat mundane (a source of constant frustration to me,) and him coming on to me so strongly was so different and out of the blue it was almost suspicious. I couldn't shake a nagging feeling that was creeping up in the back of my brain.

The next morning my husband went to work out, and I went to work on figuring out why I was so suspicious. My first stop: our cell phone account online. A simple click of the mouse showed me hubby's call log as far back as six months, and it wasn't a pretty sight. There were multiple calls to a number in a different state. Those calls were on a daily basis, and at very odd times: around midnight and six in the morning. While my heart was trying to tell me that "well, he DOES use his cell phone for work," my brain was sending its SOS signals; the kind with the flashing red bulb and butterflies that made their way down to the pit of my churning stomach. Something wasn't right.

Not knowing what to do, I called a close girlfriend, one who I knew I could count on. Feeling like I was an adult

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