Something clicked behind her eyes. She nodded slowly. "You're right. Victor loved me so much he threw away every shred of his dignity. There's no way he'd actually leave. He didn't hand me any divorce papers, didn't even mention splitting assets. He's bluffing."
I heard every word of her muttering. I didn't slow down.
Whatever assets Greta had, I didn't want them.
Divorce papers were beside the point. I knew she'd never willingly let go of a useful tool like me, so I'd already retained a lawyer to file for divorce through the courts.
I stepped onto the empty street, and for the first time in years, I smiled.
I used to believe that leaving Greta would destroy me.
Now I realized that walking away from her was the lightest I'd felt in nine years.
I didn't have to cater to her preferences. I didn't have to sit alone in an empty house all night, waiting for her to come home. I didn't have to ask, with my stomach in knots, whether she'd gone out with Melvin again.
Three days passed. Then a message from Greta lit up my phone:
Don't you want your grandmother's memorial tablet?