It was an ordinary day when I sent my husband this picture, showing me with our neighbor’s horse. I didn’t think much of it. I’d been helping out at the stables for a while, and this massive black horse had become my favorite. His name was Thunder, and he was gentle despite his size.
At first, I thought it was a joke. But then, he called. The anger in his voice was palpable.
“How long has this been going on?” he demanded.
“Wait, what? What are you talking about?” I was confused.
“The shadow,” he spat out. “The shadow on your back, don’t lie to me.”
It was only then that I realized what he had seen. The shadow of Thunder’s head and neck had cast a long, dark figure on my back—one that looked disturbingly like the silhouette of a man standing behind me, hands around my waist.
In that moment, I understood what he thought. To him, it looked like I wasn’t alone. And no amount of explaining that it was just the horse’s shadow could convince him otherwise. The picture had played a cruel trick on him, and his trust was shattered.
