I Was Never His Mistress

Summary

It started with the color of my car.

Back when it was wrapped in a soft, custom blush-pink, I was a target. Every morning on my commute, I was tailgated, brake-checked, and aggressively cut off.

My husband told me I was a terrible driver. He told me I had a persecution complex.

It wasn't until I surrendered, taking the car into the shop and having it painted a standard, invisible corporate black, that the road rage miraculously stopped.

Until the day my car was nearly run off the highway and into a ditch.