The echo of those words, so eerily familiar, drew a laugh out of me.
"Doesn't owe me?"
I turned to look at Greta.
"Are you saying Melvin doesn't owe me, or that you don't?"
"Do you really want me to lay it all out?"
Whether it was Melvin, who'd stolen my place and tried to ruin me time and again, or Greta, who'd fed off my blood and sweat to climb her way up all these years, neither of them had any right to say those words to me.
The composure drained from Greta's face, replaced by a flash of irritation.
"Victor, what's gotten into you? 'Lay it all out'? You're my husband! Don't act like reviewing a few documents for me at work makes you some kind of hero."
"Other husbands would lay down their lives for their wives. All I did was give you a little extra work and skip bringing you home for the holidays. Is that really worth making a scene over?"
Her brows pinched together, as if I were the one being unreasonable.
I didn't spiral into hysterics the way I used to. My voice was level, almost detached, as I delivered my ultimatum.
"Greta, ask yourself honestly. Have you ever truly thought of me as your husband?"
"In your eyes, wasn't I always just an employee you could summon whenever you needed?"