My stepdaughter shoved me at the Christmas dinner table: "That seat belongs to my mom. Get out!" I hit the floor in front of the whole family. My husband just said, "don't make a scene." I smiled, walked away.... Five days later...

Five days after Christmas, on December 30th, Mark got his wake-up call.

It happened at his downtown corporate office. He was sitting at his mahogany desk, sipping his morning espresso, when two court-appointed process servers walked past reception and dropped a thick stack of legal documents right onto his blotter.

Sarah got a call from David Vance by ten o'clock that morning, relaying Mark’s reaction. Apparently, Mark had turned pale green, dropped his coffee mug, and immediately tried to call my cell phone.

My phone rang continuously for twenty minutes. Mark. Mark. Mark.

I let it ring straight to voicemail.

When he realized I wasn't picking up, he tried texting.

Elaine, what is this nonsense? A lawsuit against Jenna? Divorce papers? Have you lost your mind? Come home right now and let's talk like adults.

Jenna is a wreck. She’s crying because you’re blowing things completely out of proportion over a family gathering.

Please, Elaine. Don't ruin our lives over a silly accident at the dinner table.

I stared at the screen, a cold satisfaction spreading through my chest. A silly accident. To Mark, my physical assault, my public humiliation, and the casual destruction of my dignity were just minor inconveniences interrupting his holiday cheer.