It was just an ordinary day when I sent my husband a picture of me standing beside our neighbor’s horse. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I’d been helping out at the stables for a while, and this towering black horse—named Thunder—had become my favorite. Despite his imposing size, he was calm, gentle, and oddly comforting.
“I want a divorce.”
At first, I thought he was joking. But then the phone rang. The anger in his voice was undeniable.
“How long has this been going on?” he demanded.
“Wait, what? What are you talking about?” I asked, confused.
“The shadow,” he snapped. “The shadow on your back. Don’t lie to me.”
That’s when it hit me—the shadow of Thunder’s head and neck had stretched across my back, casting a dark silhouette that looked eerily like a man standing behind me, hands around my waist.
In that moment, I understood what he saw. To him, it looked like I wasn’t alone. No matter how much I tried to explain it was just the horse’s shadow, nothing could break through his doubt. That photo had played a cruel trick—and his trust, once solid, was shattered.
