I never told my in-laws that I am Chief Justice’s daughter. When I was 7 months pregnant, they forced me to cook the entire Christmas dinner alone. My mother-in-law even made me eat standing in the kitchen, claiming it was “good for the baby.”

I turned, dizzy and unsteady. The pain worsened with each step until I had to grab the counter to stay upright.

Behind me I heard footsteps and then her voice again, louder and closer. “I told you to move.”

She shoved me with both hands, hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. My feet slipped on the tile and my body fell backward into the island. The impact sent a shock through my spine that exploded into white heat.

I hit the floor, my head bouncing against the tile. For a moment I could not process anything beyond the pain, and then I felt warmth spreading beneath me, soaking through fabric, unstoppable and terrifying.

Aaron rushed in with Paul trailing behind him.

“She slipped,” Judith said instantly. “Always clumsy.”

Aaron frowned at the blood as if it were an inconvenience. “Rebecca, what is this. Paul is here.”

Paul looked pale. “This looks serious. We should call emergency services.”

“No,” Aaron snapped. “Do you want the neighbors watching ambulances. Get up. Clean this. Then we will go somewhere discreet.”

“I am losing the baby,” I cried. “Please call for help.”

He grabbed my arm and pulled. Another wave of pain tore through me and I screamed.