At first, I brushed it off as an odd coincidence. Saddles could be old, repurposed, or carry markings that mean nothing specific. But my husband didn’t see it that way. He was disturbed, convinced this wasn’t a random coincidence but rather a sign of lingering ties to my past. He sought out someone who could analyze the image, eager to confirm his suspicion that the initials weren’t just random—they represented a connection that felt too close for comfort.I tried to explain it away. After all, it could have been any saddle with any initials. Yet for him, those two letters, “A.M.,” seemed like irrefutable proof that my past was closer than I’d let on.