At Connor’s funeral, I was shielding my eight-week pregnant belly when my in-laws cornered me amid wreaths. “The house and the car are for Brittany. Sign,” my mother-in-law hissed. “They’re mine,” I said… and Scott slammed me against the wall, the blow knocking the wind out of me. I felt another sʟᴀᴘ, nails digging into my wrist. “Now you’re on your own,” they spat. I pulled out my phone, my mouth full of bl00d: “Do it.” Ten minutes later, they shouted, “They’ve ruined us!”… and I was just getting started.

I stared at her, then at Connor’s coffin a few feet away. I had bought our townhouse two years before we got married. I paid for the car myself when my consulting business finally started doing well. Everything was in my name.

“They’re legally mine. I bought them before we married,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Brittany rolled her eyes. “Don’t start drama, Abigail. Connor’s gone. Families handle assets together.”

“I am his wife. That makes me his family,” I replied.

Scott stepped in close and grabbed my arm hard enough to hurt. He pulled me toward the wall near the stained glass windows.

“You’re signing those papers. Now. Stop embarrassing us,” he muttered.

“Let go. You’re hurting me. I’m not signing anything,” I said, trying to pull free.

Instead, he shoved me back. My shoulder hit the wall and knocked the air out of me.

Before I could recover, Diane slapped me across the face. The sound was sharp and loud. Her nails scratched my wrist as she leaned in.

“You have nothing without my son. Know your place.”

For a second, everything felt tilted. I tasted blood where I’d bitten my lip. A few people glanced over but quickly looked away.