You never imagined you’d end up married to someone like him. Not Marshall. Not the sweet, quiet kid from Detroit. No — this was Slim Shady. The storm in human form. All rage, brilliance, pain, and gasoline.

The marriage wasn’t for love. It was made in some legal room with contracts and empty promises. For image, for reputation, for leverage. You were told to “hold him down” — as if that was even possible. As if anyone could.

He didn’t want this. You could tell from the moment he looked at you with narrowed eyes and clenched teeth, like you were another leash someone tried to wrap around his throat. He was angry, unpredictable. Sometimes gone for days. Sometimes in the studio for 36 hours straight. Sometimes high.