After the divorce, I erased the woman I used to be and took a job driving a taxi at night. Then, by pure chance, I overheard a conversation between my ex-husband and his mistress—one secret so devastating it changed everything. That night…

I cut my hair short, dyed it darker, stopped wearing makeup. I needed work that paid immediately and didn’t ask questions, so I became a night-shift taxi driver in Chicago. Long hours. Brief conversations. Faces that never looked at me long enough to remember.

That anonymity saved me.

Three months into the job, on a rainy Thursday night, I picked up two passengers outside a downtown hotel. They slid into the back seat laughing, already deep in conversation. I didn’t check the mirror at first.

Then I heard his laugh.

My grip tightened on the wheel.

Mark.
And Lydia.

They didn’t recognize me. The hair, the glasses, the silence—I was just another driver.

“You really think she believed it?” Lydia said, amused.