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.”

“Ms. Thorne? I’m Agent Carter. We’re getting you out of here.”

“The baby…” I cried.

“We have an ambulance out front. Stay with me.”

They lifted me onto a stretcher. As they carried me out, I passed David. He was pinned to the floor, cheek pressed into the pool of my blood. He looked up at me with pleading eyes.

“Anna! Tell them! Tell them it was an accident! We’re married! They can’t arrest me!”

I looked at him. The man I had loved. The man who had destroyed our future.

“Officer,” I said to the agent holding David.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I want to press charges,” I said clearly. “Aggravated assault. False imprisonment. And… murder.”

“No!” David screamed. “Anna!”

“And I want a divorce,” I added.

They carried me out into the cold night. The street was blocked by black SUVs with flashing red and blue lights. A helicopter circled overhead, its spotlight bathing the house like a crime scene.