“Get out of the car right now,” my mother ordered while rain hammered the highway and my three-day-old twins cried in their car seats, and when I begged her to stop because the babies were newborns, my father grabbed my hair and pushed me out onto the road while the car was still moving…

“You brought shame on this entire family,” my mother declared sharply. “Everyone at church knows about your divorce, our neighbors know, and your father’s business partners know that our daughter could not even keep a marriage together.”

My father added bitterly, “Our daughter who decided quitting was easier than working through rough patches.”

The phrase rough patches felt like a knife twisting in my chest because they used it to describe years of fear and humiliation.

“At least Kyle had enough dignity to feel embarrassed about all of this,” Danielle added smugly.

My stomach tightened. “What are you talking about.”

“He called Dad last week and apologized for the situation,” she replied. “He said he tried everything to make the marriage work but you were too stubborn and influenced by all those modern ideas.”

Hearing that made my chest tighten with disbelief because the man who had terrorized me had somehow convinced my family that he was the victim.

Suddenly my mother spoke again with frightening calmness. “Danielle, pull the car over right now.”

My sister glanced at her in confusion but slowed the vehicle until it rolled onto the highway shoulder while rain pounded against the windows.