I never told my in-laws that I am the daughter of the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. When I was seven months pregnant, they forced me to cook the entire Christmas dinner alone. My mother-in-law even made me eat standing up in the kitchen, claiming it was ‘good for the baby.’ When I tried to sit down, she pushed me so hard I began to miscarry. I reached for my phone to call the police, but my husband snatched it away and mocked me: ‘I’m a lawyer. You won’t win.’ I looked him straight in the eyes and said calmly: ‘Then call my father.’ He laughed as he dialed, unaware that his legal career was about to end.”

I looked at David. He stood there, hands on hips, radiating arrogance.

“Listen to me,” David sneered, crouching beside me so our faces were level.

I’m a lawyer. One of the best. I know every judge in this county. I play golf with the Sheriff. If you try to tell anyone, I’ll destroy you.

He jabbed me in the chest.

It’s your word against ours. My mother will testify you slipped. Mark… Mark didn’t see anything, did he, Mark?

Mark, standing in the doorway, looked terrified. “I… I didn’t see anything.”

“See?” David asked with a cruel smile, like a shark’s. “No witnesses. I’ll have you committed, Anna. I’ll say you’re mentally unstable. Postpartum psychosis before birth.

I’ll lock you in a ward where no one will hear you scream. You’ll never beat me. I know the statutes. I know the loopholes.”