When I walk into the grocery store these days, I feel like a traitor. The bright boxes of cereal, the smiling mascots, even the frozen pizzas seem to glare at me, as if they know I’ve turned against them. Once, I shopped these aisles with loyalty; now, I hunt labels for low carbs and hidden sugars, scanning like a detective on foreign soil. It’s strange how food, so ordinary and familiar, can become a battleground. Every cart, every choice, is a small declaration of where my loyalties now lie.