I didn’t realize how much weight a borrowed saddle could carry until I saw the fear behind my husband’s questions. Those initials weren’t just letters to him; they were ghosts of a version of me he never knew, a reminder that there were parts of my past still living in the shadows. For the first time in a long time, we didn’t gloss over the discomfort. We sat in it.
As we talked, the tension slowly softened into understanding. He shared how old heartbreak still echoed in him, how easily his mind could fill in blanks with worst-case scenarios. I admitted how often I swallowed my own feelings to “keep the peace,” not realizing silence can sound a lot like distance. By the end of the night, the saddle hadn’t changed—but we had. That small misunderstanding became a doorway, turning quiet insecurity into deeper trust, and a simple trail ride into a quiet re-choosing of each other.
