It was a peaceful evening at the ranch, and I couldnât resist capturing the moment. The sunset was stunning, the air calm, and I leaned on the fence, admiring the view. I sent the picture to my husband, thinking heâd appreciate the beauty of the scene, maybe even the serenity of the cows grazing in the distance.
But his reply wasnât what I expected.âLook closer,â he wrote. âAt the fence. Zoom in.âConfused, I enlarged the picture, scanning the wooden post I had been leaning on. Thatâs when I saw itâtwo initials, carved into the wood, surrounded by a faint, weathered heart. My stomach dropped.
It wasnât just any random carving. Those were my initials and my ex-boyfriendâs, etched into the wood with a knife many years ago. This spot, this fence, had been our place. A place we used to sneak away to, a place where we thought the world couldnât touch us. I had completely forgotten about itâuntil now.
I tried to explain that I hadnât even noticed it, that I didnât remember carving it until I saw the picture. But to my husband, it didnât matter. To him, this wasnât just some old memoryâit was a sign that I had gone back to a place that once held meaning for me and someone else.
