I never told my husband’s family that I am the Chief Justice’s daughter. When I was seven months pregnant, they f0rced me to prepare the entire Christmas dinner by myself. My mother-in-law even ordered me to eat standing in the kitchen, insisting it was “healthy for the baby.” When I tried to sit down, she pushed me so vi/0len/tly that I started to mis/carry. I reached for my phone to call the police, but my husband ripped it from my hand and sneered, “I’m a lawyer. You’ll never win.” I met his gaze and replied calmly, “Then call my father.” He laughed while dialing, unaware his legal career was seconds from collapse.

“Rebecca, what on earth is this?” he snapped, running a hand through his hair in deep frustration. “Paul is right there. This is completely unacceptable.”

Paul took a stumbling step forward, his face draining of all color until he looked like a wax figure. “Jesus, Aaron. This looks bad. This looks really serious. We need to call emergency services right now.”

“No!” Aaron barked, rounding on his partner with a flash of terrifying rage. “Absolutely not. Do you want the entire neighborhood watching ambulances pulling up to my driveway? Think of the optics. Think of the partners.” He turned his cold gaze back to me. “Get up, Rebecca. Clean this mess up. We will go to a private clinic somewhere discreet.”

“I am losing the baby,” I sobbed, the words tearing out of my throat like barbed wire. I tried to push myself up on my elbows, but my arms collapsed. “Aaron, please! Call 911!”

He stepped over the blood, grabbed my upper arm with a bruising grip, and yanked me violently upward. A fresh, tearing wave of absolute agony ripped through my uterus, and a scream tore itself from the very bottom of my lungs. I collapsed backward, writhing.

Desperate, I reached into the pocket of my cardigan with trembling, blood-slicked fingers and pulled out my smartphone.

Before my thumb could even hit the emergency dial, Aaron snatched the device from my grasp. He didn’t just take it; he hurled it with terrifying velocity directly against the tiled backsplash. The glass screen exploded into a hundred glittering shards that rained down onto the pristine countertops

“She slipped,” Judith announced instantly, her voice miraculously calm, practically coated in boredom. “She was dizzy. Always so terribly clumsy on her feet.”

Aaron looked down at me. He didn’t drop to his knees. He didn’t scream for help. He simply frowned at the rapidly expanding pool of crimson spreading around my thighs, looking at my blood exactly the way one might look at a spilled glass of cheap wine on an expensive rug.

“Rebecca, what on earth is this?” he snapped, running a hand through his hair in deep frustration. “Paul is right there. This is completely unacceptable.”

Paul took a stumbling step forward, his face draining of all color until he looked like a wax figure. “Jesus, Aaron. This looks bad. This looks really serious. We need to call emergency services right now.”

“No!” Aaron barked, rounding on his partner with a flash of terrifying rage. “Absolutely not. Do you want the entire neighborhood watching ambulances pulling up to my driveway? Think of the optics. Think of the partners.” He turned his cold gaze back to me. “Get up, Rebecca. Clean this mess up. We will go to a private clinic somewhere discreet.”

“I am losing the baby,” I sobbed, the words tearing out of my throat like barbed wire. I tried to push myself up on my elbows, but my arms collapsed. “Aaron, please! Call 911!”

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