I finally bought our dream home, and on day one my husband said: “my mom, my sister, and the kids are moving in, you don’t get a say!” he drove off to get them. And that evening, they froze at what they saw inside…

Because I remembered Olivia’s smug face when she shoved those divorce papers at me.

I remembered the way she called me useless.

I remembered Kelly laughing while I scrubbed the kitchen floor after a ten-hour workday.

I remembered Larry’s grin while he pretended not to notice.

Larry exhaled like his lungs were filled with wet cement.

“And Olivia and Kelly…” His mouth twisted. “They’re working now. Both of them. Because they have to. But they’re still the same. Still screaming. Still blaming everyone else. Still acting like the world owes them something.”

He looked up at me, eyes full of misery.

“They blame me. Every day.”

He laughed—a broken, humorless sound.

“They throw things. They break glasses. They scream at night so loud the neighbors called the cops twice.”

Then he leaned closer, like he was confessing something shameful.

“They hate each other, Julie. But they can’t leave. They’re stuck.”

The word stuck hung between us like a curse.

And for a moment, I had to fight the urge to smile.

Because I knew exactly what that felt like.

Only difference?

I got out.

They didn’t.

Larry’s eyes searched my face, trembling with hope.