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.

My father stepped out wearing a coat over his night clothes and his eyes filled with fear.

“Amelia,” he said while rushing to my side.

“Dad,” I whispered weakly.

He held my hand and kissed my forehead.

“You are safe now,” he said gently.

Then he turned to the lead marshal standing nearby.

“That man inside will be taken into federal custody,” my father said firmly. “No bail.”

The marshal nodded.

Six months later I sat in the garden of my father’s Virginia estate while cherry blossoms drifted through the warm spring air.

My body had healed from the injuries but the loss of my child remained a silent ache inside my heart.

I opened a newspaper and read the headline about Gregory Gaines receiving a twenty five year prison sentence for assault and financial crimes that investigators discovered during the trial.

My father joined me on the bench and handed me a cup of tea.

“You look stronger today,” he said kindly.

“I feel stronger,” I replied while folding the newspaper.

“I applied to Columbia Law School yesterday.”

My father raised his eyebrows with surprise.

“I thought you hated the law,” he said.