Camille and Johann had been together for two years. Their love was the kind that didn’t shout. It whispered. Shared routines. Inside jokes. Quiet mornings. Camille felt safe with him—so safe that she had already started imagining a future with his last name.
That evening, Johann came home later than usual.
“Camille… we need to talk.”
Her stomach tightened. “What’s wrong?”
He stared at the floor.
“I’ve been thinking for a long time,” he said. “I can’t keep pretending.”
“Pretending what?” Camille whispered.
“That this is enough for me.” His voice cracked, just slightly. “I don’t see a future anymore. I don’t feel it the way I used to.”
She shook her head, searching his face.
“Camille, please,” he said softly. “Don’t make this harder.”
Her heart began to race.
Silence swallowed the room.
“I don’t love you anymore,” Johann said. Quiet. Final.
“I’m sorry,” Johann whispered.
Camille nodded, even though everything in her was screaming.
For her, everything had been perfect. For him, it was a dead end.
She moved back with her parents. Every morning was torture—forcing herself out of bed, going to work at the hotel reception desk. She could barely hear what guests were saying. Johann’s words played on repeat in her mind.
She’d lock herself in her room and cry until she fell asleep.
Her friend Sophie tried to help. “Let’s go out, do something.”
Camille couldn’t. She was trapped in a destructive emotional loop.
Two months passed. Depression crawled in. She felt she wasn’t good enough, beautiful enough, deserving of happiness.
She tried reaching Johann. He’d moved on. “My decision is final.”
One day, Camille made a spontaneous decision. She packed a tent, survival supplies, and went hiking alone.
She took a bus to the farthest town from hers and started walking. The nature was beautiful. She hiked up hills, watching foxes run by.
Farmers in the region often reported lone wolves attacking livestock.
Lone wolves, she thought. At least I won’t be thinking about Johann.
For the first time in months, she wasn’t.
As darkness fell, she set up her tent near the road—not too visible, not too close to the forest where animals roamed. She lit a lamp inside, kept her hunting knife beside her, and built a fire.
Wolf howls echoed in the distance.
She was scared but prepared. She sat watching all night. The wolf never came closer.
The next day, she continued exploring. Her mind felt clearer. Johann’s presence was fading.
When darkness approached the second night, she reached a small village. Too tired to face another night with wolves, she crept into a farm with chickens. They squawked but quieted when she lay still in a corner.
The next morning, the owner spotted her sneaking out and chased her, angry.
She ran toward the forest until hidden behind trees. He didn’t follow.
Her phone was dead. She realized she hadn’t thought of Johann at all. Survival mode was on.
She needed to get home but didn’t know where the bus station was. She walked along the empty country road hoping to flag down a car or bus.
The car slowed beside her.
Too slow.
The window slid down. A young man leaned out, smiling.
“Hey. Where are you going?”
Something crawled up Camille’s spine. The smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“I’m waiting for a friend,” she said, forcing calm. “Thank you.”
The car didn’t move.
Instead, the engine shut off.
The door opened.
He stepped out and started walking toward her.
Her heart slammed so hard it hurt. The street felt suddenly empty—too quiet. Camille’s fight-or-flight kicked in.
Her phone was dead. She lifted it anyway, hands shaking, pretending to take photos—his face, the car, the license plate.
“I just sent this to the police,” she said, “They have everything.”
His expression changed.
“Give me that phone,” he snapped, closing the distance.
Camille’s fingers closed around the knife in her pocket. She pulled it out.
“Stop,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “Leave now. They’re already coming.”
For a split second, she thought he might still try.
Then he cursed. Loud. Ugly.
“Crazy bitch.”
He backed away, jumped into the car, and sped off, tires screaming.
Only then did Camille realize she was shaking. Her knees nearly gave out.
She stood alone in the dark, breath ragged, knife still in her hand—
terrified, but alive.
Several buses passed. She waved frantically. Two didn’t stop.
She ran onto the road in front of the third one, waving desperately. “STOP!”
It stopped.
By evening, she was home.
She entered her room, fell onto her bed, and started crying.
But for the first time in two months, she wasn’t crying over Johann.
She was crying because she’d survived hell. Because her mind was finally clear. Because she’d faced wolves, escaped danger, outsmarted a predator.
They were happy tears.
Heartbreak had nearly destroyed her. She’d been drowning in depression, feeling worthless, unable to move forward.
But survival had saved her.