It’s incredible how a single phone call can shake your entire world.I’d always trusted my husband Nick—my best friend, my partner, the guy who made bad dad jokes and loved 90s pop culture. We’d built a cozy life together, supporting each other’s dreams. So when he turned 34 and said he wanted to run a marathon before 35, I cheered him on.

Every Saturday morning, he left early to train with two friends, Jake and Chris. It became part of our routine.Then one Thursday, Nick forgot his phone at home. It rang while I was folding laundry. I answered.“Hi! Your daughter isn’t feeling well and needs to be picked up,” said a cheerful voice.Daughter? I was stunned. We didn’t have kids.

My mind spiraled. Was Nick hiding a secret child? I checked his call history—there were several calls to an elementary school.The following Saturday, I pretended to be sick and followed him. He did go to the park, just like he said, and met up with Jake and Chris. But later, I saw a little girl run into one of the men’s arms—not Nick’s. Still, the phone calls nagged me.

That night, I confessed everything. Nick laughed and explained: Jake had borrowed his phone to call the school about his daughter. The school saved Nick’s number under “Dad’s Cell” by mistake.I was relieved—and embarrassed.Now, we joke about his “secret family,” and I’ve learned that sometimes, anxiety just needs a good run before it settles down.