My sibling recommended that I set up a surveillance device in our home prior to departing on a one-month professional journey to a different town. I chose to heed his suggestion…

Simultaneous capture in several points of New York. Mark’s office. Patterson’s house.

Other places related to their activities, their people, their business. I was in the command center, observing the operation through monitors, listening to negotiations through headphones. John and Michael were there, on the front line.

Led capture groups, coordinated actions, ensured safety and efficiency. Everything passed surprisingly smoothly. Without resistance, without shooting, without victims.

Mark surrendered immediately, as soon as he saw special forces in his office. Patterson tried to destroy some documents, but didn’t have time. Others were detained at homes, in offices, in restaurants.

Everywhere they were at that moment, by evening everything was over. All suspects detained, all evidence collected, all testimony recorded. Including mine.

I told everything I saw, heard, knew. About Mark, about Patterson, about their plans, their actions, their crimes. And then silence came.

Strange, unusual silence, after days of tension, fear, uncertainty. We with John sat in his office in the FBI building, drank tea, were silent. Both tired, exhausted, but satisfied too.

Mission accomplished. Operation completed. Criminals detained.

Truth triumphed. What now? I asked, looking at my husband over the cup of tea. What will be further? With us? John paused, as if gathering thoughts.

This depends on you, Emily. From whether you can forgive me. For all these years of lie, secrets, pretense.

For putting you in danger, making you doubt, suffer, fear, I looked at him, at my husband, at the person with whom I lived seven years. At the person I loved, trusted, respected. And who, despite everything, I still loved.

I don’t know, I confessed honestly. Don’t know if I can forget everything that happened. But I want to try.

For us. For what was. For what can be.

John smiled, and in his smile was hope, gratitude, love. This is all I can ask for.

Chance. Opportunity to fix everything, start over. Without lie, without secrets, without pretense.

Real marriage. Real love. Real life.

I nodded, feeling something warm spreading in my chest. Something like hope, faith, love. Not the former, blind, naive.

A new one. Seeing, conscious, passed through trials and became stronger. I want this, I said. Want to try.

Want to believe that we can. That not everything is lost. That the best is yet to come.

John stood up, approached me, hugged. Strongly, tenderly, desperately. Like a person who almost lost the most precious, and suddenly, by miracle, got a second chance.

Thank you, he whispered in my ear. For faith. For hope.

For love. I won’t let you down. Never again.

I hugged him in response, closed my eyes, inhaling his smell, feeling his warmth, his strength, his love. And thought about the future. About our future.

Not simple, not ideal, but real. Without lie, without secrets, without pretense. Future that we will build together.

Day after day, step by step, brick by brick. On the foundation of truth, trust, respect. And love, of course.

Love that withstood, endured, survived. Despite everything. A year has passed since my life turned upside down.

A year since I learned the truth about my husband, about my brother, about myself. A year filled with recovery, healing, new beginning. The trial of Mark, Patterson and their accomplices was loud, resonant, historic.

They were found guilty on all counts of the accusation. Fraud, money laundering, bribery of officials, abuse of office. They were sentenced to long terms of imprisonment.

Twenty years for Mark, fifteen for Patterson, less for the others, depending on the degree of participation, degree of guilt. John and Michael received awards. Medals, promotions, recognition of colleagues, leadership, country.

Heroes. People who uncovered one of the largest corruption schemes in US history. People who risked life, reputation, everything for truth, justice, law.

And me? I just tried to live further. Returned to teaching at the language school. Met with friends with whom I lost contact over the years of marriage.

Engaged in self-development, sports, hobbies that I abandoned, passions that I postponed, worked on our marriage. Together with John. Day after day, conversation after conversation, compromise after compromise.

Built anew what was destroyed by lie, secrets, mistrust. Learned to believe again, trust again, love again. Not blindly, not naively, but consciously, seeing, with open eyes.

It was not easy. There were quarrels, tears, moments when it seemed that nothing would work, that too much is destroyed, too much lost. But we didn’t give up.

Didn’t retreat. Didn’t abandon each other in difficult minutes. And gradually, step by step, we returned to each other.

Found common language, common interests, common future. Remembered why we loved each other seven years ago. And found new reasons to love now.

Deeper, stronger, more consciously. Michael was also nearby. My brother, my protector, my.

Hero. He supported, helped, inspired. Filled the gaps that arose over the years of his secret service.

We became closer than ever. Real family. Imperfect, with its problems, its difficulties, its challenges.

But real. Without lie, without secrets, without pretense. And today, exactly a year after those crazy days, I sit on the veranda of our new house.

The house that we bought together with John. Real house, built on honesty, openness, trust. Looking at the garden, at the sunset, at the life we created.

And thinking about the future. About the child I’m expecting. About the family I’m building.

About the life I chose. Imperfect, not ideal, but real. Mine.

And I understand that happy. Not that naive, carefree happiness I knew yes. A deep, mature, conscious happiness of a person who went through trials, through pain, through losses.

And became stronger, wiser, more integral. John comes out to the veranda, sits next to me, hugs my shoulders. We look at the sunset together, silently, not needing words.

Understanding each other without them. Like people who went through fire and water together. Like people who saw each other in the best and worst moments.

Like people who chose each other not once, not twice, but many times. Every day. Every hour.

Every moment. Don’t regret? He asks quietly, looking at my rounded belly. About what? About staying.

Gave us a second chance. Decided to try again. Not a second. This was the right decision. The best decision in my life.

He smiles in response, kisses me on the temple. And we continue to look at the sunset. At the sky, shimmering with all shades of red, orange, golden.

At the sun, going beyond the horizon, promising to return tomorrow. New day. New chance.

New opportunity. Like our love. Like our life…