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.

If someone says no, you do not ask who her family knows before deciding whether the no counts.

And if you ever find yourself in a room where somebody’s dignity depends on their status, their money, their profession or the title of the person who might answer their phone—

something in that room is already wrong.

That Christmas, David believed he knew the law.

My father understood something deeper.

The law was not supposed to belong to him.

Or to David.

Or to sheriffs, judges, partners or powerful families.

It was supposed to protect the principle David had forgotten before he ever picked up my phone.

I was a person.

I had the right to seek help.

I had the right to tell the truth.

I had the right to leave.

And I had the right to sit at the table.

No title was ever supposed to be necessary for that.