Chapter 1

When my husband sent me the article his sister had written about me, Brynn was sitting in our kitchen, waiting for me to bring home her medication.

I was thirteen weeks pregnant, still holding the paper bag from the pharmacy.

"Read it," Graham said.

"Then apologize to her."

The article had been posted two hours ago.

When Your Sister-in-Law Uses Care as an Excuse to Control You

Brynn wrote that I checked whether she took her medication, recorded what time she got out of bed, and refused to let her drive. She claimed that ever since I became pregnant, I had made it clear there was no longer room for her in our home.

The post already had more than three thousand comments.

People called me an abuser hiding behind the title of caregiver. Someone had found my design studio's page and warned potential clients against working with me.

Graham had shared the article.

I'm sorry I failed to see what she was going through. I will never let anyone hurt my sister again.

I took screenshots of the article and his post.

"You shared this without asking me a single question?"

"She had to go online because she was too afraid to tell me herself. What else was I supposed to ask?"

I opened our message history.

Her doctor had recommended tracking her sleep and medication. She had been advised not to drive while adjusting to a new prescription.

The article quoted me as saying, You're going to drag everyone down with you.

The full message said:

If you keep hiding the fact that you've stopped taking your medication, you'll derail your entire treatment plan. None of us will know how to help you.

Graham read it and went quiet.

For a few seconds, I thought he might ask Brynn why she had removed the rest of the message.

Instead, he handed the phone back to me.

"She remembers how you made her feel."

"So the facts no longer matter?"

Brynn set down her tea.

"See, Graham? She always has records. She always finds a way to prove I'm the one who's wrong."

"Who took you to your appointments for the last ten months?" I asked.

"Who dealt with your insurance? Who stayed awake with you in the middle of the night?"

"Do I need your permission to feel hurt too?"

Graham stepped between us.

"Marlowe, stop pushing her."

A sudden cramp pulled low in my abdomen.

I braced one hand against the kitchen counter and waited for it to pass.

"She altered my words, and now strangers are contacting my clients. She needs to correct the article, and you need to remove your post."

Brynn looked at her brother.

"She still cares more about her work than my life."

"I didn't say that."

"Ever since you got pregnant, you keep reminding me that there's going to be a baby in this house." Her eyes filled with tears.

"I know you want me gone."

Graham and I had cleared out the nursery together. I had never once used our child to threaten Brynn's place in the house.

I started to answer, but another cramp came, sharper than the first.

Graham didn't notice. He was speaking quietly to his sister.

I pressed a hand to my abdomen.

"Delete the article. Once you're calmer, we can discuss your living arrangements."

Brynn rose and walked toward the other end of the counter.

When she turned around, there was a knife in her hand.

She held the blade against her wrist.

"If I die, will you still pull out your records and prove none of it was your fault?"

I instinctively stepped forward.

She backed away at once.

"Don't come near me."

"Okay. I'll stay here."

I stopped and slowly lowered my hands.

"Brynn, look at me. Put the knife down."

"You only care about the article."

"We can deal with the article later. Come away from the counter. I'll go to the hospital with you."

Graham turned to me.

"Apologize first."

"I can apologize for failing to understand how she felt. I won't admit to things that never happened."

Tears rolled down Brynn's face.

"Graham, she would rather watch me die."

His voice rose.

"Would it kill you to give in for once?"

"She wants me to confirm every accusation in that article."

The pain in my abdomen returned. My fingers tightened around the edge of the counter.

Brynn's grip on the knife tightened too.

I couldn't wait any longer. I took out my phone and called the crisis response line.

"Brynn, I believe that you're in pain. I'm staying right here. Please put the knife on the floor."

"You're still going to have them take me away."

"I'm going to make sure you're safe."

I answered the dispatcher's questions without taking my eyes off her.

Graham moved closer to Brynn, telling her again and again that he believed her.

Several minutes later, the knife finally struck the tile floor.

A knock sounded at the front door almost immediately.

I looked at Brynn.

"Thank you for putting it down. I'll go with you for the evaluation."

She gave me no answer. She went straight into Graham's arms.

The crisis responders asked who would accompany her.

"I will," Graham said immediately.

The pain in my abdomen suddenly intensified.

I bent forward and covered my stomach.

"Graham, wait."

He was helping Brynn into her coat.

"My stomach hurts."

"It's probably the stress."

"It's getting worse." I caught his sleeve.

"Stay until another ambulance gets here."

Brynn spoke softly.

"You should stay with Marlowe. I can go alone. Whatever happens after that will be my own choice."

Graham immediately pulled her closer.

"Don't say that."

I kept hold of his sleeve.

"We waited four years for this baby."

The day we learned I was pregnant, he had held me for a long time. At the first ultrasound, he had gripped my hand so tightly that his palm was damp.

I thought he would stay.

He looked down and peeled my fingers from his sleeve, one by one.

"Brynn actually held a knife to her wrist. You're still standing here talking to me."

"You think I'm pretending?"

He looked away.

"I have to deal with the more serious situation first. Call an ambulance yourself."

He guided Brynn toward the door.

She leaned against his shoulder and looked back at me.

As Graham lowered his head to open the door, the corner of her mouth lifted.

The door closed behind them.

I held on to the counter and reached for my phone. My arm knocked the red care binder to the floor, scattering its pages beside the knife.

The call had barely connected when the pain drove through me again.

My knee struck a cabinet door, and I slid to the floor.

Outside, Graham's car started.

He never saw Brynn's victorious smile.

He had no idea I was lying on the kitchen floor, one hand pressed over our unborn child.