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The moment my husband's mistress kicked me in the stomach outside the courtroom, he laughed and said, "She always overreacts." I clutched my pregnant belly, trying to stay calm as the police officer dragged them inside. Then the judge walked in, saw the bruise forming under my dress, and froze. "Who dared lay a hand on my daughter?" my father roared. By sunset, both were handcuffed – and I was the owner of everything he intended to steal. The first kick stole my breath; my husband’s laughter nearly stole my child.
I was eight months pregnant with our precious child when my husband brought his 22-year-old mistress to the baby shower. When I asked them to leave, he punched me in the stomach, sending me tumbling into the gift table. "She's pregnant with the real heir, you infertile piece of trash," he sneered, while his wealthy parents applauded. I lay on the floor, clutching my aching stomach, when the door burst open and my father...  The punch landed before anyone at my baby shower could finish laughing. One second I was standing beneath a silver balloon arch, eight months pregnant and begging my husband to remove his mistress; the next, I was crashing through a table of tiny shoes and wrapped gifts, both arms locked around my stomach.