My ex-in-laws took my house—now they sorely regret it.

My hands were trembling. Not the kind of tremor you get from nerves, but the deep, involuntary shudder that meant my time was almost up.

I backed away from the crowd in my doorway and went straight to the kitchen drawer, where I kept a little orange pill bottle tucked behind the coffee filters. When I came back, I held it up like a talisman.

“I’m sick,” I said, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “I mean really sick. I have a serious mental health condition. If I don’t take my medication on time, I can’t control myself. I could hurt someone. Badly.”

For a second, there was silence. Then Mr. Landry barked out a laugh.

“What’s this, vitamins? Don’t try to scare us, girl. We know when someone’s faking.”

“They’re prescription,” I said. “And if you stay here, you’re taking your lives in your own hands.”

They weren’t listening. In fact, Mrs. Landry’s face had tightened into the smug, superior look she used when she thought she’d caught me bluffing.

“Tyler told us you were dramatic, but I didn’t think you’d stoop to this,” she said.

And then, something in me shifted. There were five of them in front of me—and a sixth, technically, still baking inside Jessica’s belly.

My doctor had once told me, clinically, dispassionately, that fifteen was the maximum “safe” limit per month before I risked full psychosis. The thought flickered through my brain, uninvited, and I had to shake my head violently to clear it.

“No,” I muttered, to myself more than to them. “I don’t want that. I just need you to leave.”

I put the pill bottle down on the table and pressed my hands together like I was praying. “Please. I’ll pay for a hotel, I’ll call you a cab, I’ll even give you grocery money. Just—don’t stay here.”

Adam’s answer was a hard kick to my shin. The shock of pain nearly dropped me to the floor.

“Quit the crap,” he said, stepping forward.

Then, all at once, they surged through the doorway. My living room filled with their voices—complaints, demands, the shuffle of bags hitting the floor, shoes scuffing over my rugs. Jessica’s gasp cut through the din.

“Oh my God—why is there so much blood in here?”

That got them looking around. The floor in front of my balcony door was still sticky from last night’s mess, which I hadn’t had the energy to clean.

Before anyone could ask questions I didn’t want to answer, I went to the knife block, yanked out a chef’s knife, and started moving toward them with short, sharp steps.

The reaction was instant. Tyler leapt backward, practically crab-walking away from me. His parents made for the front door, Mr. Landry tripping over the threshold and hitting the floor hard. Adam shoved Jessica toward the stairwell, not even looking back to see if she caught herself.

I slammed the door shut and threw the locks—both of them—my chest heaving. My phone alarm chirped from the counter. Meds. Right on time. I downed the pill dry, leaning against the door while my pulse steadied.

Maybe they’d gotten the message. Maybe I’d scared them enough to keep them away.

I was wrong.

Sometime after midnight, just as I was drifting toward sleep, a floorboard creaked in the living room. I froze. There was no mistaking it—weight shifting on wood, a soft whisper of fabric, low voices.

“She thinks if she locks us out, we’ll give up?” Adam’s voice, low and ugly.

“Wait until morning,” Mrs. Landry said. “We’ll put her in her place. And Tyler—get her pregnant. She’ll beg you to marry her again once she’s carrying your kid. Then the condo’s as good as ours.”

I slipped out of bed in the dark, pressing my ear to the bedroom door. My front door was locked. I’d double-checked before sleeping.

How the hell had they gotten in?

The doorknob to my room rattled. Hard. “This one’s hers,” Jessica said sweetly. “Let’s take it for Mom and Dad. Adam, you and I can have the bigger guest room.”

My head pounded, my stomach twisted. I threw the door open so hard it hit the wall.

“You’re trespassing,” I spat. “Breaking and entering. That’s a felony. Get the hell out.”

Mrs. Landry stepped right up to me, close enough that I could smell her perfume—cheap, powdery, cloying. “Trespassing? I came to the city to see my daughter-in-law. You’re the one who’s dangerous—waving a knife at family, almost scaring Jessica into losing the baby. That’s attempted murder, honey.”

She smirked, and I realized she was enjoying herself.

It was the first time that night I wondered—not if I could make them leave—but whether I would.