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 violently that I began to lose the baby. I reached for my phone to call the police, but my husband snatched it away and mocked me: “I’m a lawyer. You aren’t going to 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. – News

David, who had been sipping wine and barely paying attention, looked at me dismissively. “Listen to my mother, Anna. Don’t embarrass me in front of my colleagues,” he said, the indifference in his voice making my blood run cold.

I stood there for a moment, trying to suppress my tears. I wasn’t allowed to sit, not even for a moment’s relief. It was just another reminder of the power they held over me.

And then, as I continued to stand in the kitchen, a sharp pain suddenly gripped me. It wasn’t just the discomfort of my pregnancy. This was something different. Something worse.

“David… it hurts…” I gasped, clutching my stomach.

But instead of rushing to my side, Sylvia shot me a contemptuous glance. “Faking it again to avoid work?” she spat, the venom in her voice evident.