At my cousin’s wedding reception, we were seated having our meal when my family arrived late and started greeting everyone loudly. I was eight months pregnant and couldn’t stand up easily to greet them from my chair. My mother demanded, “Get up from that chair right now. Your sister needs to sit.” I refused. “She’s only 2 months pregnant. I’m 8 months.” I stayed seated. My father walked over and k/i/c/k/ed my chair hard from behind, making me f a. l l backwards. I landed on my pregnant belly and my water b r/ oke all over the floor. My mom… / Chapter 7 / 40

Chapter 7 - The Prosecutor Returns

I stared blankly up at the crystal chandelier on the ceiling, my vision swimming with dark spots.

The sheer, sociopathic cruelty of my mother’s words felt surreal. She was telling people to enjoy their salmon while I lay in a pool of amniotic fluid, having been physically assaulted by my own father.

"This seat is perfect for you, sweetheart,"

I heard my mother coo gently.

Through the haze of my blurred vision, I saw her pull the heavy banquet chair back upright, brushing off the seat, and gesturing for Olivia to sit down in the exact spot I had just been violently ejected from.

Olivia sat down carefully. Her face was pale, but she didn't say a single word. She looked down at me lying in agony on the floor, and then quickly averted her eyes, choosing cowardice over compassion.

A second contraction ripped through my abdomen, much stronger than the first. I tried to scream, but only a pathetic, breathless whimper escaped my lips.

Monica dropped to her knees beside me, her hands shaking wildly as she pressed her cell phone to her ear, screaming at the 911 dispatcher to send an ambulance immediately. Her husband had already sprinted out of the room to find the hotel manager.

Guests from neighboring tables finally ignored my mother's demands. A woman I didn't recognize rushed over with a stack of cloth napkins, sliding them under my head.