My husband abuses me for not taking care of him, but I am already seven months pregnant and taking care of our four-year-old adopted son. He wants five more sons to maintain his family’s legacy and reputation. My name is Emily, and I never thought my life would turn into this nightmare. When I met Marcus 5 years ago, he was charming, successful, came from old money. His family owned half the real estate in our town. I was a kindergarten teacher, fresh out of college, and he swept me off my feet with expensive dinners and weekend getaways. The first time he raised his voice at me was 3 months after our wedding. I had forgotten to pick up his dry cleaning. He screamed for 20 minutes about how incompetent I was, how he had made a mistake marrying someone from my background. I cried myself to sleep that night while he played video games in the living room like nothing happened. But yesterday was different. Yesterday, I finally did something about it. I was in the kitchen making breakfast when Marcus came downstairs. Our son Tyler was eating cereal at the table, humming a song from his favorite cartoon. My back was killing me from the pregnancy, and my feet were so swollen I could barely fit into my slippers. The coffee tastes like dirt, Marcus said, dumping the entire mug into the sink. Do you ever do anything right? I kept my eyes on the eggs I was scrambling. I made it the same way I always do. Well, it’s terrible. Just like everything else you do, he grabbed his briefcase. I have meetings all day. The house better be spotless when I get back, and Tyler needs to be in bed by 7:00. I don’t want

to hear a single sound when I’m working tonight. Tyler was 4:00. Getting him to bed by 7:00 was nearly impossible, and Marcus knew it. After Marcus left, I sat down at the table and watched Tyler finish his breakfast. He had his mother’s eyes, his biological mother. I mean, we adopted him when he was 6 months old after I had a miscarriage, and the doctor said getting pregnant naturally would be difficult for me.

Marcus wanted a son to carry on the family name, and adoption seemed like the answer. Then, miraculously, I got pregnant last year. Marcus was thrilled at first, but when we found out it was a girl, everything changed. He started talking about how we needed more children, sons, multiple sons. He said his father had three sons and his grandfather had five. It was tradition.

It was legacy. At least six children total,” he said one night. “We already have Tyler and this girl, so we need five more, all boys.” I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. That morning, after breakfast, I did something I had been planning for weeks. I opened my laptop and logged into Marcus’ email account. I knew his password because he used the same one for everything, his father’s birthday. What I found made my blood run cold. There were emails to a lawyer about prenuptual agreements and divorce settlements, but these weren’t for us.

They were drafts, hypothetical scenarios. In one email, Marcus asked how much child support he would owe if we divorced. and I had full custody. In another, he asked about his legal obligations if something happened to me during childbirth. Then I found the email that changed everything. It was from his brother, David. Look, man, I know mom and dad put pressure on you about the family legacy thing, but you can’t seriously be considering this.

What you told me last week at the club, that’s insane. You can’t just keep getting her pregnant, hoping for sons, and then leaving her if it doesn’t work out. And that other thing you mentioned about after the baby comes, you need to talk to someone professional, not me. My hands shook as I read it again and again. What other thing was David talking about? I clicked through more emails and found a thread from 3 months ago. Marcus was talking to someone named Jennifer. The emails were flirty at first, then explicit. He was having an affair. But that wasn’t even the worst part. In one message, Jennifer wrote, “Once you’re free of her, we can start our own family. I’ll give you all the sons you want. My family has all boys.

My dad has four sons. I have three brothers. It’s in my jeans.” Marcus replied, “Soon. Everything set in motion. By spring, I’ll be free.” Spring was 2 months away. What did he mean by free? I heard Tyler calling from the living room and quickly closed the laptop. My mind was racing. I needed to think. I needed a plan. That afternoon, I did something I should have done years ago. I called my sister Melissa. Melissa and I hadn’t spoken in over a year.

Marcus had slowly isolated me from my family, always finding reasons why we couldn’t visit them, why they couldn’t come to our house. He said my family was beneath us, that they were bad influences. Emily, Melissa’s voice cracked when she answered. Oh my god, Emily. I started crying immediately.

Everything poured out. the verbal abuse, the controlling behavior, the impossible demands about having more children, the affair, those cryptic emails about being free. You need to leave him right now, Melissa said. PP pack a bag and get Tyler and get out of that house. I can’t just leave. He’ll come after me. His family has money and lawyers and then we document everything first. Do you have proof of the affair? The emails? Yes, but forward them to yourself. All of them. Then forward them to me, too.

Create a paper trail. Do you have anywhere safe you can go? I thought for a moment. Maybe. There’s a friend from college, Rebecca. She lives two hours away. Marcus doesn’t know about her.

Good. Start planning. But Emily, you need to be careful. If he’s talking about being free by spring and you’re due in 6 weeks, I don’t want to scare you, but you need to consider what he might be planning. After we hung up, I sat in the nursery we had prepared for the baby. Pink walls, white crib, stuffed animals arranged on shelves.

Marcus hadn’t stepped foot in this room since we painted it. He was disappointed we were having a girl. I forwarded all the emails to myself and to Melissa.

Then I started going through Marcus’ documents more carefully. That’s when I found the life insurance policies. There were two of them, both taken out 6 months ago, right after we found out I was pregnant. Each policy was for $2 million. I was the insured party on both. Marcus was the beneficiary. $4 million if I died. My heart started pounding so hard I thought I might pass out. I had to grip the edge of the desk to study myself. He was planning to kill me. The pieces fell into place. The pressure about having more kids. The affair with Jennifer, who supposedly had good jeans for boys. the emails about being free by spring, the life insurance policies, David’s email mentioning that other thing. Marcus was going to make my death look like a complication from childbirth. I thought about the prenatal vitamins he insisted I take, the ones he bought from some boutique pharmacy instead of just getting them at the regular drugstore. The special protein shakes he made me drink every morning.

The way he always insisted on driving me to my doctor’s appointments, sitting in the waiting room, walking me to the car afterward. Control. It was all about control. And soon it would be about murder. I grabbed my phone and almost called the police, but then I stopped.

What would I tell them? That my husband bought life insurance and had an affair?

That his brother sent a vague email? I had no concrete proof of a murder plot, just suspicious circumstances. And Marcus’ family had connections everywhere, including the police department. His uncle was the county sheriff. I needed something more solid.

That night, Marcus came home late. I pretended everything was normal. I served him dinner, kept Tyler quiet, went to bed early, but I didn’t sleep. I lay there in the dark thinking, planning. The next morning, I made an appointment with a different doctor in the next county over. I told the receptionist I was visiting family and needed a routine checkup. When I got there, I asked them to run every test possible. Blood work, urine samples, everything. Is there something specific you’re concerned about? The doctor asked. I hesitated, then said. I just want to make sure everything is okay with the baby and with me. The results came back 3 days later. The doctor called me personally. Mrs. Chen, we found something concerning in your blood work. You have elevated levels of a substance that shouldn’t be there. It’s a compound sometimes found in certain types of supplements, but at high doses, it can be toxic, especially during pregnancy. My throat went dry. What kind of supplements? It’s actually found in some bodybuilding products and herbal remedies. Do you take anything like that? The protein shakes, the vitamins.

My husband makes me protein shakes every morning. He says they’re for the baby.

There was a long pause on the other end.

Mrs. Chen, I think you should come back in and I think you should consider talking to someone about your home situation. That’s when I knew I was right. Marcus was poisoning me slowly.

carefully so it would look like pregnancy complications when I finally went into labor. I sat in my car in the parking lot for an hour shaking. Then I called Melissa again. We need to move faster. I told her, I can’t wait. I need to get out now. Okay. Okay. Here’s what we do. Over the next week, I carefully executed our plan. I opened a secret bank account and started transferring small amounts of money from our joint account. $20 here, 50 there. Nothing Marcus would notice. I packed a bag and hid it in Tyler’s closet behind his winter clothes. I contacted Rebecca and asked if Tyler and I could stay with her for a while. She said yes without hesitation. I also did something else. I set up a small camera in the kitchen hidden in the plant on top of the refrigerator. I needed proof of Marcus tampering with my food or drinks. It only took 2 days. On Wednesday morning, I pretended to go upstairs to take a shower. But instead, I crouched on the landing, watching through the baby gate.

Marcus came into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He pulled out the protein powder and my prenatal vitamins.

Then he went to his briefcase and took out a small brown bottle. I watched him measure out the protein powder, add water, then carefully tip the brown bottle over the shaker cup. One, two, three drops of clear liquid. He mixed it all up, put the brown bottle back in his briefcase, and called up the stairs.

Emily, I made your shake. It’s on the counter. Thanks. I’ll be down in a minute. I waited until he left for work.

Then I dumped the shake down the sink and retrieved the camera footage. I had him. Clear video of him adding something from an unmarked bottle to my drink, but I needed more. I needed to know what was in that bottle. That night, while Marcus was in the shower, I went through his briefcase. The brown bottle was tucked into a side pocket. I carefully poured a small amount of the liquid into a plastic baggie and sealed it. Then, I put the bottle back exactly where I found it. The next day, I drove 3 hours to a lab in a different city. I paid cash and gave them a fake name. I asked them to test the liquid and tell me what it was. This will take a few days, the yacht technician said. That’s fine. Just please call me as soon as you know. I drove home, my mind racing with what I would do next. I was 7 months pregnant, exhausted, scared, and running out of time. When I got home, there was a black BMW in my driveway. I recognized it immediately. It was Marcus’s father’s car. Robert Chen was sitting in my living room with Marcus when I walked in. Tyler was thankfully at a playd date with a neighbor. Emily, Robert said, standing up. We need to talk. My heart sank. Did they know what I had been doing? Your husband tells me you’ve been acting strangely lately. Secretive, going places without telling him where.

I glanced at Marcus. His face was unreadable. I’ve just been going to doctor’s appointments, I said carefully.

For the baby. Your regular doctor says you missed your last two appointments.

Robert continued. Marcus had to reschedule them. I hadn’t missed any appointments. Marcus had been canceling them without telling me. I think we all know what’s happening here. Robert said, his voice taking on a harder edge.

You’re planning to leave Marcus and probably planning to take Tyler with you. I Let me be very clear about something, Emily. Tyler is a Chen. He may not be biologically ours, but we adopted him into this family. If you try to take him away, we will use every resource at our disposal to fight you, and you will lose. Are you threatening me? I’m explaining reality to you. You signed a postnuptial agreement two years ago. Do you remember that? I did remember. Marcus had told me it was just a formality, something his parents wanted for estate planning purposes. I had been so tired that week dealing with Tyler’s daycare issues, and I had just signed it without reading it carefully.

That agreement states that in the event of divorce, custody of any children will be determined based on who can provide the most stable home environment. Marcus has family money, a career, connections.

You’re a part-time teacher with no family money. And he glanced at my pregnant belly. Questionable decision-making skills. Questionable decision-making. Getting pregnant when you knew Marcus wanted to wait. It put stress on the marriage. I almost laughed. Marcus had been the one pressuring me about having more children. But of course, Robert didn’t know that. Or maybe he did and didn’t care. I want you to understand something. Robert continued. This family has a legacy to protect. Marcus is the eldest son. He has responsibilities. and you frankly are not living up to your responsibilities as his wife. After they left, I sat on the couch and cried. I felt trapped, helpless. Even if I got proof of Marcus’ poisoning, even if I left, I might lose Tyler and my unborn daughter would be born into a custody battle. But then my phone rang. It was the lab. Ma’am, we’ve completed the analysis of the liquid you brought in.

You need to hear this. The substance contains a compound called penny royal oil. It’s extremely dangerous for pregnant women. Historically, it’s been used to induce miscarriage and in higher doses, it can cause liver failure and death. My hands started shaking. Are you sure? Absolutely. This concentration is high enough to cause serious harm, especially with repeated exposure. If you’ve been ingesting this, you need to see a doctor immediately, and I have to ask, where did you get this? My husband has been putting it in my drinks. There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. Ma’am, you need to call the police. This is attempted murder. After I hung up, I sat there for a long time.

I had proof now. Real scientific proof.

But Robert Chen’s words kept echoing in my mind. The family connections, the lawyers, the custody battle. If I went to the police, Marcus would be arrested, but would he be convicted, or would his family’s lawyers get him off? And even if he went to prison, what would happen to me and the kids? Robert had made it clear they would fight for Tyler. I needed to be smarter about this. That night, I made a decision. Instead of going to the police immediately, I contacted a lawyer, not just any lawyer, a family law attorney 3 hours away who specialized in cases involving abuse and parental rights. Her name was Patricia Morrison and according to her website, she had won multiple cases against wealthy families trying to use their resources to control custody proceedings. I met with her the next day, bringing all my evidence, the emails, the insurance policies, the video footage, the lab report about the penny royal oil. Patricia listened to everything, taking notes, her expression growing darker with each revelation.

Emily, this is one of the most clear-cut cases of attempted murder I’ve ever seen outside of a crime drama, she said when I finished. But you’re right to be cautious. The Chen family has a lot of influence. We need to approach this strategically. What do you suggest?

First, we document everything and create multiple backup copies stored in different locations. Then, we get you and Tyler somewhere safe. After that, we file for an emergency protective order and press charges simultaneously. The key is doing it all at once so he doesn’t have time to react or disappear.

But what about Tyler? His father said, “That postnuptial agreement he mentioned, I’d need to see it, but most of those agreements don’t hold up when one party was being coerced or didn’t have independent legal counsel.” And given that Marcus was literally trying to poison you, any judge would see through his custody claims. For the first time in weeks, I felt a glimmer of hope. There’s something else. Patricia said, “You mentioned his affair with Jennifer. Do you have her last name?” I pulled out my phone and showed her the emails. Jennifer Hartley. Patricia typed something into her computer, then frowned. Jennifer Hartley. That name sounds familiar. She clicked through a few screens. Oh. Oh, no. What? Jennifer Hartley was married before. To a man named Scott Patterson. He died 3 years ago from sudden liver failure. The death was ruled natural causes, but she pulled up a news article. There were questions.