My taxi pulled up in front of my best friend Emily Griffin's house, my haven, my escape.

Emily always kept a room ready for me, no matter what.

When she opened the door and saw me, she looked genuinely surprised.

"What's going on? Did you and Raymond have a fight?"

I tried to smile but felt the effort fall flat. So I explained, "I'm getting a divorce. Haven't filed the papers yet, but I'm meeting him tomorrow to sort it out."

Emily's face lit up with excitement as she pulled me inside, eager for the details. "What about that little brat Timothy? Who's he staying with?"

"He'll be with his dad. He doesn't really need me," I said softly, avoiding her gaze.

Emily scoffed, her eyes flashing with indignation. "I told you a long time ago! Neither Raymond nor Timothy was ever any good! And don't even get me started on that homewrecker, Pamela! Finally, you see the truth!"

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Yeah, I should have listened to you and left sooner."

She squeezed my hand gently. "Hey, it's never too late to start fresh. I heard there's an art exhibit at Paulyra. The organizer's a fan of your work from eight years ago and wants you to do a few more pieces. Are you seriously thinking about heading to Paulyra next?"

I nodded, feeling a flicker of excitement for the first time in years. "I contacted them yesterday. They're covering my flight and hotel, and they've invited me to Fenich for an art residency in two weeks, alongside the exhibition."

Emily was genuinely happy for me. Her face broke into a radiant smile.

Sensing I wasn't in the mood for more conversation, she left me to gather my things in the room.

Alone in the quiet room, I began unpacking. My old sketchbook and charcoal pencils lay at the bottom of my suitcase, hidden beneath layers of clothes. I ran my fingers over the worn cover, memories flooding back.

"How long has it been since I last held these?" I murmured.

"Eight years, maybe."

After marrying Raymond, I'd completely abandoned my art.

After Timothy was born, my days became a blur of diapers, school runs, and managing the household.

I quit my job, put my dreams on hold, and became the caretaker everyone expected me to be.

I really had turned into the nanny Timothy accused me of being, a free one, at that.

With a sigh, I put everything away and pulled out my phone. Composing a text to Raymond, I wrote: [Meet me at the courthouse entrance tomorrow morning at nine.]

Hitting send, I allowed myself a moment of hope. After tomorrow, a new chapter would begin, a life where I could finally breathe.

The next day, I arrived at the courthouse ten minutes early.

Coastal city weather was unpredictable.

A few days ago, it was a scorching 109 degrees.

Today, ominous clouds gathered overhead, and the wind whipped strands of hair across my face.

I waited, watching as people came and went. Minutes turned into hours. Courthouse staff began filing out for lunch, casting sympathetic glances my way.

But Raymond never showed.

A heavy sigh escaped me. My stomach grumbled, reminding me I hadn't eaten. Maybe some food would help clear my head.

As I passed a shop, I noticed a sign on the second floor swaying dangerously in the wind.

Right below it, a little girl was crouching, playing with marbles.

Time seemed to slow. I sprinted toward her without a second thought, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I rushed over and shielded the girl just as the sign came crashing down.

Pain exploded in my head as the sign struck me, a blinding flash that sent me reeling.

Warmth trickled down my forehead, blood. My vision blurred, but I clung to the little girl.

"Are you okay?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. She nodded, eyes wide with fear but unharmed.

I, however, was pinned under the heavy sign and unable to move.

The world around me dimmed, sounds muffled by the pounding in my head.

In the distance, familiar voices floated by. I heard Raymond's voice.

"Pam, Timothy! Hurry up and get in the car! We shouldn't have come out for barbecue in this weather!"

Pamela must have noticed me.

"Hey, someone just got hit by that sign..."

I vaguely heard Timothy's voice. "Mom said people fake accidents to scam others. We better stay out of it. There are plenty of other people around."

My vision went dark, and I passed out completely.

Meanwhile, Raymond safely arrived home with Pamela and Timothy. Inside the house, he scrolled through his phone, rereading my text from the night before.

He asked Timothy, not bothering to mask his irritation, "Has your mom contacted you?"

Timothy shook his head nervously. "Do you think she's really mad this time? Maybe we should go back..."

"Your mom always does whatever we ask, quietly and obediently. She probably listened to Emily and is trying to get us to bend. Giving in once is fine, but if we do it too often, she'll start thinking she can get her way all the time, and then we'll never be free.

"She may be mad at me, but there's no way she'd abandon you, her precious son. If we really want her to come crawling back, maybe you can pretend to be sick or something."

Before he could elaborate, his phone rang.

Seeing Emily's name flash on the screen, he hesitated before answering, "Hello?"

"Timothy, you absolute jerk!" Emily's voice was sharp, each word laced with fury. "Catherine was supposed to meet you to file for divorce! How did she end up getting hit by a fallen billboard on a completely different street? She had laid there for an hour before anyone found her and took her to the hospital..."