They cast me out, along with my ten-day-old twins, into the biting cold of a midnight street. A glob of spittle from my mother-in-law struck my cheek. My husband, a statue carved from silence, merely watched. They hurled words at me—worthless, trash, a parasite. What they failed to comprehend, in their spectacular ignorance, was that I owned every splinter of their carefully constructed lives. And I was poised to reclaim it all—slowly, painfully, and with absolute brutality.