Here is the translation and adaptation of the short story, localized for a Western audience with the requested formatting and stylistic adjustments.
My husband is mute. At our wedding, it was his best friend, Kathleen, who spoke his vows for him.
After we were married, his mother called me barren, a worthless wife, and he just stood there, face flushed red, unable to say a word in my defense.
When Kathleen pushed me down the stairs, I lay on the floor, my head bleeding, and watched myself miscarry our child. My husband could only make strangled, desperate noises, powerless to help.
Everyone told me the same thing: "It's hard for him, too. He's mute, Lucy. You have to be patient."
I believed them.
Until the company gala. I left early and found him in the stairwell, shielding Kathleen from a group of drunk guys. I heard his voice, perfectly clear, for the first time.
"Let her go," he warned them, each word a cold, hard stone. "Or I'll make sure you disappear from this city."
Kathleen looked up at him with pure adoration.
"Liam," she breathed. "You were so heroic."
Then my husband turned and saw my ashen face. And just like that, he was mute again.
It turned out his voice only existed to protect one person. And it wasn't me.

1.
I stood frozen, watching Liams mouth move, the articulate threat dissolving back into the meaningless, guttural sounds I knew so well.
His eyes were wide with panic, like someone whod just had their most shameful secret exposed to the world.
Kathleens expression faltered too, but she recovered instantly, rushing to my side and grabbing my hand.
"Lucy, don't misunderstand. Liam was just... he was so worried about me, he forced the words out."
Her voice was thick with a feigned vulnerability.
"You know how he is. He'd do anything for me."
I ripped my hand from her grasp, my eyes pinned on Liam.
He couldn't meet my gaze. He looked down, a frantic sound caught in his throat as his hands flew into a flurry of sign language.
[It's not like that, Lucy. Let me explain.]
I stared at his long, elegant fingers. The same hands that had gripped my hospital bed in a display of helpless agony the day I lost our baby.
The memory was now a grotesque joke.
A laugh escaped my lips, sharp and humorless. I turned and walked away.
Liam reached for me, but I flinched away as if his touch would burn.
"Don't touch me."
My voice was so cold, I barely recognized it myself.
He froze, the panic in his eyes deepening into despair.
Back home, I locked myself in the bedroom. I used to think our quiet house was a peaceful sanctuary. Now, it just felt suffocating. Every corner reeked of lies.
A little while later, there was a knock on the door.
It was Liam.
He didnt try to enter. He just dragged his fingernails down the wooden door, a high-pitched, grating sound.
Once. Twice.
It was our private signal. It meant something was urgent. It meant he was begging me.
I ignored it.
After half an hour, the scratching stopped. I thought hed given up, and a strange, unwelcome flicker of relief passed through me.
Then my phone buzzed.
It was a call from Kathleen.
I didn't answer. She followed up with a barrage of texts.
"Lucy, Liam's gone. He was so upset. I'm worried he's going to do something stupid."
"He loves you so much. Please don't be mad at him because of me."
"My cat seems sick, and I'm all alone and scared. Do you know where Liam is?"
The last message was a tearful voice note.
I opened the bedroom door.
The living room was empty. Liams coat and car keys were gone.