Chapter 1: The Servant’s Christmas The turkey was a twenty-pound monument to my exhaustion. It sat on the counter, glistening with the glaze I had made from scratch—bourbon, maple, and orange zest—smelling of warmth and holiday cheer. But to me, it smelled like slavery. My ankles were swollen to the size of grapefruits. I was seven months pregnant, and my back felt like someone had driven a railroad spike into my lumbar spine. I had been on my feet since 5:00 AM. Chopping, roasting, cleaning, polishing. “Anna!” Sylvia’s voice cut through the kitchen like a serrated knife. My mother-in-law didn’t speak; she screeched. “Where is the cranberry sauce? David’s plate is dry!” I wiped my hands on my stained apron. “Coming, Sylvia. Just getting it from the fridge.”…CONTINUE READING BELOW
He laughed as he dialed, unaware his legal career had just ended.
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