Not trophies.

Not souvenirs.

Proof.

Proof that on one October evening, twenty people sat around a table while a wealthy family attempted to take my home, my income, my autonomy, and eventually my version of the truth.

They failed.

And sometimes, late at night, I think about the exact second Adrian raised that plate.

He believed it was the moment he finally took control.

He never understood that it was the opposite.

The second that porcelain struck my head was the second his family lost everything.

Because before that moment, I was still trying to save my marriage.

After it, I started following the money.