Years after the trauma that shattered Alexandria's peace, Maggie and Negan find themselves trapped in a forced coexistence, stirring up old resentments and unspoken desires. Maggie tries to keep her distance, driven by pain and loyalty to the past...
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Disfruto mirarte Cada movimiento Un vicio que tengo"
The road back to Alexandria was long. More because of the silence than the distance.
No one spoke much. The chaos had quieted, but what lingered inside each of them was harder to disperse than a horde. Maggie kept her eyes fixed on the dirty scenery outside — the scorched trees, twisted branches, fallen fences. She heard the hum of the engine, the tires over loose stones. The sound of absence.
Negan was beside her. But felt miles away. He hadn't said a word since they got in the car. Hadn't touched her. Hadn't looked at her for more than two seconds. And Maggie felt that like a door closing behind her. Again.
In the backseat, Gabriel held Coco in his arms. The little girl was playing with his cassock, tugging at the fabric with her tiny fingers, curious. The priest said nothing. Just stared out the window, his free hand slowly running through his daughter's hair, as if that simple gesture was all that kept him together. His eyes were red, but dry. There were no more tears. Only that kind of grief that settles too deep to leave.
Rosita was gone. And everyone in the convoy felt it. Rick drove the front car. Michonne next to him, of course. Daryl, Carol, Lydia, Elijah, Aaron — all together, but each one drowning in their own pain. It wasn't a definitive goodbye to the Commonwealth. Some had stayed behind to rebuild the city. It was more of a "see you later." The road stretched ahead. And the silence between Maggie and Negan was louder than everything.
She knew what was happening. She recognized the pattern.
He always pulled away when he felt things were going to fall apart. When he sensed she might have to choose — between him and everything that came before.
And this time, Maggie didn't want to say anything. Not because she didn't know what to say — but maybe because it wouldn't matter.
The gates of Alexandria creaked open with the familiar groan of rusted metal, and the convoy rolled in slowly. One by one, the cars passed through the makeshift barricade — like survivors returning from a battlefield. And that's exactly what they were.
The wooden houses that had endured time looked smaller now, paler. But they were still there. As if waiting for them. That place was still home, despite everything. Or at least it was... for some.
Maggie closed her eyes for a moment — images of the explosion, the perfect shot, Rosita's memory. But underneath all that, another urgency pulsed inside her. A pressure that wouldn't ease: Hershel. She wanted to see him. Needed to. Wanted to hear his voice, know if he was okay, if he felt angry, if he felt her absence. If he still recognized her as his mother after everything. The longing burned in her ribs, throbbed in her fingers. And at the same time, it hurt — the fear of what she'd find.
Negan parked the car near his old house. He didn't ask where the others would stay. Didn't offer help to unload. Just turned off the engine and sat there for a second. Hands still on the wheel. Eyes fixed on some point on the windshield — like he was seeing something else. Another time.
