Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition
Chapter 1327 - 1327: Story 1327: The Vow He Broke

He promised me he'd never leave.

Not in whispers under blankets. Not in rushed vows on our wedding day. No—Daniel had sworn it while the sky fell and the world bled.

"No matter what happens," he had said, gripping my face with shaking hands,

"we stay. We survive. Together."

But in the end, he broke that vow.

And the worst part?

He didn't do it by dying.

After I shot him, I couldn't sleep. The others moved on like ghosts, packing gear, checking ammo, whispering about infected roads ahead.

I stayed behind for one more hour.

Just me and the silence.

That's when I found it—beneath the floorboard of the cot he'd slept on.

His journal.

A small, tattered notebook bound in duct tape and guilt.

Inside were entries I wasn't supposed to read.

The truth of what happened after the hospital fell. What he did.

Day 4:

I heard them screaming outside. I didn't go. I couldn't. I locked the doors.

I survived. That's what I promised her.

Day 6:

A child came to the shelter. Bitten. I refused to open the door.

He died on the steps. I watched.

Day 10:

The food ran low. I made a deal with a raider gang. I traded painkillers… and someone's hiding place. I didn't ask what they did with the family.

They gave me canned beans. I didn't tell them about the medicine stash under the altar. That's mine.

My hands shook as I turned the pages.

This wasn't the Daniel I knew.

But it was.

Just a version of him I never wanted to believe could exist.

Day 18:

I miss Lara. God, I miss her.

If she saw me now, she'd never forgive me.

But maybe… she could still love me. If I lie.

Day 23:

If she finds me, I'll pretend. I'll say I never left the theater.

I'll say I waited, like I said I would.

She deserves that story more than this truth.

That was the vow he broke.

Not just the promise to stay.

He broke the vow of truth.

Of trust.

He wanted to wear the mask of the man I married, even after becoming a stranger. A survivor, yes—but one who sold pieces of his soul to live.

And still, I had kissed him.

Held him.

Loved him one last time.

I burned the journal that night.

Not out of hatred.

Out of mercy.

Because Daniel died long before the bullet.

Long before the infection.

He died the moment he stopped living for something other than himself.

I carry him still.

Not as a ghost.

Not as a lover.

But as a warning.

Even the ones we love can rot before they bleed.