She carried his child, yet followed him to his mother’s house without a word of protest. Midway, the pain grew unbearable. He slammed the brakes, she expected comfort, a hand to hold. Instead, he shouted: ‘I refuse to endure your theatrics!’

At nine months pregnant, Lena felt as large and unwieldy as a zeppelin. Her belly pulled her downward, her back ached with a constant, dull throb, but the sweet anticipation of meeting her baby overshadowed every discomfort. Today, they were driving to Sylvia’s house for her birthday. Lena felt no particular excitement for the occasion. Her mother-in-law, Sylvia, had never warmed to her, viewing her as an inadequate match for her precious only son, Mark.

But Mark had insisted. “Mom will be offended, Lena. You know how she is.”

Oh, Lena knew. Sylvia was a woman accustomed to getting her way, a matriarch who ruled her small domain with an iron will.