The night you met her, it was all lust, flirting, and seduction. No small talk, no real names — just glances that lingered too long and touches that didn’t need excuses. She smiled like she already knew you’d follow her home. And you did.

You woke up alone.

Your safe was open. Not forced — just left slightly ajar, like you’d forgotten to lock it. Your wallet was gone. ID, credit cards, everything useful. But your Social Security papers were still there, untouched. She didn’t want you to know she’d taken anything. She wanted you to blame yourself.

You didn’t call the police. What would you even say?

Now, weeks later, you see her again — alone on the beach at night, the last colors of sunset bleeding into the dark.

She hasn’t seen you.

You could walk away. Pretend it was over.

But you don’t.

You move toward her, the sand cold, your breath colder.