I never told my in-laws that my father is the Chief Justice. I spent the entire day cooking Christmas dinner for the family, only to have my mother-in-law make me eat while standing in the kitchen.

“See?”

He sighed.

“Two generations of critics.”

We ate.

Sitting down.

All of us.

Years earlier, David had laughed when I told him to call my father.

For a long time, people who heard pieces of the story thought that was the turning point.

The powerful father.

The terrifying phone call.

The arrogant lawyer discovering his supposedly insignificant wife was connected to someone he could not intimidate.

It makes a satisfying story.

But it is not the part I remember most.

I remember the paramedic saying:

“She said no.”

I remember Michael Grant refusing to let David turn an emergency into a family misunderstanding.

I remember Emily telling the truth even though Sylvia was her aunt.

I remember my father refusing to use power improperly even against a man who had harmed his daughter.

I remember my lawyer asking me what I wanted instead of telling me what I should want.