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.
“Identify yourself.” The voice that boomed from the speaker was not that of a “nobody.” It was a voice used to commanding courtrooms, silencing objections, and shaping the law of the land. It was a voice that made David’s confident smirk falter for a fraction of a second.
David, recovering quickly, plastered on a smug, condescending smile meant for me. He leaned against the kitchen counter, one hand in his pocket, the picture of a man in control. “This is David Miller, Anna’s husband. Your daughter is causing a scene and having some kind of… episode. You might want to talk some sense into her.”
The line was silent for a beat. Then, my father’s voice, quieter but infinitely more dangerous, came through. “Put Anna on the phone.”
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