Chapter 3 - Daryl

The house didn't feel like home anymore.

Not with the way Ella barely looked at me. Not with the way she flinched whenever I got too close, like my presence alone was suffocating her.

I wasn't mad at her. I wasn't mad at anyone except myself.

I just didn't know what the hell to do.

It had been over a week since we brought her and Ian home, but things hadn't gone back to normal. Not even close. She barely spoke to me. She barely looked at me. I slept on the couch every night without her ever asking me to, because I knew she didn't want me in that bed. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

And it was killing me.

Tonight was no different.

I sat at the kitchen table, picking at my dinner while Ian chattered about his day, oblivious to the tension weighing down on his parents. Ella sat across from me, her shoulders hunched inward, her movements stiff, like she was forcing herself to be here, forcing herself to try.

I appreciated the effort. I just hated that she had to force it.

Ruby whined from the bassinet beside Ella, and she flinched—like the sound had startled her, even though she had been the one to set Ruby down. She reached for her slowly, hesitating for a second before lifting our daughter into her arms.

It was like she was afraid of touching anyone.

That realization made something inside me crack all over again.

"You good?" I asked, my voice low, careful.

She nodded stiffly, her eyes still on Ruby, bouncing her gently, rubbing slow circles into her tiny back.

Ian kept talking, filling the silence that neither of us knew how to fix.

I wished I had half the confidence he did. He wasn't questioning shit. He didn't see the rift between us as something permanent. He just kept on being himself, kept on trusting that everything would be okay.

I wished I could believe that.

Ella's hand trembled where it rested on Ruby's back. Her fingers flexed, then went still, like she was trying to convince herself that it was safe to hold our baby, that she wasn't tainted by what Paul had done.

She wasn't.

But I knew damn well she didn't believe that.

She had barely touched Ian since she got home. She held Ruby because she had to. But Ian? I knew she wanted to pull him close. I knew she ached for him. But something was stopping her. And I hated that I didn't know how to help her past it.

"You eat enough?" I asked, because I had to say something.

Ella's eyes flickered toward her plate, still half full.

"Yeah," she murmured, even though I knew it wasn't true.

I didn't argue. Didn't push. Didn't do a damn thing except sit here, useless.

When dinner was done, Ian ran upstairs to get ready for bed without needing to be asked. The kid was smart. He knew something was off between us. He just didn't know why.

Ella lingered at the sink, washing dishes even though I'd been doing them every night since she got back. I stayed at the table, watching her, not sure if I should get up and help or give her space.

She must've felt my stare, because she turned her head just slightly, just enough to look at me from the corner of her eye.

For a second, I thought maybe she was going to say something.

For a second, I hoped.

But then her gaze dropped, and she turned back to the dishes like I wasn't even there.

That was worse than any fight we could've had. Worse than her yelling at me. Worse than her crying.

She was just... gone.

I scraped my chair back, standing up.

"I'll go check on Ian," I muttered, more to fill the silence than anything else.

Ella nodded without turning around.

And that was that.

Another night. Another inch between us. Another reminder that I was losing her, piece by piece.

And I didn't know how the hell to stop it.

The days passed in a haze, and not a damn thing got better.

Ella still wouldn't look at me for more than a second. She still flinched if I got too close. She still moved around the house like a ghost, like a shell of herself, like she was just waiting for something.

Waiting for me to snap? Waiting for herself to feel normal again?

Hell if I knew.

The worst part was that she wouldn't talk to me. Not really. She kept the conversations short, clipped, simple. She asked if I ate, if I slept, if I needed anything. But there was nothing real in her voice, nothing of the woman I married, nothing of the woman who used to laugh just for the hell of it.

It was like watching someone fade right in front of me. Like watching her slip away, and I couldn't stop it, couldn't reach out, couldn't hold on.

And I didn't know if it was because she thought I couldn't help her, or if she thought I shouldn't.

Both of those thoughts ate me alive.

I wasn't sleeping much anymore. Every night, I stretched out on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the silence. It felt like I was waiting for something to break.

The only thing that kept me from losing my goddamn mind was the kids. Ian still climbed up into my lap when he was tired, still clung to me when he needed comfort. Ruby still whined for me, still curled into my chest when I held her.

But Ella...

She kept herself at a distance, and when I watched her, when I studied the way she moved, the way she barely touched Ian, I realized she wasn't just pulling away from me.

She was pulling away from them, too.

And that scared the shit outta me.

I found her one afternoon, sitting on the front porch with Ruby cradled in her arms, staring blankly at the street. She wasn't rocking her, wasn't humming to her, wasn't there.

She just held her.

Like she was making herself do it, like it was a responsibility and not something she wanted.

The sight of it broke something in me.

I didn't know how long I stood there, just watching, my chest burning with helpless rage. I wanted to reach out. I wanted to grab her hand, pull her back, fix it.

But I knew if I touched her without warning, she'd recoil, and I didn't think I could stomach that again.

So I cleared my throat.

Ella barely blinked.

"I can take her for a bit," I said. "If you need to rest."

It wasn't the right thing to say.

Her grip on Ruby tightened, her arms curling around her like she was afraid I was gonna take her instead of offer.

"No," she said softly. "I got her."

I should've walked away. Should've let it go. But I couldn't.

"Ella."

She sucked in a slow breath, her shoulders stiffening.

"I'm fine, Daryl," she muttered.

"No, you're not," I snapped, my control slipping, my frustration boiling over.

Her jaw clenched, and for a second—just a second—something like anger flashed in her eyes.

Good. Let her get mad. At least it was something.

"You want me to break?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "You want me to fall apart? I can't, Daryl. I don't get to fall apart."

My throat burned.

"You think I want you to break?" I muttered. "I just want you to let me in. Let me help you."

Her laugh was bitter. Hollow.

"You can't help me."

The words knocked the wind right outta me.

She stood, shifting Ruby against her shoulder as she stepped past me, walking back inside without another word.

And I stood there, feeling like someone had taken a bat to my fucking ribs.

The front door shut behind her, and I was left standing on that damn porch, hands clenched into fists, heart hammering in my chest.

I felt us slipping further apart.

And I had no idea how to stop it.

I wasn't the only one who noticed, either.

Carl started hanging around more. At first, I figured it was just him wanting to be close after what happened, but after a while, I saw the way he was with Ella—patient, steady, familiar.

And more than once, I caught him walking her home after she finished teaching. He never touched her, never crossed a line. But he was there, walking close enough to let her know he wasn't leaving, but not close enough to make her feel cornered.

And she let him.

That should've pissed me off. Should've made me say something. But the truth was, I was just fucking jealous.

Not of Carl.

But of the fact that she could let him in when she couldn't let me.

It killed me.

I didn't blame her for it, but it still killed me.

One night, I found them sitting on the back steps, talking in hushed voices, Ruby asleep between them. I hovered near the doorway, not wanting to interrupt, but also wanting to interrupt.

Carl glanced up first, eyes locking on mine, like he knew what I was thinking.

And instead of backing off, instead of looking guilty, he just nodded.

Like he was challenging me to say something.

I didn't.

I couldn't.

Instead, I turned and walked away, heading inside, my gut twisting, my head spinning.

This wasn't fucking fair.

None of this was fucking fair.

And I didn't know how much longer I could take it.

Alexandria was watching.

I could feel it.

The way conversations cut off when I walked by. The way people stole glances, like I was a wild animal barely kept in check.

At first, I told myself I was imagining it, but then I started hearing the whispers.

I was walking with Ella and the kids, Ian walking ahead like usual while I carried Ruby against my chest. She still hadn't let me carry Ian, hadn't let me take her hand, hadn't let me close enough.

And maybe that's why I heard it.

Because I wasn't focused on her, wasn't lost in my own thoughts.

I caught two of the older men near one of the gardens, their voices low, like they knew they shouldn't be saying it, but they did anyway.

"Went too far," one muttered. "Killing a man like that. Bare hands."

"Damn animal," the other whispered. "They should've never let him in here."

My blood turned to fire. My fingers twitched at my sides, itching to grab something, break something, do something.

But I couldn't.

Not with Ella right there.

Not with Ian watching.

Not when I already felt like I was walking on thin fucking ice.

So I clenched my jaw and kept walking, my fingers curling around Ruby's tiny body, the steady weight of her keeping me grounded.

It wasn't just them.

Even Aaron and Eric had been careful, walking on eggshells around me. Like I might snap at any moment. Aaron still acted like nothing had changed, but Eric... Eric had been different. Quieter. Watching.

Until one afternoon, when we were working on the bike, and he finally just said it.

"You can't keep pretending this isn't happening," Eric muttered, crouched beside me as I worked on the engine. "People are talking."

I gritted my teeth, forcing my hands steady.

"They don't know what the hell they're talkin' about," I muttered.

"They don't care," Eric shot back. "They're gonna talk anyway. But that's not what I'm worried about."

I glanced up, my brows furrowing.

Eric sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I don't care what people say. But you and Ella? That's what I care about." His eyes flicked to Aaron, like he was searching for backup.

"They don't know what he did," he said. "And I don't want to know what he did. But I know you, Daryl. And I know you wouldn't have done it unless you had to."

Something thick lodged itself in my throat.

I wiped my hands on my jeans, sitting back on my heels. "It don't matter," I muttered. "What I did. It don't change this." I gestured around me. "It don't change her."

Eric hesitated. "Ella?"

I nodded, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

"She won't look at me. Won't talk to me unless she has to. Won't touch me." I swallowed hard. "I sleep on the couch every night. And when she does talk, it's just... not her."

Neither of them said anything.

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. "She talks to Carl, though. He walks her home. He's there when I can't be." I scoffed, rubbing at my face. "She lets him in, but not me."

Aaron exhaled sharply. "Jesus."

Eric's gaze softened, his voice quieter when he finally spoke. "She's scared, Daryl."

I snapped my head up.

"Not of you," he corrected quickly. "But of what happened. Of what it did to her." He shifted, his tone more careful. "And maybe, seeing you like that—covered in blood, so angry—maybe that made it harder."

I looked away.

I already knew that. I knew it in my fucking bones.

I had been out of my mind when I killed Paul. I felt it. I knew it. There wasn't a single part of me that regretted it, but I hated that she had to see it.

"She's lost right now," Eric continued. "She's trying to figure out how to feel normal again. And she's leaning on Carl because it's easier. Because he's safe."

I exhaled slowly. "And I'm not."

Aaron shook his head. "Not like that. But you are a reminder."

I didn't say anything. Just stared at the bike, my fingers flexing on my knees.

"She trusts Carl," Eric said, gentler now. "Because she knows he won't hurt her like a grown man could. Like Paul did." He swallowed. "You're her husband, Daryl. She wants to trust you again. She will trust you again. But you can't force it. You can't fix this overnight."

I pressed a hand over my mouth, my chest burning, my head spinning.

I just wanted my wife back.

I just wanted us back.

But for the first time since it happened, I realized I might not ever get her back.

And I didn't know if I could survive that.

The walk home felt heavier than usual.

Aaron and Eric's words sat like a weight on my chest, pressing down with every step. I wanted to fix this, to fix us, but every time I reached for her, she pulled further away. And I didn't know how to stop it.

The house was quiet when I stepped inside. The kind of quiet that wasn't comforting, wasn't peaceful. Just empty.

I found her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, eyes staring out the window like she was miles away.

She didn't turn when she heard me.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't acknowledge me at all.

I set my crossbow by the door, exhaling slowly before stepping further in. "Hey."

Nothing.

I swallowed, stepping closer, keeping my movements slow, careful, like approaching a skittish animal. "Ella."

Her jaw tightened, but still, she said nothing.

I leaned against the opposite counter, giving her space. Giving us space. "I know things ain't easy right now," I said carefully. "I know I... I look like the problem. And I get that. I do." My voice was low, measured. "But I need you to know, I ain't goin' anywhere. I love you. I love you, and I ain't ever gonna stop. You can take all the time you need, as long as you need. I just... I just wanna know you hear me."

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

Finally, she shifted, her arms tightening around herself. "I do hear you, Daryl." Her voice was quiet, strained. "I hear you every time you say it. But I can't—" She cut herself off, exhaling sharply through her nose.

"Can't what?" I asked gently, afraid of the answer.

She turned then, eyes flashing, frustration tightening her face. "I can't just pretend that everything is fine! That we can just go back to the way things were before! I can't do that, Daryl!"

My heart clenched. "I ain't askin' you to."

She scoffed, shaking her head, looking away again. "Then what are you asking?"

"For you to let me help," I said. "For you to stop pushin' me away like I did somethin' wrong."

Her eyes snapped back to mine, sharp and full of something I couldn't name. "You didn't do anything, Daryl. That's the problem! You couldn't stop it, you couldn't change it, and I still can't look at you without—"

She cut off again, pressing her lips together, her hands curling into fists.

My stomach twisted. "Without what?" I whispered.

She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing hard through her nose. "Without remembering."

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

I forced myself to nod, to breathe through the pain lodged in my chest. "I get it."

"No, you don't," she snapped. "You can't."

"I do," I said, voice firmer now. "I do get it, Ella. And I ain't mad at you for it. I ain't mad at you for not wantin' me to touch you, or for leanin' on Carl, or for needin' space. But I am mad that you're actin' like I ain't part of this, like I ain't hurt too."

Her lip trembled. "I'm not trying to—"

"But you are," I said, stepping closer. "And I ain't gonna fight you on it. If you need space, you got it. If you need time, I'll wait forever. But don't act like I ain't standin' right here, ready to love you through this."

Tears welled in her eyes, and she turned her face away, rubbing at them furiously. "I don't know what I need, Daryl."

I nodded, exhaling slowly. "Then I'll be here while you figure it out."

The tension between us was thick, heavy, almost unbearable.

After a long moment, she swallowed hard. "I need to check on the kids."

She left without another word.

And all I could do was stand there, hands clenched at my sides, heart aching, knowing there was nothing I could do to fix this.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.