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.

Patricia followed me into the kitchen and her expression looked twisted with fury because she believed I had challenged her authority.

“Pretending again so you can avoid work,” she sneered with contempt.

Before I could step away she pushed me hard with both hands against my chest, and my body lost balance as my swollen feet slipped on the smooth kitchen tile.

I fell backward and my lower back slammed violently into the sharp granite edge of the kitchen island while a burning pain exploded through my stomach.

Bright red blood began spreading across the white floor tiles beneath me while the shock froze my body.

“My baby,” I whispered in horror while pressing my hands against my stomach.

Gregory rushed into the kitchen along with his coworker Brandon Cole, and the moment Gregory saw the blood his expression tightened with annoyance rather than concern.

“Good grief, Amelia, you always create chaos,” Gregory muttered irritably. “Get up and clean this before the guests notice.”

“I am losing the baby, call emergency services now,” I begged while tears streamed down my face.

“No,” Gregory snapped sharply.