Page 149 of His Forced Bride
Viktoria's face remains perfectly composed, but I catch the flash of anger in her eyes before she buries it beneath her feigned maternal concern.
"Your Honor," Viktoria's attorney says, "this is clearly a case of psychological manipulation.
Mrs. Gravitch has been isolated and brainwashed to the point where she views her captor as her protector."
"Objection," my attorney interjects.
"Counsel is making psychological diagnoses without proper credentials or examination."
"Sustained," he says, turning to Viktoria's lawyer.
But what should be a scowl looks more like he's wincing.
I can see him struggling with either choice—grant Viktoria's petition and potentially separate a wife from her husband against her stated wishes, or deny it and potentially leave a woman in an abusive situation.
This is a moral man in a very immoral circumstance.
Viktoria rises from her seat, tears streaming down her face in a performance worthy of professional theater.
"Your Honor, I haven't seen my daughter in eleven years. I made mistakes when she was young, terrible mistakes that I've spent over a decade trying to atone for. But I love her more than my own life, and I can't stand by and watch her being controlled and manipulated by a man with a history of violence."
The tears are perfect—not too heavy, not too theatrical, just enough to suggest genuine maternal anguish.
She's playing to every parent in the courtroom, every person who can imagine the horror of watching their child in danger.
"All I want is the chance to help her grieve her father's death," she continues.
"To give her the support and resources she needs to make truly free choices about her future."
I feel Inessa's hand tighten on mine.
The pain in her eyes is unmistakable as she listens to her mother weaponize parental love against her.
This is psychological warfare at its most refined—using genuine emotions and universal fears to mask manipulation.
The judge looks between us, clearly torn.
The photographs suggest abuse, the mother's tears suggest desperation, but the wife's composure and stated preferences complicate any simple narrative.
"Mrs. Gravitch," he says finally, "I'm going to ask you one more time, and I want you to think very carefully about your answer. If you could leave here today with your mother, return to your old life, regain control of your business—would you want to do that?"
The judge waits, and I keep my expression neutral, but my chest tightens with the possibility that Inessa might actually consider the offer.
Not because she wants to leave, but because the pressure of this moment, the weight of public scrutiny and judicial authority, might push her toward what appears to be the easier choice.
Instead, she turns to look at me directly.
Not seeking permission or reassurance, but making a statement.
Then she faces the judge again.
"No, Your Honor. I would not."
"Even if it meant regaining your independence and your assets?"
"My independence was never taken from me. My assets are safe where they are. And my place is with my husband."
As she speaks, she places her free hand over our clasped hands.
