The more I looked at the picture, the more the reflection began to take shape in my mind. The stance, the hat—it all felt too familiar, and no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise, the possibility gnawed at me. What if it really was him? What if, by some strange twist of fate, he had been there that day?

My husband’s suspicion was growing, and I could feel it through every message he sent. He wasn’t letting this go, and I couldn’t blame him. From his perspective, it looked like I had taken a picture with someone else lurking just out of frame. Someone from my past.

I tried calling, wanting to reassure him, to explain that it was just a