And their lies were working, which was the hardest part to bear.

A long-term consulting client canceled my retainer.

A close friend stopped answering my calls.

Two of my uncles sent me harsh emails telling me I needed to check into rehab and beg my father’s forgiveness before I destroyed the family name.

I lay in a hospital bed, unable to stand without clutching my fractured ribs, recovering from a beating my parents had given me, and I watched them, from a distance, methodically dismantle my reputation, turn my own family against me, cost me my livelihood, all while casting themselves as the wounded, patient victims of their unstable daughter.

It was a masterclass in the particular cruelty of the powerful: not content to hurt me, they were rewriting the story so that the hurt would be seen as my own fault, so that I would be not only injured but blamed for my injuries.