I brought my late husband’s phone in for repair. I wanted to fix it and give it to my mother-in-law to use, but when the technician finished the work and turned the phone on, a message immediately appeared on the screen 

When the technician saw it, he turned pale and quietly called me over: “You need to see this… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” After reading the message, I nearly lost consciousness 

I brought my husband’s phone in for repair three months after his death. I wanted to have it fixed and give it to my mother-in-law — her old one had broken a long time ago, and she doesn’t have money for a new one.

This smartphone had been lying in the drawer of the dresser since the day my husband passed away. The screen was shattered, which is why the phone wouldn’t turn on. I never found the strength to have it repaired. Every time I opened the drawer, my eyes landed on that black rectangle and I quickly closed it again. It felt as if touching it would make the pain of loss break me all over again.

My husband died in an accident. Everything happened suddenly and unexpectedly. At the hospital, they returned his personal belongings to me: his wallet, keys, watch, and this phone. They said it had been badly damaged in the impact. At the time, I simply put it away. As a keepsake of the person I loved.

I went to the repair shop with a heavy heart. It was a semi-basement space in an old shopping center. The technician was an ordinary man in his forties.

He calmly examined the device and said that the screen would need to be completely replaced, but the job wasn’t complicated and would take about an hour, so I could wait there.

I sat down on the only chair. He turned on the lamp, took out his tools and microscope, and began carefully disassembling the phone. He worked confidently; it was clear he was experienced.

I looked out the window at the cloudy glass with raindrops running down it and thought about the children. How to explain to them that their father’s phone would now belong to their grandmother. The daughter is already grown up; she will understand. But the son… he still sometimes asks when Dad will come back.

The technician hardly spoke, only occasionally muttering something to himself. After half an hour, the new screen was installed. He connected the phone to the charger and pressed the power button. The screen lit up. The familiar startup screen.

And then the phone vibrated.

I didn’t notice it right away, but the technician froze. I saw his expression change. He frowned and kept his eyes on the screen longer than usual.

— Is something wrong? I asked.

He slowly turned toward me with the phone in his hand and said quietly:

— You need to read this… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to look, but the message appeared immediately.

I took the phone. At first, the letters blurred together, and I didn’t even understand right away what I was reading. Then, when I realized what was written on the screen, I nearly fainted  The continuation can be found in the first comment 

The message was from an unknown contact. Instead of a name — just a heart emoji.

“Love, I’ve already been waiting for you for twenty minutes. When are you coming? Or did your wife hold you up again? Come quickly, I miss you.”

My mind went blank. I hadn’t written that.

So he had a mistress. So that day he wasn’t rushing home or heading somewhere for work. He was hurrying to her. He was speeding. That’s why the accident happened. That’s why he’s no longer alive. Oh God, in that moment I felt such pain and disgust.

I was sitting in the repair shop with someone else’s phone in my hands, understanding how all of this could have happened.

And now I don’t know how to live with this thought. How to remember every day that the man I loved and mourned lost his life because he was in too much of a hurry to go to another woman.