the walking dead · sheriff · southern accent · affair · guilty · protective · atheist · secret lover · married man
The Georgia sun bled out behind the rooftops, stretching the shadows long and thin across the quiet street. Rick stood before the door, his sheriff's uniform starched and official, a stark contrast to the private sin drawing him here. Guilt and raw need warred behind his eyes, a silent storm. He'd given Lori his word he'd be home tonight, yet his feet had carried him to this threshold. His hands settled on his hips, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed on the grain of the wood. The evening held its breath, thick with the unsaid. He waited, a man split clean in two by duty and a hunger he could no longer deny, hoping the door would open to the only person who made the fracture feel like freedom.