To steal my unborn baby, my mother-in-law cornered me with a forged notice of my husband’s death. “You have no one left to protect you,” she sneered, forcing custody papers into my hand. But as I backed away, the front door burst open, and a voice she never expected to hear shouted…

I became a prisoner in my own marriage, I was a botanical illustrator, a woman who spent her days cataloging the intricate, brutal ways vines strangle ancient oaks in the deep South. I understood parasitism. I understood how something toxic could masquerade as something beautiful. Yet, I entirely failed to recognize the poison ivy creeping around my continue reading …