It was one of those quiet, peaceful afternoons that seemed to stretch on forever, the kind that wraps you in calm and makes you forget about the world. I stood leaning against the truck, the sun warming my skin as the soft rustling of leaves played in the background. It felt like the perfect moment to steal away a little time for myself—and to send my spouse a snapshot of the scene, just for the sake of sharing it. The truck, set against the backdrop of trees, looked striking, and without thinking twice, I snapped a quick photo and sent it off.
The response came almost immediately, and it was far from what I expected.
“Who is that in the mirror?”
I frowned, rereading the message. There was no one around, no sign of life in sight. “What reflection?” I typed back, a bit uneasy.
“The rear window. There’s someone there,” came his reply, more serious this time.
My pulse quickened. Heart pounding, I opened the photo again and zoomed in on the rear window’s reflection. At first, I thought it was just a glare—a trick of the sun or the shadows of nearby trees. But as I focused on it, a cold knot tightened in my stomach. There was, unmistakably, a figure standing behind me—just visible in the reflection. It was faint, but clear enough to make my breath catch.
A man. Wearing a hat, his face hidden in shadow beneath the brim.
My blood ran cold. The hat was so familiar. It looked just like the one my ex-boyfriend used to wear. The same one he was rarely seen without.
I had been alone, hadn’t I? I had checked. The field was empty, the truck was empty. How could this be? But there it was—the unmistakable figure of a man in the reflection, close enough to be caught in the shot.
I tried to calm myself and my husband. I sent a quick reply: “It’s probably just a shadow or a weird reflection from the trees. I was definitely alone.”