Seven Years of Devotion: He Left Me to Die, I Left Him for Good

"Get out! All of you, out!"

The driver was yanked out and struck across the head with a rifle butt, blood spilling instantly.

We were forced out of the truck bed.

The young man with glasses clutched his laptop desperately, refusing to let go.

"This is company code… I can't give it up…"

A gunshot rang out.

The bullet struck the ground beside his feet, sending up a spray of dirt.

The young man collapsed in terror, and the laptop was ripped from his hands.

My bag was taken too.

Passport, cash, water, food. Everything was gone.

One of the bandits searched me, his rough hands rummaging through my jacket pockets.

He found my phone.

He glanced at it, a cheap phone with a cracked screen.

With a look of disgust, he tossed it back into my arms.

"Get lost!" He shouted in English.

They drove off with the pickup, taking everything with them.

Five of us were left behind in the pitch-black wilderness.

The cold wind cut into my face like blades.

The middle-aged woman broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

"It's over… we're going to die out here…"

I picked up my phone and wiped the dust from the screen.

It still worked.

I looked up at the stars and found the North Star.

"Astara Gate is north."

I zipped my jacket all the way up, covering my chin.

"Let's move. Unless you want to freeze to death."

I was the first to step forward.

The ground was uneven, every step like walking on blades.

But I knew I couldn't stop.

Adrian's car was probably nearing the border by now.

He and Sophie were sitting in a warm cabin, drinking hot water, eating chocolate.

And I was out here in the wilderness, surviving like a stray dog.

A kind of hatred I had never known began to burn in my chest.

Sharper than the cold, stronger than hunger.

It kept me moving, one step after another.

We walked through the entire night. At dawn, we finally reached a road. A sign pointed toward Astara Gate. Thirty kilometers left.

The soles of my shoes were worn through, each step piercing with pain.

The young man had developed a fever and was being carried by the middle-aged man.

We were ragged and filthy, like a group of beggars.

A relief truck marked with a red cross pulled over, and a volunteer jumped down. "Do you need help?"

At the sound of his native language, the middle-aged man dropped to his knees and broke down.

Once on the truck, I devoured half a bottle of water and some bread.

Being alive felt… good.

We reached Astara Gate by noon. It was packed with people.

I stood in the lost documents line when my phone suddenly vibrated. The signal was back.

Dozens of messages flooded in. All from Adrian.

"Where are you? Why isn't your phone going through?"

"There's a document missing from the passport folder. Is it in your bag?"

"Call me back when you see this! Are you trying to get us killed?"

I let out a cold laugh. The only thing he cared about was the document.

I started a video call. Adrian sat in a luxury hotel lobby, well-dressed, while Sophie sipped coffee beside him.

"Clara! Where's the document? Customs is checking. Send me a photo now!"

I raised my phone, showing him my disheveled, mud-streaked, bloodied state, the refugee camp and barbed wire behind me.

Adrian froze for a second. "What happened to you? Forget that. Where's the document?"

"My bag was stolen. The document's gone."

"How could you be so useless!" Adrian snapped. "That file involves equipment worth tens of millions!"

Sophie leaned closer. "Clara, how could you be so careless…"

Looking at the two of them made me sick.

"Adrian, I ran into bandits last night. Someone died right in front of me. I walked thirty kilometers. My shoes are worn through." I tilted the camera down to show my bloodstained shoes.

Adrian frowned. "That's enough. Stop playing the victim. Sophie's running a fever from the shock too. Since you're alive, figure out a way to get to Braska and fix this."

I laughed in anger, tears spilling over.

"Adrian, listen carefully. I'm not going to Braska to find you. When I get back, we're getting divorced."

Adrian sneered. "You're throwing a tantrum at a time like this? Are you done—"

A deafening explosion cut him off.

The checkpoint in the distance exploded, the shockwave throwing people to the ground.

My phone flew from my hand, Adrian's terrified face frozen on the screen.

Then everything went black.