Back home, we went straight to the bedroom. She opened a drawer in the closet and took out her old phone. It was turned off.

“Look,” she said, “I never used it, except for my business contacts, two years ago. But I haven’t activated it since.”

We turned it on. Surprise: an updated list of incoming and outgoing messages from the last few days . Some… identical to those received today.

My wife was shaking. “Someone cloned my phone…”

“Or he had access to your old work account,” I said.

The next day, we filed a complaint with the police and the mobile operator. A few days later, they called us.

“We suspect that a former employee of your wife’s company misappropriated company data,” a police officer said. “It appears he cloned your phone using inside access.”

The name they said left us speechless.

Kalin . A colleague fired last year for aggressive behavior. He had access to the archives. He never returned the office equipment.

It turned out he’d been following my wife for months. He was using his access to old phones to monitor her communications.
The SUV had been rented with false information. The “He must not know” sheet was part of a psychological game.

His goal? To isolate her. To make me paranoid. To make her doubt everything and everyone.

But his mistake was to underestimate two people who love each other.

Kalin was arrested.
His phones were wiped and replaced.
His number was permanently blocked.

Now when my phone rings, I don’t wonder who’s on the other end .

But every message… makes me shudder.