Working with technology has its curses.You don't just use devices — you understand them.You know their weaknesses, their patterns, their secrets.And because de tudo isso… you also know exactly where to look when something feels wrong.
I didn't want to believe there was something to look for.I didn't want to cross that line.But the uneasiness growing inside me made it impossible to ignore.
Still, I wanted to be careful.One wrong accusation… one misinterpreted gesture…and I could destroy a marriage that I spent years building.
So I decided to do it silently.
The plan was simple:wait until she fell asleep, pick up her phone, unlock it, and check what was happening.I knew the password. She had never hidden it from me before.
One night, the perfect opportunity arrived.
She came home, took a shower, and collapsed into bed, exhausted.I waited.Ten minutes.Thirty minutes.An hour.
Her breathing softened into the unmistakable rhythm of deep sleep.
I slipped out of bed, careful not to make the mattress shift.My heart was pounding so loudly I feared it would wake her.
I picked up her phone and walked to the living room.The house was dark. Silent.Only the faint glow of the streetlights filtered through the window.
Sitting alone in the dimness, I took a deep breath and typed the password.
"Incorrect password."
My stomach twisted.I tried again.
"Incorrect password."
My heart climbed to my throat.Why would she change it?Why now?
A cold wave spread through my chest — fear, confusion, certainties and dúvidas misturadas.
Something was wrong.Very wrong.
I put the phone back exactly where it was, taking care not to leave any trace.Then I returned to bed, lying still in the darkness, staring at the ceiling while my pulse echoed in my ears.
The next days were torture.
It felt like I had grown a second pair of eyes — always watching, always analyzing, always connecting dots that maybe didn't exist.Every small gesture of hers became a clue.Every laugh at the screen felt like a knife.
She started guarding her phone more closely.Typing faster.Smiling at messages she didn't explain.Tilting the screen away from me so naturally that it looked practiced.
And every time I noticed these things, a question stabbed me:
Was this paranoia?Or had something been happening for much longer without me ever noticing?
Married people know this feeling.It's not about evidence.It's not about logic.It's the instinct —that silent whisper no one else hearsbut that shakes your entire soul.
And for the first time in my life…I felt it.