I never told my in-laws that I am the daughter of the President of the Supreme Court. When I was seven months pregnant, they forced me to cook the entire Christmas dinner alone.

I had been cooking since 5:00 a.m. for my in laws’ Christmas dinner, and the smell of roasted turkey and cinnamon should have made the kitchen feel warm and festive. Instead the air felt heavy because my swollen feet ached from standing all morning while my back throbbed from carrying a seven month pregnancy.

But when I asked to sit down because of the back pain from my seventh month of pregnancy, my mother in law, Patricia Gaines, slammed her hand on the dining table with a loud crack that silenced the room.

“Servants do not sit with the family,” she spat angrily. “You can eat in the kitchen later while standing after we finish dinner, so learn your place in this house.”

My husband Gregory Gaines lifted his wine glass without even glancing at me and took a slow sip as if the scene in front of him were unimportant.

“Listen to my mother, Amelia,” he said in a bored tone. “Do not embarrass me in front of my colleagues tonight.”

A sudden cramp twisted through my stomach and forced me to grab the counter for support while my breath came out in a shaky gasp.

“Gregory, it hurts,” I whispered desperately.