Saving Her, Breaking Us

The day I saw Jared Stanley's interview, I filed for divorce and moved out of the perfectly maintained home I'd shared with him for three years.

In that interview, Jared said his biggest regret in life was that, in a life-or-death situation, he instinctively protected what he called his most "precious national asset."

The "asset" he protected wasn't me, his wife. It was his "fragile" colleague, Bailee Brooks.

Two days later, at the global press conference for the G20 summit.

The same renowned war correspondent asked me the same question.

"Ms. Quinn, as a top-tier simultaneous interpreter, what would you say is the professional principle you are most proud of?"

I looked directly at Jared sitting in the front row.

"True professionalism is knowing that my husband risked his life to protect his mistress, and still being able to calmly, as the lead interpreter, accurately convey the commands that would ultimately save him."

....

"Kathy, are you seeing this?"

My best friend Joyce Clarke's voice came through the phone speaker, tight with anger.

I was packing a suitcase, my phone on speaker.

On the TV, Jared sat in the National Broadcaster studio, wearing that deep blue suit I'd ironed countless times.

The host looked at him with admiration. "Minister Stanley, the situation was so dangerous. Why did you rush to protect Bailee?"

Jared gazed earnestly into the camera. "On the diplomatic front line, every colleague is a precious national asset. Protecting them is my instinct."

The live chat exploded.

"A true hero injured for the country!"

"Jared is the kind of man to marry!"

"This is what a diplomat's responsibility looks like!"

I let out a cold laugh, shoving the last shirt into the suitcase.

"Kathy, are you okay?" Joyce's voice trembled.

"I'm fine."

I turned off the TV, and the room went silent.

Three years of marriage, summed up by his single word, "instinct."

The "national asset" he protected wasn't me, the lead interpreter who held my own against seasoned diplomats at the negotiation table.

It was Bailee, the one who "fainted" when the gunshots started.

I opened a drawer and took out an encrypted flash drive.

On it was the complete audio recording from the Mayland hostage crisis.

Including the entire process of Jared violating operational discipline, almost getting everyone killed for his "heroic rescue."

My phone rang.

Jared's name flashed on the screen.

I declined the call.

It rang again.

I hung up again.

When it rang a third time, I answered.

"Kathy, where are you?" He sounded impatient.

"Moving out."

"Moving out? What nonsense is this? Whatever it is, we'll talk about it when we meet."

"There's nothing to talk about." I slid the divorce papers into my bag. "I just wanted to tell you I've filed for divorce."

Dead silence on the other end.

It took Jared ten seconds to speak. "Have you lost your mind?"

"No." I dragged my suitcase toward the door. "Perfectly sane."

"Kathy! Do you even know what time it is? The G20 Summit is about to start. What kind of tantrum are you throwing?"

A tantrum?

I stopped.

"Jared, during the Mayland crisis, I worked non-stop for 72 hours, translating emergency consultations for thirteen countries."

"I know you worked hard..."

"You know nothing," I cut him off. "Do you have any idea what it felt like? Listening in my headset as Captain Walsh gave the order to rescue you?"

"Kathy... "

"Do you know my hand was shaking when I translated 'Evacuate immediately, target injured' into Arabish?"

Jared was silent.

"Now the whole internet is praising you as a hero," I said, pushing open the door. The hallway light was harsh. "So let me ask you, hero. When you were saving the damsel, did you even think about your wife?"

"I..."

"Forget it." I pressed the elevator button. "No need to answer. I already know."

The moment I hung up, it felt like the whole world went quiet.

The elevator doors opened. I wheeled my suitcase inside.

My reflection in the mirror looked calm, my eyes determined.

At 30, I, Kathy Quinn, was finally going to live for myself.

I had just gotten out of the shower in my hotel room when my phone started blowing up.

The first call was from Jared's assistant, Zayn Larson.

"Mrs. Stanley, could you please come home? Mr. Stanley isn't fully recovered from his injury, and you acting like this..."

"Zayn." I cut him off. "From now on, call me Kathy, or Ms. Quinn. 'Mrs. Stanley' isn't a title I deserve."

I hung up. It rang again immediately.

This time, it was an encrypted line.

I answered, and Jared's voice came through, angrier than before. "Kathy, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Divorcing you." I answered as I dried my hair. "I thought I made myself pretty clear."

"Do you have any idea how many reporters are outside right now? What you're doing will ruin my career!"

Would I ruin his career?

I stopped drying my hair.

"Jared, how did you get that gunshot wound in your leg?"

"I was saving someone..."

"You violated operational discipline and left the safe zone without authorization." My voice was flat, like a machine. "The medical report said if the bullet had been 0.1 inch to the left, you'd be paralyzed from the neck down."

I could hear his ragged breathing on the other end.

"And," I continued, "I have the audio. All of it. The communications between you and Bailee in the thirty seconds before you left the safe zone."

A dead silence followed, as if the whole world had stopped spinning.

"Wanna hear it?" I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, my tone casual, like I was discussing the weather. "'Don't be scared, Bailee, I'm coming for you.' 'I won't let you get hurt.' And my personal favorite-'Once this is over, I'll tell Kathy everything.'"

"Kathy..."

"What? Ringing a bell now?"

Jared's voice began to tremble. "Those... those were just words... I just acted impulsively... "

"Impulsively" I let out a hollow laugh. "Jared, do you even know what professionalism means? I was in the command center. I had to listen to that crap and still calmly translate the rescue orders for you."

"I..." Jared trailed off, lost for words.

I stood up and walked to the window. "The whole world thinks you're a hero. While you were basking in all that glory, did it ever cross your mind what would happen to your 'hero' status if this recording got out?"

The city lights glittered outside, but I felt nothing but cold inside.

"Kathy, please. Let's just talk. Okay?" For the first time, there was a hint of pleading in his voice. "I messed up, I admit it. But..."

"But what? You love her?"

"No... "

"Then what? But she needs you? But she's more fragile than I am?" I turned and faced the mirror, staring at the stranger reflected back at me. "Or is it that being with her makes you feel more like a man?"

Every word hit its mark, sharp as a knife.

"Kathy, just let me explain..."

"Save it." I yanked the curtains shut. "Tomorrow, I'm going to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. I'm formally applying for the lead interpreter position at the G20 Summit."

"What?"

"I want the whole world to see what true professional integrity looks like."

I hung up and then blocked all his contact information.

The phone screen went dark, and I was alone in the room.

I sat on the edge of the bed and suddenly remembered our wedding night three years ago.

That night, Jared had a video call with Bailee in his study until dawn.

I waited in the living room all night, still in my wedding dress.

When morning came, he walked out and just said, "Sorry, Bailee's situation was really urgent."

Back then, I was naïve enough to believe it was just work.

Looking back, it was ridiculous.

The next morning, I received a call from Minister Julian Wilson.

"Kathy, come to my office."

Julian was my mentor, a Deputy Minister at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

His office was on the top floor. When I walked in, he was reviewing some documents.

"Sit." He gestured to the sofa. "Tea or coffee?"

"Just water, please."

Julian poured me a glass and then settled into the chair opposite me. "So, tell me what's going on."

"Tell me, what's going on?"

I didn't hold back. I told him everything about the Mayland crisis, including the recordings.

Julian listened quietly. When I finished, he was silent for a long moment.

"Kathy, you've been through a lot."

His words shattered my composure, and tears welled up.

"Minister Wilson, am I a failure?"

"A failure?" Julian shook his head. "You are the best interpreter I've ever seen. Without you, the consequences of the Mayland crisis would have been unimaginable."

"But I can't even handle my own marriage..."

"Marriage isn't a job, Kathy. It's not something you can succeed at just by trying hard on your own." Julian rose and walked to the window. "I always had a feeling there was something off about Jared."

I looked up. "You knew?"

"A man who truly loves his wife doesn't let her bear the weight of every diplomatic function alone." Julian turned to face me. "Kathy, do you know what the international delegates said about you after the last UN General Assembly?"

I shook my head.

"They said Zeonland has the finest interpreter in the world." Julian walked back and sat down. "And Jared? In their eyes, he's just another diplomat."

His words surprised me.

"So, about the lead interpreter position for the G20 Summit..."

"If you want it, it's yours." Julian said without hesitation. "But Kathy, are you sure about this? Jared will also attend the summit."

"I'm sure."

"Alright." Julian nodded. "Then I have only one condition."

"Name it."

"No matter what happens, the nation's interests come first."

"I understand."

As I left Julian's office, I ran into Robert Walsh in the elevator.

He was in his black tactical uniform, his police insignia gleaming under the lights.

"Ms. Quinn," he greeted me with a curt nod.

"Captain Walsh."

The elevator ride was quiet, filled only by the hum of machinery.

"I heard you'll be the lead interpreter for the G20," he said.

"Yes."

"Looks like we'll be working together again." Robert glanced at me and said, "I'm heading up summit security."

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped out.

"Captain Walsh." I turned back to him. "Thank you. For what you did in Mayland..."

"Just doing my job." He interrupted, "No thanks needed."

The doors closed, cutting off the view of his resolute figure.

I suddenly remembered the Mayland crisis, when everyone thought I was about to crack, and it was only Robert's voice in the channel that said, "Ms. Quinn, hold steady. We have five more minutes."

His voice was my guiding light in the darkness.