I never told my in-laws I was the daughter of the Chief Justice. When I was seven months pregnant, they forced me to cook the entire Christmas dinner by myself.
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 started to miscarry. I reached for my phone to call the police, but my husband snatched it away and sneered, “I’m a lawyer. You’re not going to win.”
I looked him straight in the eye and said calmly, “Then call my father.” 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 glaze I’d made from scratch (bourbon, maple, and orange zest), smelling of warmth and Christmas cheer. But to me, it smelled like slavery.
My ankles were swollen to the size of grapefruits.
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