sang sang
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.
But when my husband saw this picture, everything shifted. He zoomed in, scanned the image over and over again, and then his text came in—cold and unexpected.
“I want a divorce.”
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.
No matter how much I tried to explain that it was simply the horse’s shadow, he refused to believe me. His mind was made up, and no amount of reasoning could change it. The image had played a cruel trick, distorting reality just enough to make him doubt everything. It wasn’t just the picture; it was his trust that had been shattered in that fleeting moment of illusion. From then on, he questioned what was real and what wasn’t, and nothing I said could undo the damage that had already been done.
