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

I thought I’d found true love. Instead, I found a man who loved my vulnerability because it made him feel powerful.

I returned to the dining room with the gravy boat. My legs were shaking uncontrollably.

I looked at the empty chair next to David. There was a plate, but no one was sitting there.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I went and pulled out the chair.

The creaking of wooden legs on the wooden floor silenced the room.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sylvia asked in a dangerously low voice.

“I have to sit down,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Just a moment to eat.”

Sylvia stood up. She slammed her hand on the table, sending the silverware flying.

“Servants don’t sit with the family,” she whispered.

I froze. “I’m his wife, Sylvia. I’m pregnant with your grandchild.”

“You’re useless. You can’t even cook a turkey properly,” he snapped. “You eat standing up in the kitchen after we’re done. That’s how it works in my house. Learn to keep your place.”

I looked at David. My husband. The father of my son.

“David?” I begged.

David took a sip of wine. He didn’t look at me. He stared at the wall.

“Listen to my mother, Anna,” he said indifferently. “She knows best. Don’t make a scene in front of Mark. Go to the kitchen.”

A sharp pain stabbed my lower abdomen. It wasn’t hunger. It was a cramp. Very strong.

I gasped, holding my stomach. “Dav

“Something’s wrong. It hurts.”

“Let’s go!” Sylvia shouted, pointing cautiously with a finger toward the kitchen door.

I turned. I stumbled. The world tilted.

Chapter 2: The Fatal Push.
I tried to walk. Really. But the pain in my stomach was like a red-hot iron twisting inside me.

I stopped near the kitchen island, holding onto the granite countertop so I wouldn’t fall.

“I said move!” Sylvia shouted behind me.

He had followed me into the kitchen. His face was twisted with pure, horrible fury. He couldn’t stand disobedience. He couldn’t stand that I had challenged his authority by trying to sit down.

“I can’t,” I said with difficulty. “Sylvia, please… call a doctor.”

“You lazy, lying brat!” Sylvia screamed. “Always sick! Always tired! You’re pathetic!”

She lunged at me.

He put both hands on my chest, right above my heart, and pushed.