I never told my in-laws that I was the Chief Justice’s daughter. When I was seven months pregnant, they made me cook the entire Christmas dinner myself.
My mother-in-law even made me eat standing up in the kitchen, claiming that “it was good for the baby.”
When I tried to sit down, he pushed me so hard that I started having a miscarriage. I grabbed the phone to call the police, but my husband snatched it away and said contemptuously, “I’m a lawyer. You won’t win.”
I looked him straight in the eye and said calmly, “Then call my dad.” He laughed as he dialed, completely unaware that his legal career was about to end.
Chapter 1: The Servant’s Christmas
The turkey was a twenty-pound monument to my exhaustion.
It sat on the counter, glistening with the icing I’d made from scratch (bourbon, maple, and orange zest), and it smelled of warmth and Christmas cheer. But to me, it smelled of slavery.
My ankles were swollen like grapefruits 
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