I retreated to my mother's old villa in the countryside, a place of quiet memories, seeking refuge. But he found me. Julian showed up one night, drunk and remorseful, a familiar performance I knew all too well.

"Why are you like this, Aria?" he slurred, wrapping his arms around me. "We were so good together. What happened?"

He held up a piece of paper. It was a child's drawing. Three figures under a crudely drawn sun: a man, a woman, and a little boy. "Noah drew this for us," he said. "A real family." But the woman in the drawing had Seraphina's blonde hair.

His phone rang. He fumbled to answer it, and I heard Noah's voice, clear as a bell, before he could silence it. "Daddy, is that auntie dead yet?"

Julian paled and quickly ended the call. "Kids," he mumbled, trying to laugh it off. "They say the darndest things. Don't mind him."

He played the part of the wounded, misunderstood man until I softened, or at least pretended to. "Okay, Julian," I said, my voice suddenly calm. "We won't get a divorce."

He relaxed instantly. I led him to a guest room and tucked him into bed. As soon as he was asleep, I went through the pockets of his jacket, which he'd left on a chair. I found what I was looking for. It was a piece of folded paper from Noah’s kindergarten. The assignment was titled: "My Wish."

In messy, childish crayon, Noah had written: "I wish the auntie at daddy's house would disappear forever."

Following a hunch from the kindergarten assignment, a clue about a "special party," I found myself at a rented party house in an amusement park. The windows were decorated with balloons and a large banner that read "Happy Birthday, Noah!"

Through the glass, I saw Julian and Seraphina surrounded by staff, celebrating their son. My stomach churned as I watched the main event: a "whack-a-mole" style game, but instead of moles, the targets that popped up were pictures of my face, printed and pasted onto tin cans. Noah shrieked with laughter as Julian helped him swing a mallet, smashing my likeness over and over.

Seraphina spotted me through the window. Her eyes glittered with victory. She pulled Julian into a deep kiss, then prompted Noah to hold up a large, hand-drawn sign that read, "DADDY LOVES MOMMY." The scene was a grotesque parody of family life, staged entirely for my benefit.

Later, she cornered me in the park's public restroom. She didn't say a word, just pulled the folded divorce agreement from her designer handbag and handed it to me. His signature was scrawled at the bottom, hasty but unmistakable.

"Noah said your life story would make a great paper airplane," she said with a dismissive shrug. "He thinks it would fly the farthest."

I took the papers. A sense of profound relief washed over me. I was finally, truly free.

The final confrontation had to be on my terms. I let Seraphina know, through lawyers, that I would discuss a final settlement—a "child support" payment to ensure my silence—at one location only: the unfinished seaside scenic viewpoint I had designed, the project that had won me the award.

She agreed. I knew it was a trap.

She was waiting for me as dusk fell, the sky bleeding orange and purple over the ocean. The air was thick with the salty spray.

"I have something for you," she said, her smile thin and cruel. She played a recording from her phone. It was Noah's voice, distorted and eerie. "Auntie, I know Daddy's secret…"

It was the bait. As I stepped closer, two large, menacing men emerged from the shadows behind a stack of construction materials.

"Noah wants this viewpoint as his personal toy," Seraphina said, her voice laced with chilling finality. "And he said it would be the most fun if he could push you off it." She laughed. "So, consider this a gift. To Noah."

Before I could react, the men grabbed me. Seraphina walked up to me, her face inches from mine. "This is for my son," she whispered, and then she shoved me with all her might.

I tumbled over the unfinished railing. As I plunged towards the dark, churning water below, the last thing I saw was Seraphina on her phone, her silhouette against the dying light. The last thing I heard was her triumphant voice carried on the wind: "It's done, sweetie. Mommy took care of the monster for you."

I hit the icy water with a brutal impact. My last thought before the darkness swallowed me was not of Julian, but of the life I was determined to reclaim.

I woke up coughing up water in a small, rustic cabin. A grizzled old park ranger had found me washed up on the shore. He and his daughter saved my life.

I stayed with them for six days. On the seventh, a call came through on his satellite phone. It was the director from Zurich. "Everything is ready for you, Aria. Your ticket is booked."

I had been given a second chance. I gave the ranger a thick envelope of cash. I called Chloe and told her to ship my things. I called my lawyer and told him to file the divorce papers and my death certificate.

The next day, I took a bus to the airport. As the plane climbed into the sky, I pulled down the window shade, shutting it all out.

From now on, Aria Serrano was dead.