At 2 a.m., my phone buzzed. Groggy, I answered an unfamiliar woman warning me to stay away from her and Max’s family, threatening to tell my husband. Confused—I didn’t know a Max—I nudged my sleeping husband and handed him the phone.
He listened, then said softly, “Yeah.” My heart pounded. Who was Max? Why so calm?
After a minute, he whispered, “You called the wrong number,” and hung up. Noticing me awake, he explained: “Confused caller. Max is my coworker; numbers got mixed.” He laughed tiredly, rubbing my shoulder. “Back to sleep.”
Unsettled, doubt lingered. The call exposed how fragile trust feels in the dark.
Morning brought clarity: he showed work texts proving the mix-up. We hugged, relieved.
That night reminded me—trust isn’t static; it’s reaffirmed in odd moments, chosen anew each time.
