Chapter 3
"Delete that photo," I said as we were driving home.
Edward gripped the steering wheel, staying silent.
"I can't accept my husband playing the part of a couple with another woman in front of clients, and there's no way I'm okay with you two staying together for three months," I said.
"This is just work. Don't blow it out of proportion," he said, slamming on the brakes. "The Murvach team only trusts Melissa. If she doesn't go, the whole deal falls through."
"She can't even translate 'exclusive agent' properly," I shot back.
"Who doesn't make mistakes? She's busted her ass on this project for half a year. Just because you speak some Germian doesn't mean you get to write her off," he said.
Three years ago, he would actually listen to me, even when I was just rambling about something small. Then, I barely got half a sentence out before he jumped in to defend Melissa.
I swung the car door open.
"Then let's just split up," I said.
Edward followed me out of the car and stood in front of me, blocking my path.
"Are you threatening me with divorce?" he asked.
"It's not a threat. I'm just being honest with you. This isn't the kind of marriage I can live with," I said.
He stared at me for a moment, then reached out and gently ruffled my hair.
"Don't say stuff you'll regret, Julie. You know you can't walk away," he said.
He was so sure of himself, his confidence left me with nothing to say.
*****
When we got home, there was a plate of bolognese pasta waiting for me on the dining table.
Edward rolled up his sleeves and gently placed the fork in my hand.
"You didn't eat much, did you? I made you some pasta," he said.
He used to say the same thing, but back then, he'd sit with me and eat together.
I picked up the fork, my eyes started to sting.
"Can you not go to Murvach?" I asked.
"I can skip it," he replied.
Edward crouched down in front of me, putting his hand on my knee.
"I'll have the VP take her instead. I'll stay here with you. When this project wraps up, we'll take two weeks off, anywhere you want," he promised.
I swallowed my pasta, biting back the urge to say we should break up.
His phone lit up on the table.
Melissa sent a flight confirmation, two business class seats, side by side.
A new message came in right after.
Melissa wrote: [You promised you'd go with me. Don't let your wife talk you out of it again.]
Edward snatched up his phone.
"I booked those tickets a while ago. Haven't canceled them yet," he said, sounding a bit frustrated.
"But didn't you just say you wouldn't go?" I asked.
"If I cancel last minute, the clients will be pissed. Let me try to work something out," he replied.
The doorbell rang, and Melissa was standing outside, carrying a stack of files.
"Edward, something's wrong," she said, her voice tight with worry.
She spread the papers out on the dining table.
"The publisher is accusing me of plagiarism for the Germian manual I put together for the project. They're demanding I make a public statement tomorrow, or they'll remove my name from it," she said.
I flipped through the manual, only making it to the second page.
I knew it instantly, this was my work.
Last year, Edward had brought me some product materials and asked if I could help out, saying the company was short on budget and couldn't find a good translator.
I stayed up nine nights in a row, just to finish a 30,000-word translation for him.
But when I looked at the byline, it was Melissa's name there.
"This is my translation," I said, keeping my voice steady.
Melissa's eyes shot up to meet mine.
"Julie, are you sure about that? The file's always been saved on my computer," she replied.
"The footnote on page seventeen, I added it myself on the day I submitted the draft. The original had a misquoted line of poetry," I said.
Edward closed the manual.
"This isn't the time to fight over whose name goes on it. Tomorrow, you go to the publisher and tell them it was an internal collaboration, and Melissa was responsible for compiling the final version," he said, his tone firm.
"I never agreed to let her take credit for it," I said, my voice steady.
"You don't need this for your career," Edward said, pushing the manual back toward me. "Melissa just got the Newcomer of the Year award, if this plagiarism thing gets out, it'll destroy her. You're my wife, can't you just cover for her this one time?"
Melissa's eyes were red and downcast.
"Forget it. If Julie doesn't want to, don't push her. I'll just quit and return the award. Anyway, no matter what I do, people always say I'm just riding on a man's coattails," she said.
Edward grabbed her arm.
"Nobody's telling you to quit," he said, his voice firm.
I stared at his hand.
"Edward, either she comes clean and sets the record straight about the credit, or we're done," I said.
"Julia, don't use our marriage as a bargaining chip," Edward said, his voice tight with frustration.
"All I want is credit for my own work," I replied, not backing down.
"It's just a name. Is it really worth more than our family?" Edward said.
He picked up my phone and unlocked it with my fingerprint.
The editor from the publishing house was waiting on my response.
Edward typed out a line for me.
[Melissa Lane handled the translation herself. I only helped organize the materials.]
His thumb hovered over the send button.
He said, his voice low and pleading, "Julie, just hit send. Once the celebration party's over tomorrow night, I'll come home with you."
Genevieve's voice came from outside the door.
"Julia, don't be so selfish. Melissa can't afford any setbacks right now," she said.
Edward looked at me.
"Just do it," he said.