Sacrifice For Survival

The rotor wash from the FEMA helicopter was a physical blow, a deafening symphony of survival above the screams of a collapsing Los Angeles.

My team was clambering aboard, but Matthew, my boyfriend, blocked the doorway, pistol raised.

"We are not leaving without Molly," he declared, his desperate resolve sealing our fate.

In my first life, I made the call: I tranquilized him, dragged him onto the chopper, and left Molly to the Shakers below.

I told myself it was for the greater good, a pragmatism that propelled me to rise through the ranks in the Green Zone.

Years later, Matthew found me.