- Trust your gut. If something feels off, it probably is.

  - Forgive, sure. But don’t forget.

  - You can’t save everyone. Sometimes, the only life worth risking is your own.

  ---

  I liked Erin. She reminded me of someone I used to know—sharp-eyed, soft-spoken, always watching everything. She didn’t waste words. The kind of person you want by your side when the world turns into teeth and screams.

  We’d been traveling together for three days. After the garden center, the five of us moved north, following rumors of a quarantine zone. We raided a pharmacy together, split meals, shared blankets when the nights dropped below freezing. In a weird way, it felt like a college group project gone horribly, horribly wrong.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  But things got tense fast.

  Food ran low. Marcus started talking about ditching the kid. Alex agreed too quickly. Erin just watched.

  Then, yesterday, we found a half-collapsed mini-mart. Jackpot. We spread out, careful, quiet. I went upstairs, checking for water or meds. When I came down, my backpack was gone.

  So was Erin.

  I caught up with her two blocks away. She didn’t run. Just turned around slow, shrugged, and said, “Sorry, Elliot. You’re a nice guy.”

  That’s what hurt the most. Not the theft. Not even the fact that she left the others without telling them. It was the idea that I made myself an easy target by being “nice.”

  I forgave her. Right there. Didn’t yell. Didn’t curse. I just took the backpack back, gave her half the food inside, and walked away.

  She didn’t follow.

  Later that night, the others asked where she went. I told them she found her own path.

  Truth? I trust my gut. And my gut told me she would’ve let me die if it meant buying herself another day. Maybe she had her reasons. Maybe I would’ve done the same if our roles were flipped.

  Did I do things right? Is it cool that I didn't get all angry at her? I seem like a martyr. I let her walk all over me and I forgave her.

  But I’m not in this to be a martyr. I want to live—and not just exist, but live with myself and tell myself, "Hey, at least I'm not hurting anybody to survive."

  So I let her go. Cut my losses.

  That’s the thing about betrayal: it doesn’t always come with a knife. Sometimes, it just walks away with your stuff and a smile.