Chapter 32 - Ella

Everything was heavy.

My body. My head. My eyelids. Even the air felt thick, like breathing through water. Voices drifted in and out—low murmurs, the hum of something beeping steady in the background. My ribs ached. My throat burned. I felt like I'd been hit by a truck, then dragged behind it for a few miles.

I wanted to sleep. Just a little longer. Sink back down into the dark where it didn't hurt.

But then—

"Ella?"

That voice. Rough. Shaky.

Daryl.

Something in me pushed up toward the sound. My fingers twitched. My lips parted, but nothing came out. Too dry. Too weak.

"Ella, hey—hey, she moved."

Another voice now. Younger. Worried.

Carl.

I forced my eyes open.

Blinding light. A ceiling I didn't recognize. The sterile smell of antiseptic hit me like a wave.

"Easy," Daryl whispered, suddenly close, leaning over me. His eyes were red. Wet. Like he'd been crying. "You're okay. You're safe. We're at Hilltop."

My vision swam as I tried to focus. He looked like an angel and a disaster all at once. Hair a mess, jaw clenched, hands trembling as they hovered just over my arm.

"Carl?" My voice was a broken whisper. Barely a breath.

"I'm here," he said, leaning into my line of sight. "I'm right here."

Relief crashed through me so fast it made my head spin. I tried to sit up, but pain flared through my side like fire.

"Don't," Daryl said quickly, pressing a hand to my shoulder. "Just lay still."

"But Carl—he—" I couldn't finish it. The words jumbled in my mouth, lost somewhere in the fog. But I needed to know. Needed to see him. "He's okay?"

"I'm okay," Carl said, inching closer, taking my hand. "I promise. You... you scared me."

His fingers wrapped around mine—so much bigger than I remembered, calloused from too much living too fast—but he was still mine. Not by blood. Not on paper. But mine all the same.

"I'm sorry," I murmured. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Daryl made a choked sound and ducked his head. I felt his forehead press gently to the side of my arm. Just for a second.

"Don't you ever do that again," he said. His voice was thick, breaking. "Don't you dare."

"I wasn't trying to," I whispered.

"I know," he breathed. "I know, baby. You're okay now. Just stay with me."

Carl sniffled beside me. I turned my head, saw the way his chin wobbled, the unshed tears in his eyes he was trying not to let fall.

"C'mere," I whispered, reaching for him.

He leaned down into me, awkward in his hug but trying to be gentle.

"You're both safe." I whispered, blinking slowly.

That was all I needed.

I could rest now.

~

I wasn't sure how much time passed.

Minutes. Hours. Maybe a day.

Everything blurred together—light and shadow moving across the ceiling, voices fading in and out like echoes underwater. I couldn't hold onto anything for long. It all kept slipping through my fingers.

But there were moments.

Flashes of clarity.

Daryl's hand in mine, rough thumb brushing over my knuckles.

Carl curled up in a chair beside the bed, arms crossed tight, trying to stay awake.

Someone changing the bandage on my side. I flinched and cried out. Daryl's voice cut through immediately—sharp, protective. "Watch it. She's hurt."

Another time, I woke to the sound of soft humming. A lullaby. It took me a second to realize it was coming from Carl. His head rested on the edge of the bed, one hand still tangled with mine. He was humming to me.

God.

My heart cracked open.

In the haze, I thought I saw Glenn. Just for a second. Standing near the door. He smiled at me, that kind, gentle smile of his. But when I blinked, he was gone.

Grief rolled through me like thunder. But Daryl was there. Always there.

I felt his fingers brushing my hair back. Heard him whisper things he'd never say out loud if I was fully awake.

"I can't lose you," he murmured once, voice shaking as he leaned in close. "I need you, El. Don't you dare leave me."

I wanted to answer. Wanted to tell him I wasn't going anywhere. But the fog kept pulling me under again and again.

Sometimes I felt lips on my forehead—warm, trembling. Daryl's.

Sometimes I felt Carl squeeze my hand, whisper that he loved me. That he wasn't going to let anything happen to me.

Other times, it was just pain.

Hot, deep, and endless.

But through all of it, I never felt alone.

They were there.

Even when my eyes couldn't stay open, even when the world fell away, I felt them. Holding me here. Keeping me tethered.

And I held on.

Because I wasn't ready to let go of them, either.

~

I was floating again.

Not cold. Not hot. Just... weightless. Distant.

But his voice kept pulling me back. Soft. Graveled. His.

Daryl.

"You're doin' good, baby," he whispered, so close I could almost feel the breath on my cheek. "You're hangin' in there."

His hand was wrapped around mine—calloused and warm, thumb rubbing back and forth over my knuckles. I couldn't open my eyes, but I didn't need to.

He was there.

"You know Ian's gonna freak when he sees that scar," he said, voice rough with a shaky smile behind it. "Little man's probably gonna poke it first thing. Ask if it still hurts. Then he'll tell you it looks cool."

A pause.

Then a soft, wet chuckle.

"Bet he'll say it makes you look like a warrior."

Another pause. Longer this time.

I wanted to reach for him. To say I'm okay. But my body still felt like it was underwater.

"Ruby's probably fussin'," he murmured. "Probably ain't slept a full night since we left. I bet she keeps starin' at the front door like she's waitin' for you to come through it."

His voice cracked.

"She definitely misses her mama."

So did I.

"I told Aaron to tell 'em you'd be back soon," he said, softer now. "Told him to tell her the her mama's tougher than any bullet. Just needed a little rest."

My hand twitched. Barely. But he felt it.

His grip tightened just slightly, like he was afraid to squeeze too hard.

"I'm right here, El. You come back to me now."

And even in the dark, even in the haze, I felt them.

Daryl.

Carl.

Ian.

Ruby.

Home.

I wasn't there yet, but I was close.

So close.

~

The first real breath I took burned.

Like waking up from underwater, lungs stinging, ribs tight. Everything hurt. My side throbbed, sharp and angry. My throat was dry as sandpaper. But the worst part—the heaviness pressing down on me like the earth itself—was gone.

I blinked.

The room was dim, warm light spilling in through a crack in the window. I recognized the smell first—antiseptic, wood, linen. Hilltop's infirmary.

Then I saw him.

Daryl. Slumped forward in the chair next to my bed, elbows on his knees, one hand still wrapped tightly around mine. His hair was messier than usual, eyes rimmed red. He hadn't moved, hadn't even noticed I was awake yet.

Carl was curled up in the chair on the other side, jacket bunched beneath his head. His legs were too long for the seat now. When had he grown so much?

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

Daryl stirred. His eyes flicked up, and the second they met mine, his whole body jerked upright.

"Ella," he breathed, like it was the first time he'd let himself say my name out loud in hours.

I gave him the smallest smile I could manage. "Hey."

He exhaled hard and pressed his forehead to our joined hands like he might fall apart.

"I thought we lost you," he whispered, voice breaking. "I thought—fuck, I thought—"

"You didn't," I rasped.

Tears slipped down his cheeks, but he didn't care. He lifted my hand and kissed the back of it, over and over like he could convince himself I was really here.

Carl sat up fast, rubbing at his eyes. "She's awake?" Then he was at the edge of the bed, grabbing my other hand. "You're awake."

"I'm okay," I whispered. "Are you okay?"

Carl looked like he wanted to laugh and cry all at once. "You're the one who got shot!"

"Doesn't matter," I murmured. "You're my little Carl."

His chin wobbled. He blinked fast, trying to keep the tears back. "I'm not a baby."

"You'll always be little Carl to me," I whispered.

Daryl gave a broken laugh, low and quiet. "Told him not to argue with you when you're barely conscious. Now you're gonna scold him to death."

I turned my head to look at him. He was staring at me like I was the whole damn world.

"You stayed," I said, voice shaking.

"Ain't goin' anywhere."

And I believed him.

Because he was still holding my hand like letting go would be the end of him.

Carl slipped out quietly, promising to bring water and "make sure the world didn't fall apart without me."

The second the door clicked shut, I turned to Daryl.

"Get in," I whispered, voice still hoarse, but stronger now. "Please."

He blinked. "What?"

I shifted, wincing at the pull in my side, but I didn't care. I needed him. Needed to feel him with me. "I miss you. I just... I need you close."

His jaw clenched like he was trying to hold something back. "You're hurt."

"I don't care. Just hold me."

He hesitated for half a second longer—then I saw it. The moment something inside him cracked.

He toed off his boots, climbed up slowly, careful not to jostle me. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and I reached for him, pulling him down so his chest was pressed to my good side, his arms caging me in.

The second I felt his body wrap around mine, I exhaled like I hadn't breathed in days.

"I got you," he whispered, voice shaky against my hair. "I got you, El."

I felt him tense, like he was trying to stay still, trying not to fall apart.

"You're shaking," I murmured, my fingers brushing his back.

"I almost lost you."

He said it like a confession. A death sentence. And then—

"I fucked up."

His voice broke completely.

"We wouldn't've been out there if I hadn't gone after Dwight. We'd be home. You'd be playin' with Ruby on the porch and yellin' at Ian to stop shootin' squirrels with his slingshot. We'd—we'd be eatin' lunch or..." His words fell apart into a sob. "You wouldn't've been shot. You wouldn't've had to crawl through the dirt with a bullet in you. You wouldn't've had to fight so hard to stay alive."

Tears spilled down his cheeks and hit my skin, hot and fast. He tried to turn his face away, but I caught his chin.

"Don't you dare hide from me."

His eyes—God, his eyes. Red. Broken. Full of guilt.

"I can't do this without you," he whispered. "I can't be a dad without you. I'm not strong enough. I'm not anything without you, El."

And then he was crying.

Not soft tears. Not quiet.

Ugly, shaking sobs. The kind of grief that ripped from his chest like it had been waiting to break him open.

I held him tighter, ignoring the pain in my side. "You are everything, Daryl. Everything. Don't you ever say that again."

He buried his face against my neck, body trembling against mine, and I just held him. Rocked him the best I could. Let him grieve. Let him feel it.

Because he needed this.

He needed to let it out.

And I needed to remind him I was still here.

"I'm not going anywhere," I whispered. "I promise."

He was still crying.

Not just a few tears. Not the kind of crying you can blink away and pretend never happened. This was deep. Shaking. Ripping.

And it was breaking me.

"Daryl," I whispered, threading my fingers through his hair. "I'm right here. You didn't lose me."

He shook his head hard, burying his face tighter against my neck like he couldn't bear to look at me.

"I'm sorry," he choked. "I'm so fuckin' sorry."

His voice cracked like a bone breaking.

"For what?"

"For everything," he breathed. "For goin' after Dwight. For not listenin'. For draggin' us out there. For gettin' you hurt. For shovin' you back in the woods. I thought I was protectin' you, but I put you right in front of that bullet."

"Daryl—"

"I should've stayed back. Should've just come home. We had no damn business bein' out there. And now Glenn's gone. Abe's gone. You—" His voice cracked again. "You almost died. And it's my fault. All of it."

I tightened my arms around him. As much as I could. Even through the pain.

"It's not your fault," I whispered. "You didn't put a bat in that man's hands. You didn't pull the trigger. You were trying to protect us. Like you always do."

His breath hitched against my collarbone.

"I was stubborn," he whispered. "Didn't listen to you. Didn't listen to Rick. I thought—fuck, I thought I could handle it. Thought I could fix it before it got worse."

"And you got hurt, too," I murmured. "You're bleeding just like I am, Daryl."

He pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were swollen, bloodshot, still shining with tears.

"I don't care if I bleed. Not if you're not okay."

"I am okay," I said gently. "Because of you."

His brows pinched. "Don't... don't say that."

"It's the truth."

His hand moved to cradle my cheek, thumb brushing over my skin like he was still making sure I was real. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You don't have to find out," I whispered.

He closed his eyes, forehead pressing to mine. "I swear I'll make it up to you."

"Daryl..."

"Anything you want. Anything you need. I'll do it. I'll—" He pulled back again, hand trembling where it cupped my face. "I'll be better. I'll listen. I'll stay. I'll carry the whole damn world if that's what it takes. I just need you here. I need you, El."

Tears pricked at my own eyes, thick and hot.

"You don't have to do anything but stay right here with me," I said, voice shaking. "That's all I need."

"I will," he promised, sealing it like a vow. "I ain't goin' anywhere."

And I believed him.

Because for the first time, he wasn't trying to be strong. He wasn't hiding or gritting his teeth or shutting down.

He was here. Raw. Real. Mine.

And he always would be.

~

He finally stopped shaking.

The tears had dried, and his breathing slowed, but he still clung to me like I might vanish if he let go. His face was tucked against my neck, arms locked around my waist so gently it almost hurt more than the pain in my side.

Like he thought I'd break.

"You still with me?" I whispered, stroking his hair.

He nodded, but didn't lift his head.

I smiled faintly. "You gonna cry every time I get a paper cut now?"

His laugh was low and ragged, like it caught on something on the way out. "Probably."

"I'll have to fake injuries just to get kisses now, huh?"

That earned a real laugh. Small. Barely there. But it was real.

"You don't gotta fake anything to get kisses, darlin'."

"Mmm. Good to know," I murmured. "Because I'm definitely gonna need a few."

He finally lifted his head, eyes still red but soft now. Raw, but open.

"You got it," he said. "Every damn one."

He leaned down and kissed me—soft, lingering, like he was breathing through me. His lips moved to my cheek, then my jaw, then back to my forehead, pressing there like a silent promise.

"I missed you," I whispered.

"I was right here."

"Your body was. Your brain was off building guilt mansions and decorating the hallways with self-loathing."

He huffed a laugh. "Yeah, well. Ain't a very cozy place in there."

"I've got better architecture," I whispered, tapping his chest.

He grinned. "That so?"

"Mhmm. Open floor plan. Good lighting. Very strong foundation."

"Damn. You tryin' to seduce me with home renovation metaphors?"

"If it works, it works."

He dipped down again and kissed the tip of my nose. "You're gonna be the death of me."

I arched a brow. "You literally just sobbed about how you can't live without me."

He groaned, dropping his head onto the pillow beside mine. "Can't believe I cried on you."

I smirked. "Oh baby, you didn't just cry. You ugly cried. Like snot and everything."

He groaned louder. "Kill me."

I reached over and patted his cheek, all affection. "Never. You're too pretty to bury."

He laughed, a real one this time, and leaned in again, forehead to mine. "I love you."

"I know," I whispered. "I love you too."

And just like that, the weight lifted a little more.

The pain was still there. The loss. The ache. But we were here. Together.

Still standing.

Still loving.

Still us.

~

I woke up to warmth.

Sunlight slipped through the infirmary curtains, soft and golden across the sheets. My body still ached—my side throbbed like it was keeping time with my heartbeat—but I was here. Awake. Breathing.

And not alone.

Daryl was still wrapped around me, dead asleep, one arm heavy across my stomach, his face buried in my hair like he'd fused to me overnight. His breathing was slow, deep, peaceful in a way I hadn't seen in days.

I didn't move. Not right away.

But then—

My kids.

Panic slammed into my chest so fast it knocked the air from my lungs.

Where were they? Who had them? Had Ian eaten? Had Ruby slept? Was she still nursing from a bottle? Was anyone burping her right? Did anyone remember the lotion she needed before naps?

I turned my head just enough to catch a glimpse of the door—

And right on cue, it opened.

Aaron stepped in, holding a basket and a warm smile. "Hey. You're awake."

"Where are they?"

The words burst out of me so fast I barely got the breath to say them.

Aaron blinked. "Wh—"

"The kids. Ian. Ruby. Who has them? Are they okay? Is Ian eating enough? Is he behaving? He's probably not behaving—God, does he still think toast is a vegetable? And Ruby—how is she doing without breastmilk? Is she crying more? Is she sleeping? Are they safe?"

Aaron raised his hands, already grinning. "Whoa—yes. They're okay. Both of them."

Daryl stirred beside me, groaning. "You interrogatin' folks before sunrise now?"

"It's after sunrise," I snapped, eyes still locked on Aaron like he was the only person standing between me and a breakdown. "Tell me everything. Every detail. Do not leave anything out. Swear it."

Aaron nodded solemnly like I'd just demanded blood oath. "Alright. Let's see..."

He set the basket down. "Ian's with Shasha and Rosita. They've been taking turns watching him. He's been eating mostly real food—there was an incident with a jar of jelly and a loaf of bread, but he's alive, and the kitchen's recovering."

I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath. "Sounds like my gremlin."

Aaron laughed. "He made a new slingshot. Rosita confiscated it after he 'accidentally' nailed Gabriel in the ankle."

"Oh my God," I muttered. "Did he apologize?"

Aaron raised a brow. "Does throwing a crayon drawing of Gabriel as a wizard count?"

I sighed into the pillow. "We'll work on that."

"And Ruby?" I asked, voice softening instantly.

Aaron's expression gentled. "She's doing okay. Cried a lot the first night—Eric said she wore herself out screaming. But he figured out that if he holds one of your blankets when she feeds, she calms down. She's taking the bottle, just slow. Like she's waiting for you."

My chest caved in. I pressed a shaky hand to my heart.

"Michonne's been holding her at night," Aaron added. "She sings to her. Don't think she's told anyone that part."

Tears pricked hot behind my eyes. "They're safe?"

"They're safe," he promised. "And they miss you like hell. Ian asked when you're coming home. Said he's been saving all his 'bestest hugs' just for you."

I smiled so hard my face hurt. "My babies."

Daryl kissed the back of my shoulder and mumbled against my skin, "You feel better now?"

"I'll feel better when I have them both in my arms," I said, sniffling. "But this helps."

Aaron gave me a look. "We'll get you home as soon as the doc clears you to travel. And when they see you, good luck getting either of them off you."

I smiled through the tears. "Good. I want them glued to me."

~

I hadn't worn real clothes in days.

I spent most of my time in one of Daryl's shirts, with no pants. Today, I'd managed to pull on my own pants, a loose Henley, and a pair of boots that Daryl tied for me himself, twice, because the first time wasn't "tight enough."

Doctor Carson had finally cleared me to move around. Carefully. Slowly. No stairs. No lifting anything heavier than a can of soup. I'd nodded along like a good girl—then immediately made plans to walk the whole damn compound.

Daryl had other plans.

"You sure you're ready?" he muttered, standing behind me like a human shadow. His hand hovered just over my waist, ready to grab me if I so much as leaned too far in one direction.

I rolled my eyes, testing my weight on both feet. "Doc said I need to walk. Walking means moving, Daryl."

"Walking don't mean tryin' to speed-walk around the gardens like you're racin' Ian."

"I'm not racing."

"You think you're not."

I turned and gave him a look. "Are you going to hover the whole time?"

"Absolutely."

I laughed, swatting his arm gently. "Fine. Hover. Just don't get in my way when I start power striding."

He snorted, stepping in closer to wrap an arm around my waist. "Try it and I'm throwin' you over my shoulder."

"Please," I drawled. "You'd like that too much."

We were still bickering when the door opened—and Carl stepped in.

His eyes locked on me, and for a second, he just stared.

Then—

"You're walking!"

"Barely," I said, laughing.

He didn't hesitate.

One second he was across the room, the next I was airborne.

"Carl!" I shrieked as my feet left the damn ground entirely. He scooped me up like I weighed nothing—like I was a feather and he was six-foot-something of lanky teenage chaos—and spun me in a wide, triumphant circle.

"Carl Grimes, put me down right now or I will deduct points from your 'Favorite Child' ranking!"

"You don't even have a ranking!" he yelled, still grinning like an idiot.

"I do now, and you just dropped three spots!"

Daryl's voice came fast—and growly. "Put her down."

Carl slowed immediately, setting me back on my feet like I was made of glass. "She's fine," he said, unbothered. "Aren't you?"

I swayed just a little and clutched his arm. "Dizzy. Possibly concussed. Definitely bruised in places I didn't know I had—but yes. I'm fine."

Daryl crossed his arms, glaring. "You nearly cracked her in half."

Carl grinned. "She weighs like a sandwich, I barely spun."

"Daryl," I said, turning toward him with raised brows. "I'm fine. Mostly."

He grumbled something under his breath and moved in behind me again, arms loose around my waist like he was physically restraining himself from tossing Carl across the compound.

Carl didn't even blink. "She needed that."

"She needed to stay upright," Daryl muttered into my hair.

"She needed joy," Carl said, throwing a wink at me before heading for the door. "You're welcome."

When the door clicked shut, I leaned back into Daryl's chest, already smiling.

"I missed this," I whispered. "The chaos. The noise. The love."

He rested his chin on top of my head. "You sure he didn't bruise you?"

"He bruised my pride. But my heart? That's fuller than ever."

~

The tub was old, but clean. Warm water steamed around me, curling against my skin like a hug from the inside out. My legs were tucked carefully beneath the surface, knees peeking out, toes wrinkling at the ends. A folded towel was pressed to my side to keep the stitches dry—doctor's orders—and I'd sworn to behave.

But Daryl was kneeling beside the tub with his sleeves rolled up and that look on his face. The one that said he was trying really, really hard to focus on anything but me, naked and wet and grinning like a sinner.

I couldn't help myself.

"I mean... you could come in," I said sweetly, tracing a lazy circle in the water with one finger. "Just sayin'. We've shared tighter spaces."

His head snapped up so fast it was almost funny.

"Nope."

I batted my lashes. "Not even a little bit?"

"Nope."

"Not even if I beg?"

He gave me a look that should've withered plants. "I ain't fallin' for it."

I pouted. "But I'm so lonely, Daryl. So vulnerable. I could slip."

"You try to slip, and I'm draggin' you outta that tub wrapped in a towel like a burrito," he warned, reaching for the cup of clean water and gently pouring it over my shoulder. "Keep the stitches dry, remember?"

"Mmm. You're no fun."

"I'm tryin' real hard to be no fun right now," he muttered under his breath.

I watched him, eyes trailing the way his forearms flexed as he gently ran the wet cloth over my arm. His touch was careful, reverent even, like he was afraid to hurt me. I loved him like this—gentle and soft but still gruff as hell. Every movement said I love you, don't you dare scare me like that again.

"You know," I said, voice dropping lower as he ran the cloth down my calf, "I think healing would go faster if you were naked too."

He paused mid-swipe. "Ella."

"Yes, darling?"

His voice dropped to a near-growl. "You've got ten stitches in your side and a bruise the size of Georgia on your back. You so much as twitch wrong and the doc'll have my ass."

I grinned, letting my head tip back lazily against the edge of the tub. "Mm. Your ass is worth the risk."

His hands froze. He was quiet for a long beat.

Then—

"You keep talkin' like that and I'm sleepin' on the goddamn roof tonight."

I laughed so hard it pulled at my side and made me wince. He reached out instantly, hand at my back.

"Shit. You okay?"

"Fine," I gasped between chuckles. "Totally worth it."

He shook his head, but he was smiling now, lips twitching with affection and exasperation all at once.

"I'm tryin' to keep you alive, woman."

"And I'm trying to make your job more interesting."

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to my temple, then to the corner of my mouth—just barely not giving me what I really wanted.

"No funny business," he whispered. "Not 'til those stitches come out."

I huffed. "Fine. But the second they do—"

"I'm yours."

That shut me up.

Because I knew he meant it.

By the time Daryl helped me into bed, I felt like a warm noodle.

He'd dried me off with maddening tenderness, whispered threats of bodily harm if I so much as bent sideways, and dressed me in the softest shirt I owned—his, obviously. It hung loose over my hips and still smelled like him.

Now I was tucked beneath clean sheets, curled on my good side, with Daryl behind me like a wall of heat and muscle. One arm draped gently around my waist, his nose buried at the back of my neck.

He was touch starved—I could feel it in the way he held me. Not clingy. Not desperate. Just... constant. Like he needed to keep checking I was real.

"Comfy?" he murmured.

"Mhmm," I said, tangling our fingers together over my belly. "You?"

"I will be once you stop flirtin' like a heathen and actually get some sleep."

I smirked into my pillow. "Can't promise anything."

He huffed a laugh and kissed the back of my head.

The room was quiet for a long moment. Peaceful. Safe.

But even with him wrapped around me, even with the pain dulled and the warmth of a full bath still clinging to my skin... my chest ached.

Because two pieces of me were still missing.

"I keep thinking about them," I whispered.

Daryl didn't ask who.

He didn't have to.

"Me too," he said softly.

I turned a little, just enough to see his face. His eyes were open, watching me in the dark.

"I just keep wondering if Ruby's sleeping through the night," I said. "If anyone remembered that Ian likes his apples peeled and not cut. If someone brushed his hair this morning. If anyone told him it's okay to miss me."

Daryl's jaw clenched, and I saw it in his eyes—the same worry, the same ache.

"He knows you're comin' home," he said.

"But I should be home."

He pulled me closer, his voice thick with emotion. "You almost died, El."

"I know."

"Don't do that to yourself."

"I'm trying not to," I whispered, pressing my face to his chest. "But every time I close my eyes, I see their faces."

He kissed the top of my head. "You'll hold 'em soon."

I closed my eyes.

"I just want to go home."

His arms tightened around me.

"You will," he promised. "And I'll be right there with you."

And for now... that was enough.

I let myself breathe. Let myself rest.

Because I was safe.

I was healing.

And I was going home.

~

I was bouncing.

Not literally, because Daryl would tackle me back into bed, but mentally? Emotionally? Spiritually?

BOUNCING.

Three days was three lifetimes too long. My legs were fine. My side itched. My brain was at risk of melting from sheer inactivity. If I had to eat one more helping of lukewarm soup or be told to lay down one more time, I was going to lose it and possibly throw a whole-ass chair.

I sat on the edge of the infirmary bed, dressed and ready, boots tied (by me this time, thank you very much), jacket folded over my lap. Daryl stood against the wall with his arms crossed and his best "I'll wrestle you down if I have to" face on.

"I'm fine," I said for the sixth time that morning.

"You're stubborn," he muttered.

"That's not a diagnosis."

"It's a symptom."

"Of being hot and tired of being imprisoned in a very nice cabin with floral curtains? Yeah. I'm showing severe symptoms."

Before he could argue back, Dr. Carson walked in flipping through a folder. "Well, you've clearly made a full emotional recovery."

I nearly tackled him with my eyes.

"Well?" I asked, trying not to vibrate off the mattress.

He looked me over. "You're healing faster than I expected. Still bruised, still sore. But the stitches are clean, and the wound's not angry."

"Meaning?"

He gave me a long, assessing look.

"You can go home."

I exploded.

"YES!" I nearly launched off the bed, only to immediately wince and grab my side.

"But," he said, pointing a very judgmental pen at me, "you have to take it easy. That means no lifting, no running, no chasing Ian if he decides to climb a wall or tackle Judith in a turf war. No stairs unless you have help. Rest. You hear me?"

I saluted. "I solemnly swear to lounge dramatically on every couch available."

Carson sighed. "You get one week of recovery before I clear you for anything more than supervised standing."

"Sounds like a dream," I said, already beaming. "Now who's taking me home? I'm ready to be attacked by tiny arms and covered in snot and goldfish cracker crumbs."

"I'm takin' you," Daryl said before anyone could offer.

He stepped forward and picked up my jacket, helping me slip it on like the gentleman he sometimes remembered to be. His hands lingered on my shoulders a second longer than necessary.

"You sure you're ready for the chaos?" he asked, voice quiet in my ear.

"I've never been more ready," I whispered back.

Because I didn't care how much it hurt.

I didn't care if I had to crawl through the door on one arm and a prayer.

I was going home.

To my babies.

To my life.

To us.

~

I couldn't sit still.

My foot tapped. My fingers curled into fists then stretched out again. My heart was thudding like we were heading into battle, not just going home. But it was a battle. It was the final boss fight—and the prize was a four-year-old tornado and a milk-hungry baby girl.

When the gates of Alexandria finally creaked open, I let out a sound that was something between a sob and a wheeze.

We were here.

Home.

Daryl's hand shifted from the gear shift to rest over mine as he pulled through.

"You're alright," he said gently. "Almost there."

"I'm not alright until they're on me," I muttered, bouncing in my seat.

My house came into view—familiar, solid, standing tall like it'd missed me too. I stared at the porch, heart in my throat, waiting—

But no tiny gremlin with wild brown curls came bursting out the door.

No baby squeal echoed off the porch.

The steps were empty.

My heart plummeted.

"Where are they?" I whispered, voice cracking. "Why aren't they here?"

Daryl parked the car and was already unbuckling. "Probably still at Tara's."

"I thought they'd be here," I said, trying not to cry like a crazy person. "I thought they'd be waiting. I thought—I just wanted—"

"Hey." He crouched in front of me, both hands cradling my knees. "I'll go get 'em."

"Now?" I asked, wide-eyed.

"Right now."

"You swear?"

"Swear on every arrow in my bag," he said, already halfway to the door. "Sit tight. Five minutes."

And just like that, he was gone.

The front door swung open for me—he must've unlocked it on the way out—and I stepped inside, heart pounding, air catching in my throat.

Home.

It smelled like us. Like soap and firewood and just the faintest trace of Ian's marker collection.

I stood there in the middle of the living room, shaking.

Because in five minutes, I'd have them in my arms again.

And nothing in the world mattered more than that.

The moment I heard the porch steps creak, my heart stopped.

Little feet. Heavier boots. A thump. A squeal.

My knees gave a warning throb—I ignored it.

Then came the voices.

"Ian, slow down—don't just bust in. Your mama's still healing."

"I'm not busting in," Ian argued. "I'm just—Ruby's grabbin' me!"

"You're grabbin' her," Daryl grunted.

"I'm helpin'!"

"Ian," Daryl warned, "gentle. Both of you."

And then I heard her.

A sharp, high-pitched baby squeal.

My breath hitched. My hands flew to my chest like I could stop my heart from bursting right out of it.

The door swung open.

Ian launched himself inside like a missile of curls and freckles.

"MOMMMMMYYY!"

I dropped straight to my knees with a choked sob, arms open just in time to catch him as he flung himself into me.

I didn't care how bad it hurt. I didn't care that my side screamed. I curled around him like I was trying to fuse him back into my skin, tears pouring hot and fast down my cheeks.

"I missed you!" he wailed into my neck, his little body trembling against mine. "You were gone forever!"

"I know, baby," I whispered, kissing his hair, his cheek, his temple, every inch I could reach. "I missed you so much. I missed you so much."

Then came the second sound.

Soft.

Wet.

Happy little coos.

I looked up just in time to see Daryl step inside, our daughter bundled in his arms, clinging to his shirt with one fist and kicking softly in her footie pajamas. Her big hazel eyes lit up the second she saw me.

"Is that my girl?" I whispered.

Ruby squealed again—high and excited—her arms flapping like baby wings.

Daryl's jaw clenched. He crouched low and gently passed her into my waiting arms, but not before kissing her forehead first. "Go get your mama, baby girl."

The second she was in my hold, I lost it completely.

Ruby's head tucked beneath my chin, warm and soft and real. Her fingers curled in the fabric of my shirt, and her drooly mouth opened wide in a gummy smile like she remembered me.

"Oh, my sweet girl," I whispered, rocking her gently even though my side screamed. "I'm here. I'm here, baby. Mama's here."

Ian had wrapped his arms around my waist, his head pressed to my shoulder. "We waited for you," he mumbled. "I told Ruby you were comin' home."

"You were right," I whispered, voice cracking. "You were so right."

I held them both, my whole soul overflowing. One arm wrapped tightly around Ian, the other cradling Ruby's tiny back as she patted my chest and babbled something only she understood.

Daryl stood there in the doorway, one hand pressed to the frame like he needed the house to hold him up. His eyes were wet. He looked at me like I was a miracle.

And in that moment—with both of them in my arms again—

Maybe I was.