My name is Mia Carter, and eight months ago my mother tried to rip my engagement ring off my swollen finger at Christmas dinner while screaming that feminism had ruined me. My fiancé, James, grabbed her wrist and begged her to stop, but that only made her worse. She shouted that he had destroyed her daughter, that I was supposed to be pure, obedient, and grateful. My sister, Elena, stood behind me and held my shoulders while my mother twisted the ring until my finger turned purple. When James tried to pull them away, my mother grabbed a kitchen knife and lunged at him. By the time the police arrived, my finger was dislocated, the ring had cut deep into my skin, and whatever fantasy I still had about saving my family was dead.
