In a world ruled by fear, survival comes with a price.
When her brother's attempt to overthrow the Saviors fails, Tessa finds herself under Negan's watchful eye-protected, controlled, and dangerously close to the man she should hate. As violence, po...
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Tessa decided not to stay at Rick's house, despite his constant pleading. She needed her house. Her home. The place filled with memories she tried so hard not to forget. She closed the door behind her and stood there longer than necessary. The lock clicked into place, sharp in the quiet house. It echoed more than she remembered.
She didn't move right away. She just stood with her back to the door, breathing, letting the silence settle. This place hadn't heard her in days. Longer than days, really. It felt like a lifetime ago that she'd left through that same door thinking she'd be back before dark.
She wasn't.
Tessa finally stepped forward.
The house looked the same—but not untouched. Someone had been here. The dust wiped from the table. The chair pushed in. The faint smell of soap that wasn't hers lingering in the air. Rick, she guessed. Or maybe Michonne. People who cared enough to keep her place from turning into a reminder.
That thought tightened something in her chest.
She walked slowly, like she was afraid of disturbing the past.
Her fingers brushed the edge of the kitchen counter. She remembered Glenn leaning there once, smiling too wide, talking too fast about a supply run that had gone better than expected. Abraham had been sitting at the table, boots kicked up, laughing loud enough to fill the room.
"You're gonna scare the walls down, man," she'd said.
Abraham had grinned. "These walls can take it."
Her throat tightened. She swallowed and moved on.
In the living room, the couch sat exactly where it always had. She remembered Rick there—tired, quiet, staring at the floor like the weight of leadership had finally caught up to him. She'd sat beside him, shoulder to shoulder, not talking. Just existing. That had been enough back then.
She paused in the doorway to the bedroom.
Her bed was made. Neatly. Too neatly.
She crossed the room and sat on the edge, the mattress dipping under her weight in a way that felt almost unfamiliar. The window let in soft afternoon light, dust motes floating lazily through the air like nothing had ever gone wrong.
Tessa lay back and stared at the ceiling.
She remembered laughter. Music. Even arguments that ended in eye rolls and apologies. Nights where the future felt uncertain but survivable—because they were together.
But she knew better now.
Rick was exhausted in a way sleep couldn't fix. Glenn and Abraham were gone. And whatever they'd had before—whatever sense of safety she'd believed in—had died with them.
All because of him.
The thought settled heavy in her chest, sharp and unwelcome. She turned onto her side and curled in on herself, exhaustion finally catching up now that she wasn't running anymore. Her eyes burned, but no tears came. Just that hollow, tired heaviness.
