“If you ever touch Selina again, I swear to God I will kill you.” Those were the last words my husband said before he drove a fruit knife into my abdomen.

Two weeks later, the reality of a state prison cell had begun to break Julian Vance.

I sat behind the reinforced glass partition in the visitor's room at the Fulton County Jail. I wore a tailored emerald-green suit that hid my abdominal brace, my hair swept back, looking healthy, composed, and radiant despite the ordeal.

Julian walked into the room wearing an orange jumpsuit. His hair was messy, his eyes were bloodshot and ringed with dark circles, and he had lost weight. He picked up the plastic telephone receiver with trembling hands.

I picked up mine.

"Nora... thank God you came," Julian stammered, his voice cracking through the static of the receiver. "Nora, please... you have to listen to me. She manipulated me. Selina poisoned my mind!"

I looked at him silently, offering no reaction, letting his desperation fill the quiet air.

"She told me you were hiring private investigators to ruin my company!" Julian pleaded, tears welling in his red-rimmed eyes. "She showed me fake text messages showing you were cheating on me! She fed me lies for months, Nora! On Christmas, when she came to the house with that scratch... I lost my mind! I thought I was protecting our life!"

"You stabbed me twice, Julian," I said, my voice steady, calm, and entirely devoid of heat. "You watched me bleed on the rug we chose together, wrapped your coat around her, and said 'We're free.'"

Julian slammed his hand against the glass. "I was terrified! I panicked! Nora, I love you! I've always loved you! We can fix this! I'll give you full control of the company! I'll sign whatever financial agreements you want—just tell the prosecutor it was an accident! Tell them you don't want to testify!"

"Do you know why I came here today, Julian?" I asked softly.

Julian wiped his nose with his sleeve, looking at me with pathetic, desperate hope. "Because... because you remember our three years? Because you remember how much we loved each other?"

I reached into my purse, pulled out a clear plastic envelope, and pressed it against the glass partition.

Inside was a high-resolution 3D ultrasound image of our twelve-week-old baby.

Julian froze. His breath hitched in his throat as he stared at the tiny outline of the fingers and spine shown on the thermal paper.

"I am twelve weeks pregnant, Julian," I said, my voice echoing with absolute finality. "Our baby survived the two knife wounds you drove into my stomach."

Julian’s face went dead white. He dropped the telephone receiver, letting it dangle by its metal cord as he pressed both hands against the glass, letting out a horrific, guttural sob of realization.

"You tried to kill your own child because a liar scratched her arm," I said into the phone, holding his gaze until he picked the receiver back up with shaking fingers. "I didn't come here to save you, Julian. I came to let you know that tomorrow, my lawyers are filing for emergency termination of your parental rights on grounds of attempted severe domestic homicide."

"Nora... no! Please! It's my child too!" Julian screamed, tears streaming down his hollow face.