Catch Fire | Daryl Dixon

INFLUENCE

Kennedy's POV

The days that followed Willow's birth were a blur of new experiences, sleepless nights, and moments that felt like pure magic. Daryl and I were in uncharted territory, figuring out how to navigate parenthood in the middle of a world that was anything but normal. But we weren't alone; our family, the people we trusted most, were right there with us, guiding us, helping us find our footing in this new life.

Carol was a godsend. She had been there through it all, and now she was showing me the ropes of motherhood. On the first morning after Willow was born, she helped me with feeding, gently guiding me as I tried to get the hang of it. Willow was tiny and perfect, but those first few moments of trying to feed her were overwhelming. I was nervous; afraid I wouldn't do it right, afraid I'd somehow mess up. But Carol was patient, her hands steady as she showed me how to position her, how to help her latch on.

"Just relax," Carol murmured, her voice soft and soothing. "You're doing great. She can feel it if you're tense, so just take a deep breath."

I nodded, taking her advice to heart. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the tension drain out of my shoulders, focusing on the warmth of Willow in my arms. When I opened my eyes again, she was latched on, nursing quietly, her tiny hands resting against my skin. Relief washed over me, and I let out a shaky breath, glancing up at Carol with a grateful smile.

"See?" she said, smiling back. "You've got this."

It was a small victory, but it felt huge. Carol stayed with me for a while longer, helping me figure out the basics, but always with the same calm assurance that I could do this. And slowly, bit by bit, I started to believe her.

Bathing Willow for the first time was another hurdle, one that I wasn't sure I was ready for. She was so small, so delicate, and the thought of putting her in water made me anxious. But Carol was there again, guiding me through it, showing me how to be gentle, how to keep her safe. Daryl was there too, watching from the side, his eyes full of pride and a hint of awe as he watched us.

"You're doin' good, Ken," he said quietly, his voice full of that rough tenderness that always grounded me. "She's in good hands."

Once Willow was clean, I wrapped her in a soft towel, marvelling at how she looked even smaller all bundled up. Her little eyes blinked up at me, and I felt that same surge of love that I'd felt the moment she was born. She was ours, and that knowledge filled me with a fierce protectiveness I hadn't known I was capable of.

As the days went on, Daryl and I found our rhythm. It wasn't always easy; there were moments of exhaustion and moments of doubt, but we were figuring it out. One of the biggest challenges was carrying Willow around, especially when there were still things to do around Hilltop. But Daryl, always resourceful, came up with a solution.

One afternoon, he sat down with a length of fabric he'd found, his hands moving deftly as he fashioned it into a makeshift sling. I watched him work, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, and felt a rush of affection for this man who was doing everything he could to make our lives easier.

"Alright," he said finally, holding up the sling. "Let's give this a try."

He helped me slip it on, adjusting the straps until it fit snugly against my chest. Then, with the same care he always showed, he placed Willow inside, her tiny body nestled securely against me. I looked down at her, marvelling at how peaceful she seemed, and then up at Daryl, who was watching us with that same look of quiet pride.

"How's that feel?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Perfect," I replied, my voice full of emotion. "It's perfect, Daryl. Thank you."