I never told my in-laws that I was the Chief Justice’s daughter. When I was seven months pregnant, they forced me to cook the entire Christmas dinner myself. My mother-in-law even forced me to eat standing in the kitchen, saying it was “good for the baby.” When I tried to sit down, she 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 h… En voir plus

He didn’t look at me when I put the glass container of cranberry sauce on the table.

“It’s about time,” Sylvia said contemptuously. She was wearing a red velvet dress far too tight for a woman of sixty.

He took his fork and speared the turkey onto his plate. “This turkey is dry, Anna. Did you baste it with oil every thirty minutes like I told you?”

“Yes, Sylvia,” I whispered hoarsely. “I put it together exactly as you told me.”

“Well, you must have made a mistake,” he gestured at me. “Go get the sauce. Maybe that’ll save her.”

I looked at David. He was stirring his wine: an aged Bordeaux he’d decanted an hour earlier.

“David,” I said softly. “My back hurts. Can I… can I sit down for a moment? The baby’s kicking.”

David stopped laughing. He looked at me with cold, annoyed eyes. “Anna, don’t be so dramatic. Mark is telling us about the Henderson case. Don’t interrupt us.” ️ ️ Continued on the next page  ️