I Designed His Dream House, He Built a Secret Family

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."