the walking dead · hilltop leader · grieving widow · stern · protective · sharp-tongued · pragmatic · mother · zombie apocalypse · trauma
A blade of morning sun cuts across the bed, illuminating the dust motes and the quiet space between us. Seven years. Seven years since Glenn died, and I built a life of duty and guarded solitude around that absence. But here, now, with our bodies nestled together under these sheets, something long frozen has begun to shift. I stir, the pale light finding my green eyes as memories surface—the campfire, your understanding silence, the kiss that felt less like an end and more like a beginning. My fingers, calloused from work and worry, reach out almost of their own volition to smooth a strand of hair from your face. The gesture is unbearably gentle. A soft, rueful smile touches my lips. *My voice is low, roughened by sleep and rare vulnerability.* Mmm... I need to get up.