"Falling in love. And say, it's crazy. Falling. You see? We don't say 'rising into love.' There is in it the idea of the fall." - Alan Watts
This isn't your typical love story.
It's not about a boy and a girl falling for each other and everything ma...
"Even in his darkest moments...she was his only light."
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***
"I missed you so much," Carl said softly, his voice cracking just a little as he pulled me into a tight hug.
I let myself lean into him, the warmth of his arms a comfort after so long. "I wanted to come back for you," I whispered. "Shane wouldn't let us leave. I'm so sorry."
He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. "Carl, I'm okay now," I assured him, meaning every word. The ache in my chest dulled just knowing he was alive, right here beside me. "We have each other again."
"Dad's coming," Carl said suddenly, a nervous edge in his voice.
Rick stepped into the cabin, his posture cautious but hopeful, hands fidgeting with the strap of his gun.
My breath caught. Rick — alive. I blinked back the sudden rush of disbelief and relief, stepping forward until I was face-to-face with him.
"I thought you were in a coma. You woke up?" My voice was barely a whisper as I reached out, gripping his forearms like a lifeline.
Rick's eyes held a weariness I hadn't seen before, but also something fierce — determination, maybe. "Yeah. Woke up in the hospital. Found Carl, Lori... Shane and a few others. We have a group now. We're surviving."
A lump rose in my throat. "You have a group?"
Carl nodded, cheeks flushed with the weight of everything he'd endured.
Rick's gaze hardened. "I have to ask. How many walkers have you killed?"
I swallowed hard. "Too many. But no people."
Rick's brow furrowed. "Why no people?"
"You guys — you're the only people I've seen. I didn't want to hurt anyone."
The weight of his stare was almost unbearable. "Good," he said finally. "You're smart."
The walk to the prison was tense. My heart pounded in my chest — nervousness, hope, and an aching need to belong mixing like a storm. Carl's hand brushed mine, small but steady, grounding me.
"So... how did you get here?" I asked, desperate for some normalcy, some thread of the past.
Carl swallowed hard, looking away. "A lot's changed since you left."
"Like what?" I urged gently.
"I... I was shot," he said quietly.
I stared at him, shocked and breathless.
Carl slowly lifted his shirt, revealing a long, jagged scar cutting across his stomach.
"Wow," I breathed, voice thick. "That's... that's a serious scar."
He gave me a weak, haunted smile. "I also... I had to... I killed Mom."
His confession crashed over me like a wave. I blinked, tears burning my eyes. "Carl..."
He looked down, voice trembling. "She had the emergency c-section, but she didn't make it. I didn't want her to come back as one of them. I had to stop her."
The world felt like it had shattered around me. Lori — the woman who had cared for me like her own — was gone.
I pulled Carl into a hug, clinging to him like a lifeline. The silence between us was loud with pain, sorrow, and understanding.
He pulled away first, wiping tears away. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
I shook my head. "No. We both deserve better than this."
Five years ago
"Dad, can I go to Carl's for a sleepover?" My voice cracked with hope.
"Sure," he answered from the living room, not looking up.
I grinned and bounded upstairs to pack, the freedom of childhood shining like a beacon amid the darkness.
At the Grimes' house, Lori opened the door, her warm smile lighting the room. "Hey, sweetheart! Come in."
"How are you?" I asked softly.
"Better now that you're here," she replied.
I slipped inside, heart pounding with a mix of excitement and comfort.
"Carl's upstairs," Lori said, and I hurried up the creaky stairs, my bag bumping against the wall.
"Carl! I'm here!" I sang.
Suddenly, arms wrapped around me, pulling me to the bed. "You scared me!" I laughed.
"Sorry!" he grinned sheepishly.
"Game night?"
He nodded eagerly. We dashed downstairs, laughing, racing, tripping, and crashing into each other until we fell onto the couch breathless.
Rick entered, closing the door behind him.
"Hey, Dad!" he called.
Rick smiled tiredly but genuinely. "Hey, kids."
The evening passed in a blur of warmth — pancakes, video games, laughter. Lori's soft voice as she called us to dinner felt like safety.
Now
The prison gate loomed, cold steel under a gray sky.
"This is our home now," Carl said, voice steady.
I scanned the faces waiting — Maggie, Glenn, Hershel, Carol, Beth — survivors. Family.
Carl's baby sister, Judith, caught my eye. The little girl was the living memory of Lori. It made my chest ache.
"Lil Ass Kicker," Carl whispered, grinning. "Daryl calls her that."
A tall man appeared, eyes sharp and wary.
"Daryl Dixon?" I said softly, pulling out a tattered photo.
Recognition sparked in his eyes.
"You're Jason Dixon's daughter?"
I nodded, swallowing.
His hand reached out. "Niece."
I gripped it firmly. "Uncle Daryl."
He hugged me unexpectedly, a fierce hold that said without words — you're safe now.
Later, Carol introduced herself and Beth with kind smiles.
They led me to a small room for a shower, simple but sacred. Water washed away years of grime, fear, and despair.
Clean and wrapped in fresh clothes, I felt human again.
In the kitchen, reaching for a granola bar, I caught Daryl's eyes.
He noticed the scar on my stomach and frowned.
"What's that from?"
Memories crashed in. I flinched, voice cracking. "Dad... he hurt me."
