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

On the seventh anniversary of my marriage, I, Clara Hart, received two "gifts."

One was an urgent alert from the embassy-armed conflict in Arkania was imminent, and all citizens were advised to evacuate immediately.

The other was a message from my husband, Adrian Foster, "Pack your things. Wait for me downstairs. Ten minutes."

I quickly packed an emergency kit and rushed downstairs.

People around me were already evacuating in a panic, yet Adrian was nowhere to be seen.

I called him, my voice trembling, only to be met with a cold, clipped response.

"The car's packed with confidential company documents. There's no room left. Sophie has a severe fear of war. I need to get her out first."

My blood ran cold. "What about me?" I asked, barely believing what I was hearing.

Adrian clicked his tongue impatiently. "Clara, stop being so dramatic. Just take the embassy bus. It's the same."

Explosions thundered in the distance, shattering everything I had believed in over the past seven years. Whatever love had once existed between us crumbled to dust.

I stopped waiting. Slinging the emergency pack over my shoulder, I turned and walked away into the chaos of war.

......

A dull explosion echoed in the distance, the ground trembling faintly beneath my feet.

"The buses are prioritizing the elderly, the sick, and the injured."

I spoke evenly, forcing myself to stay calm. "I'm your wife."

Adrian frowned, clearly annoyed. "Sophie's not well. She can't handle the stress. You've worked in Mocrana before. You're tougher than most. The assembly point is only five kilometers away. You can make it on your own."

"Adrian, this is a war zone. Five kilometers could get me killed."

"Can you stop making a scene? Sophie got dragged into this. This is your responsibility."

Sophie Bennett burst into tears and reached for the car door. "Adrian, maybe I should get out..."

Adrian immediately stopped her, then turned to me, his voice icy. "Clara, be reasonable. The buses have armed escort. You'll be fine. We'll meet at Astara Gate."

The window rolled up. The SUV kicked up a cloud of dust as it sped north.

I tightened the strap of my pack and turned, walking in the opposite direction.

Black smoke rose in the distance. The streets had already descended into chaos.

My phone vibrated. It was Adrian. "Let me know when you arrive. Sophie's terrified. I have to stay with her for now. Take care of yourself."

I put my phone away and merged into the fleeing crowd.

Ten minutes ago, I had been Adrian's wife.

Now, I was just another solitary figure in a collapsing city.

I knew Adrian would regret this one day.

But by then, I might already be gone.

By the time I reached the embassy assembly point, it was already two in the afternoon.

A dense crowd packed the gates, a sea of people pressed together.

Some held up national flags, others shouted desperately.

I pushed through the crowd, struggling to show my passport to the armed officer at the gate.

"Make way! Move aside!"

A staff member, drenched in sweat, shouted through a megaphone.

"The first batch of buses is full! Please stay orderly and wait for the next round!"

I watched as three buses slowly pulled away, national flags taped to their windows, faces pressed tightly inside.

They were the last convoy with armed escort.

I was too late.

If I hadn't waited those ten minutes for Adrian, if I hadn't argued with him on the roadside, I would have made it.

"When's the next batch?" I grabbed the staff member's sleeve, my voice tight.

He glanced at me, exhaustion and urgency written all over his face.

"We don't know. The roads are too dangerous. The buses can't make it back. If you're able, head to Astara Gate on your own. There'll be support there."

On my own.

Five hundred kilometers from Dorzan to Astara Gate.

With mountains in between... and active combat zones where airstrikes could happen at any moment.

I let go and stepped back onto the curb.

The phone signal flickered in and out.

I opened the chat with Adrian. The last message still sat there, "Take care of yourself."

After a moment, I typed, "The bus is gone. I didn't make it on."

The message spun three times... then failed to send.

The red exclamation mark stabbed at my eyes.

I raised my phone, searching for a signal. After a long moment, it finally went through.

Five minutes later, Adrian called back.

The background was chaotic, wind roaring, Sophie's startled cries cutting through the noise.

"You didn't get on? What were you even doing?"

There was clear blame in his voice.

"I told you to go earlier, but you had to drag your feet. Now what?"

I watched another plume of black smoke rise in the distance.

"I'll wait here by the roadside. Come back and get me," I said.

There was a two-second silence on the other end.

"Clara, stop being unreasonable. We're already sixty kilometers out of the city. If we turn back now, we're all dead. And Sophie just threw up. The car smells awful. We need to cross the border as soon as possible."

My fingers tightened around the phone, turning ashen.

"So I've been left here. Is that it?"

"What do you mean 'left'? You missed the bus. Who else is to blame?"

Adrian's voice rose, sharper now.

"Figure out a ride yourself. You're a project manager. Do I really have to teach you how to arrange transport?"

"Adrian."

I said his name.

"A missile just hit nearby."

He paused.

"Don't try to scare me. The news said the strikes are targeting military sites. You're nowhere near that. Clara, are you seriously jealous that I took Sophie with me? Can you be a little more understanding at a time like this? She can't survive without me. She'd be dead on her own. You're different."

Across the street, a shop window had just shattered from the blast, glass shards scattered everywhere.

"I'm not jealous," I said. "I just want you to know that if I die, you'll probably find my body somewhere on the road to Astara Gate."

"Are you insane?" Adrian snapped.

The line went dead.

I stared at the dark screen, then blocked his number.

It was the first time I had ever hung up on him. The first time I had ever cut him off.

In the past, no matter how bad our fights got, I always left the line open, waiting for him to call back and make it right.

But today, I didn't need that anymore.

I slipped my phone into my inner pocket and tightened the straps of my backpack.

A battered pickup truck was parked by the roadside, several passengers already sitting in the back with large packs.

The driver, a bearded local man, was haggling in broken English.

"Astara Gate! Five hundred dollars per person!"

I walked over, pulled out five green bills from my bag, and handed them to him.

"I'm getting on."

The driver held the money up to the light, checked it, then waved me on.

I climbed into the truck bed and found a corner to sit in.

The air in the truck bed smelled of sheep and gasoline.

Next to me sat a bespectacled young man clutching a laptop to his chest.

Across from us was a middle-aged couple, the woman quietly sobbing.

"That's everyone! Let's go!"

The driver slapped the side of the truck.

The pickup jolted violently, spewing black smoke as it surged onto the northern road.

The wind was fierce, stinging my face.

I curled into the corner and pulled up my jacket hood.

As we left the city, the landscape turned desolate.

Abandoned vehicles and scattered luggage littered the roadside.

The sky in the distance was a murky gray-yellow, indistinguishable between dust and gunsmoke.

I closed my eyes, but all I could see was Adrian's SUV disappearing into the distance.

This was the man I had loved for seven years.

At the edge of life and death, he had taught me the cruelest lesson of all.

The truck jolted, and my head slammed against the metal rail with a dull thud.

It hurt.

But I didn't rub it.

The pain kept me clear-headed.

From this moment on, my life belonged to me alone.

The pickup sped along the road for three hours.

Darkness crept in quickly.

Night fell fast over the Darsen Plateau, and the temperature dropped sharply.

No one spoke in the truck bed, only the wind howled around us.

The young man tightened his grip on the laptop, the sound of his teeth chattering clearly audible.

The middle-aged woman across from me had stopped crying and fallen asleep against her husband's shoulder.

Her husband stayed awake, scanning the surroundings with wary eyes.

"Miss, have some water." The man handed me an army-green canteen.

I shook my head and gestured toward my backpack.

I had water, but I didn't dare drink it.

I didn't know how long the road ahead would be, or what might happen next.

Every drop could mean survival.

Suddenly, the truck lurched violently, followed by a hard brake.

The momentum threw me forward, and I slammed into the young man's back.

"What happened?" someone asked, panic rising in their voice.

The driver jumped out, cursing in another language.

I leaned out to see what was wrong.

The road ahead was gone.

A massive crater split the center of the road, the asphalt shattered like broken biscuits.

Several destroyed cars sat nearby, still smoking.

"The road's blocked! We can't get through!" The driver waved his arms, shouting at us.

"So what do we do? Take a detour?"

The young man with glasses stood up, his voice trembling.

"Detour means two hundred extra kilometers! More money! Two hundred more each!"

The driver held up two fingers.

The middle-aged man stood up angrily. "We already paid! This is robbery!"

The driver shrugged and gestured at the pitch-black wilderness around us.

"No pay, no ride."

A distant howl echoed through the dark, maybe wolves, maybe stray dogs.

No one said another word.

I pulled out two more bills, jumped down, and shoved them into the driver's hand.

"Let's go. Take the detour."

The others followed, handing over more money.

Being left here meant certain death.

The pickup turned around and drove onto a gravel road.

The jolts were ten times worse than before.

My stomach churned violently; I hadn't eaten dinner, and only acid was rising.

I bit down hard on my lip, forcing myself not to throw up.

Vomiting would lead to dehydration. Dehydration would leave me too weak to keep going.

I couldn't afford that.

The truck entered a valley.

The signal vanished completely.

I took out my phone. Battery at forty percent.

There was a photo in my gallery, taken at the airport before departure.

Adrian had his arm around me, smiling brightly.

Back then, he had said, "Clara, once this trip's over, let's start trying for a baby."

My finger slid across the screen. I tapped delete.

The photo disappeared, wiped clean along with the trash.

Suddenly, a blinding light appeared ahead.

The driver slammed on the brakes.

Several men in camouflage stood in the middle of the road, faces covered, AK-47s in hand.

They weren't soldiers-they were armed bandits.

"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.