I thought it would be an ordinary flight. Just a quick journey home after a week of caring for my sick mother. I had my headphones, a downloaded novel, and plans for a quiet gin and tonic.

What I didn’t have? Any clue that the woman taking the seat beside me would blow my life apart at 30,000 feet.

She smiled politely as she settled in, and I returned the gesture without much thought. But then she pulled out her boarding pass to tuck into the seat pocket — and that’s when I saw the name.

Clara.

My pulse skipped.
The name felt electric — sharp with familiarity.
Clara, my husband’s ex-wife.
The woman he never talked about unless I asked.
The woman in those photos I found in a dusty box when I moved into his home — our home.

I glanced at her face. It was unmistakable.

I tried to keep my cool, pretend I didn’t know. But then she turned, her voice soft and deliberate.

“Grace, right? Oscar’s wife?”

My stomach dropped. I nodded.

She smiled with a strange warmth, as if we were just two old friends catching up, not two women with the same man stitched into our lives.Read More Below