It was a peaceful evening at the ranch, and I couldnāt 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 heād appreciate the beauty of the scene, maybe even the serenity of the cows grazing in the distance.
But his reply wasnāt what I expected.āLook closer,ā he wrote. āAt the fence. Zoom in.āConfused, I enlarged the picture, scanning the wooden post I had been leaning on. Thatās when I saw itātwo initials, carved into the wood, surrounded by a faint, weathered heart. My stomach dropped.
It wasnāt just any random carving. Those were my initials and my ex-boyfriendās, 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 couldnāt touch us. I had completely forgotten about itāuntil now.
I tried to explain that I hadnāt even noticed it, that I didnāt remember carving it until I saw the picture. But to my husband, it didnāt matter. To him, this wasnāt just some old memoryāit was a sign that I had gone back to a place that once held meaning for me and someone else.