I dove into the pool to save a drowning child while eight months pregnant. My husband stood by and did nothing. When I surfaced with the girl, a woman screamed, “Don’t touch my daughter!” Then she shouted at my husband, “You almost k//i/lled our daughter by insisting we come to this pretentious hellhole!”
The water in the country club pool was unnervingly stagnant, a turquoise mirror that seemed to hold its breath, concealing the predators lurking beneath the surface of high society. I, Elena Vance, was eight months deep into a pregnancy that felt like carrying a boulder of pure anticipation. My ankles were swollen to the size of…
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