Images from nine years ago flooded my mind, from when I'd first been brought back to the Gilbert family.
Melvin had wanted to humiliate me. He'd paid to get photos from my years in the countryside: pictures of people shoving my face into garbage, slapping me around. He played them on a screen at our parents' investor gala for everyone to see.
Every wretched, degrading frame, burned into every pair of eyes in that room.
I wanted to run. I was so ashamed I could barely stand.
It was Greta who caught my hand.
"They're the ones who hurt you. They should be the ones drowning in shame, not you."
She saved those photos. She called the police and had every single person who'd tormented me hauled down to the station. She publicly called Melvin out for his jealousy, told everyone he didn't deserve to call himself a Gilbert.
From that day on, Greta was carved into the deepest part of my heart.
But now she'd taken my most painful memories and sharpened them into a blade aimed straight at my chest.
I didn't say another word. I just pulled off the wedding ring I'd never once removed.
"Let's end this while we can still walk away clean."