My husband cheated. I packed my kids and drove to my parents’ house. My father opened the door, looked at my three children standing behind me, and slowly closed it. My brother said no space. My sister called me impulsive. I picked up that garbage bag, walked back to my car, and I whispered 3 words..

He began to push the heavy door shut. But before the latch could click, Landis materialized over my father’s shoulder. My thirty-two-year-old brother, residing rent-free, eating my mother’s groceries. He leaned around the doorframe, a sickening, arrogant half-smirk plastered across his face.

“There literally is no space, Cor,” Landis drawled, shrugging his shoulders. “You know how cramped it gets around here.”

He had an entire floor of the house to himself.

I stood on that porch, the wind biting my cheeks, and I refused to let the tears fall. The pressure behind my eyes was blinding, a physical ache radiating down my throat. But Sarin was clutching my hand, Calla had buried her face in my thigh, and Arlo had wrapped his tiny arms around my waist. At four years old, he couldn’t grasp the dialogue, but he could feel the seismic terror radiating from my body. I would not shatter in front of them.

“Okay,” I whispered. Just a single, hollow word. “Okay.”

Then, the final act of the circus arrived. Bryony stepped into the hallway, crossing her arms over her chest, her head tilted at that specific angle that signaled an impending lecture.

“Honestly, Coralie,” Bryony sighed, as if my homelessness was a personal inconvenience to her Tuesday morning. “I think this entire stunt is incredibly impulsive. Caspian is not a malicious person. People make mistakes. You have three children to consider. Their stability matters significantly more than your bruised ego right now. Their stability.“

Their stability.