It was a tranquil evening at the ranch, and I couldn’t help but capture the moment. The sunset was breathtaking, the air serene, and I leaned on the fence, admiring the view. I sent the picture to my husband, thinking he’d appreciate the beauty of the scene, perhaps even the tranquility of the cows grazing in the distance.
But his response wasn’t what I anticipated. “Look closer,” he wrote. “At the fence. Zoom in.” Perplexed, I enlarged the picture, examining the wooden post I had been leaning on. That’s when I noticed it—two initials, carved into the wood, encircled by a faint, worn heart. My heart sank.
It wasn’t just any random carving. Those were my initials and my ex-boyfriend’s, etched into the wood with a knife years ago. This spot, this fence, had been our secret place. A place we used to escape to, a place where we believed the world couldn’t reach us. I had completely forgotten about it—until now.
I attempted to explain that I hadn’t even noticed it, that I didn’t recall carving it until I saw the picture. But to my husband, it didn’t matter. To him, this wasn’t just an old memory—it was a sign that I had revisited a place that once held significance for me and someone else.