For the first time, Greg looked genuinely terrified.

He leaned forward, adopting a mask of pathetic sorrow.

“Martha, you have to believe me,” Greg pleaded, his eyes shining with fake tears. “I loved Sarah.”

The room went dead still.

“No,” I said, my voice echoing like a judge reading a death sentence. “You loved what staying beside her would have cost you financially. You chose the cheaper option.”

His jaw tightened in anger. “You don’t know what it was like taking care of her!”

“Then tell me, Greg,” I demanded, leaning across the table, my eyes burning into his soul. “Tell me exactly what it was like to file for divorce while she was vomiting blood from chemotherapy.

Tell me what it was like to watch a woman you vowed to protect lose so much weight her wedding ring fell off, and decide that was the perfect moment to drain her savings account.