Chapter 6 - Ella

The kitchen was quiet. Too quiet.

The smell of eggs and fresh bread filled the space, but it felt cold, empty—like I was the only one here. I glanced toward the door, expecting to hear the heavy tread of boots, the creak of the floorboards under Daryl's weight.

Nothing.

I turned back to the stove, flipping the eggs onto Ian's plate, feeling the sharp, hollow ache inside my chest grow heavier by the second.

Daryl was gone.

I hadn't heard him leave. Hadn't felt him shift on the couch downstairs—if he had even come home at all.

I swallowed hard, pushing the thought away. It was fine. He was probably just out scavenging. Working. Keeping himself busy.

He was just... giving me space.

The same space I had asked for.

Then why did it feel so damn lonely?

"Mom?"

I startled at Ian's voice, snapping out of my thoughts. He was standing at the table, peering up at me with those same soft brown eyes that used to belong only to me—but now, when I looked at him, I saw Daryl too, not in the color, but in the soft kindness laid bare.

"Are you okay?"

I forced a smile, ruffling his curls before setting his plate in front of him. "Yeah, baby. Eat up before it gets cold."

A soft whimper came from the bassinet near the table. Ruby squirmed, her little fists batting the air as her face scrunched up in frustration. I sighed, moving toward her, already knowing what she needed.

Carl walked in just as I lifted Ruby into my arms, shifting my blouse to nurse her. He leaned against the doorframe, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, his blue eyes flicking over me, reading me like an open book.

He knew something was wrong. He always did.

"Hey," he greeted casually, but his voice carried that edge of awareness.

"Hey," I muttered, adjusting Ruby as she latched.

Carl moved past me, grabbing a plate, loading it with food like this was just any other morning. Like he hadn't already noticed the way my shoulders were tense, the way I kept glancing toward the door.

It was too normal.

And I hated it.

I set my focus on Ruby, stroking the soft curls on her tiny head. "Have you seen Daryl?"

Carl's chewing slowed. His blue eyes flicked up to mine, cautious. "Why?"

"I just—" I hesitated, suddenly feeling stupid for even asking. "I didn't hear him come in last night."

Carl exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he stabbed at his eggs. "Probably 'cause he didn't."

My stomach dropped.

Carl barely looked up. "He's been staying out late. Sometimes he comes home, sometimes he doesn't. When he does, he just crashes on the couch before heading out again before sunrise."

I swallowed hard. "Where's he been going?"

Carl shrugged, his jaw tightening. "Out past the walls. With Aaron. Sometimes they just work on that damn bike."

I nodded slowly, gripping the edge of the counter. "Oh."

Carl's fork clattered against his plate. When I looked at him, he was staring at me, eyes sharp, knowing.

"You wanted space," he said flatly. "He's giving it to you."

It hit like a fist to the ribs.

You wanted space.

Yeah. I had.

But not like this.

Not him leaving before I woke up. Not him staying out late enough that I barely saw him anymore. Not him avoiding me, keeping his distance, like I was something fragile he had to handle with gloves.

And definitely not him being the one pulling away.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced a smile. "Thanks for checking in, Carl."

He narrowed his eyes, like he wanted to call me out on my bullshit, but he just nodded and went back to his plate.

I kept my focus on Ruby, stroking her soft cheek as she suckled, my fingers trembling.

The ache in my chest grew heavier.

Because for the first time since this nightmare started...

I was afraid I'd already lost him.

The afternoon light streamed through the windows, casting long golden streaks across the floor as I rocked Ruby in my arms. Her breathing had evened out, her tiny face relaxed, her lashes casting soft shadows over her round cheeks.

She was asleep. Finally.

I held her just a little longer than I needed to.

Because the second I put her down, I'd be alone again.

I exhaled shakily and stepped toward the bassinet, gently laying her down, watching as her little fingers curled into fists against the soft blanket. I brushed a hand over her head, smoothing her hair, lingering even though she was already settled.

I didn't want to move.

Didn't want to step out of this room and into the silence waiting for me downstairs.

But I did.

Because what else could I do?

I moved through the house like a ghost, quiet, careful, listening for the sound of his voice, for the shuffle of his boots, for the creak of the couch as he shifted in his sleep.

Nothing.

He wasn't here.

Again.

I swallowed against the tightness in my throat as I wandered toward the kitchen, absently tidying up the counter, wiping away crumbs that weren't really there, just looking for something—anything—to keep my hands busy.

I could feel Carl watching me from the table.

"You should talk to him," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

I kept wiping. "He's not here to talk to."

Carl scoffed. "That's not true and you know it."

I clenched my jaw, tossing the rag onto the counter. "I don't know what you want me to say, Carl."

"I want you to do something," he said. "I want you to stop pretending like this is fine when it's not."

I turned, arms crossed tightly over my chest. "And what do you think I should do, huh? Run after him? Beg him to come home?" My voice wavered. "I asked for space—"

"Not like this," Carl snapped. He shook his head, pushing his chair back as he stood. "You didn't ask for him to disappear. You didn't ask for him to stop trying. But that's what's happening, and you're letting it."

The words stung, sharp and brutal and true.

I pressed my lips together and turned away, staring at the door like I could will Daryl to walk through it.

Carl exhaled harshly, raking a hand through his hair. "You're both stubborn as hell, you know that?"

I let out a breathy, humorless laugh. "Yeah. I know."

Carl shook his head again, muttering something under his breath before heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Out," he said simply. "I can't sit here and watch you two fall apart when you don't have to."

The door clicked shut behind him.

I leaned against the counter, gripping the edge so tightly my knuckles turned white.

Carl was right.

Daryl was slipping away.

And I was letting him.

But what the hell was I supposed to do when I wasn't even sure if I knew how to reach for him anymore?

The night air was cool against my skin as I walked, the wind carrying the faint scent of damp earth and pine, the kind of crispness that came just before the seasons began to shift. The streets of Alexandria were quiet, most people having turned in for the night, but I wasn't looking for them.

I was looking for him.

Two weeks.

Fourteen nights of an empty bed.

Of waiting. Of wondering. Of convincing myself that it wasn't really over. That this was just Daryl licking his wounds, trying to figure out how to be with me again.

I had given him space, just like I had asked for my own. But it had stretched wider and wider between us, an endless expanse that neither of us knew how to close. And now I needed to see him. Needed to hear his voice, anything to remind me that we hadn't broken so completely that we couldn't be fixed.

I had asked Carl where he was.

I should have known the answer before he even said it.

Outside the walls.

With Aaron.

I made my way toward the gates, nodding to the guard stationed there as I slipped through. I could hear them before I saw them—low voices, murmured conversation, the clink of tools against metal.

Then—laughter.

His laughter.

I froze.

It wasn't loud, wasn't full, but it was real. A sound I hadn't heard in weeks.

And when I stepped closer, when I finally laid eyes on him, the breath was stolen from my lungs.

He looked rough.

Exhausted.

Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, scruff shadowed his jaw in a way that was almost unfamiliar. His hair was more unkempt than usual, dirt smudged along his arms and under his fingernails from whatever he and Aaron had been working on. He looked thinner. Hollowed out.

And yet—he looked okay.

For the first time in weeks, I saw him relax. Shoulders loose, arms resting on his knees, smirking at something Aaron had said.

Aaron clapped him on the back, shaking his head, chuckling as he handed Daryl a canteen of water. Daryl took it without hesitation, drinking deeply, exhaling sharply afterward, shaking his head as he let out another small laugh.

The night air felt colder now, slicing through me like a blade as I stood there, frozen in place. I had come here for him, for us, to try—to try—to bridge the gap that had cracked open between us. But standing here, staring at the man I loved, watching him—really watching him for the first time in weeks—something inside me shattered.

Daryl was smiling.

Not the full, easy kind of smile he used to give me when he was teasing, or when he'd pull me close in the morning, pressing lazy kisses along my neck. No, this was smaller, quieter, but it was real. The kind of smile that made my chest ache.

Because I hadn't been the one to put it there.

He was okay.

Without me.

My stomach twisted so violently I thought I might be sick, the bile rising in my throat as I stared at him, at the easy way he leaned against the truck, exhaustion carved deep into his features but lighter than I'd seen him in weeks. He still looked rough—eyes shadowed, beard unkempt, thinner than he should be—but he looked... free.

And for the first time since Paul had taken me, since he had broken me, I saw the truth laid bare in front of me.

I did this.

My trauma. My fear. My walls.

I had locked Daryl out, convinced myself that I needed space to breathe, to exist outside of what happened. And maybe I did. Maybe I still do.

But I hadn't just taken space. I had taken him—his love, his comfort, his presence—and pushed it so far away that I didn't even see the damage I was causing.

Daryl had been drowning, just like me. And instead of holding on to him, I had let him sink.

And now?

Now, maybe it was too late to pull him back.

The thought sent a sharp, searing pain through my chest, stealing the air from my lungs.

Because I hadn't just lost my husband.

I had ruined him.

I forced myself to swallow, to shove the sob rising in my throat down so deep it burned. I wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to walk forward and fix this—fix us—but I couldn't.

Because if I opened my mouth, if I spoke, I would fall apart.

And I couldn't fall apart.

Not here.

Not in front of him.

So I did the only thing I could.

I turned around.

I walked away.

Didn't call his name. Didn't reach for him. Didn't look back.

And every step I took felt like another nail in the coffin of the life I had once thought was unbreakable.

Because I had finally realized something.

Paul might have been the one who hurt me.

But I was the one who destroyed my marriage.

And I didn't know if there was anything left to save.

The house was dark when I stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of wood smoke and something faintly familiar—something like home, like safety. But it didn't feel like home anymore.

Not without him.

I had barely made it two steps inside before a voice cut through the silence.

"You're an idiot."

I flinched, my breath catching as I turned toward the kitchen. Carl was there, arms crossed, leaning against the counter like he'd been waiting for me. Like he knew where I had gone.

I swallowed hard. "Carl—"

"No," he snapped, pushing off the counter. "You don't get to talk yet. You don't get to walk in here all quiet like you didn't just go out there and fuck everything up even more."

"I didn't—" I started, but he was already shaking his head, taking slow, measured steps toward me.

"You didn't what, Ella?" His voice was rising, that sharp edge creeping in. "Didn't go looking for Daryl? Didn't see him? Didn't walk away instead of actually trying to fix this?"

My throat tightened, my stomach twisting into knots. I looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

Carl let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

I swallowed hard, shaking my head. "It's not—it's not that simple."

"Yes, it is," he shot back. "You're just too fucking scared to admit it."

That made my spine snap straight, a sharp burst of anger flaring in my chest. "You don't get it, Carl! You weren't—" I bit my tongue, stopping myself before I said something I'd regret.

His jaw clenched. "I wasn't what? There? You think I don't get it? You think I don't know what happened to you?"

I flinched again, guilt crashing over me like a tidal wave.

Carl's eyes darkened. "I was there, Ella. I saw you. I heard him. I know what he did. And I know how fucking hard this has been for you." His voice softened for a moment, just a second, before he hardened again. "But you don't get to use that as an excuse to throw away the best thing that's ever happened to you."

My eyes burned. "I didn't—"

"You did!" Carl exploded, running a hand through his hair. "Jesus Christ, Ella! You pushed him away. You made him think he was the problem. And now he's out there, fucking wrecked, because the one person he loves more than anything won't even look at him."

Tears slid down my cheeks, hot and fast. "I didn't mean to hurt him," I whispered.

Carl scoffed. "Well, congratulations. Because you did."

My stomach turned violently, my breath coming in sharp, shaky gasps. I didn't know what to say, how to fix this—because Carl was right.

I had pushed Daryl away.

And now I might have lost him forever.

Carl sighed heavily, rubbing his hands down his face. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, softer.

"I love you, Ella." My head snapped up, but before I could say anything, he shook his head. "Not like that. Not in some weird, gross way." He huffed. "You're my family. You've been my family since my mom died. And I love you. I want you to be happy. But you're not happy. You're miserable. And so is he."

My breath hitched.

Carl took another step closer, searching my face. "So tell me, Ella. Do you really want to lose him?"

I sucked in a shaky breath, the weight of the question pressing down on my chest like a stone.

Did I?

Did I really want to throw away the life we had built together? The love we had fought for?

Or was I just too scared to try and fix it?

Carl tilted his head, watching me closely. "Because if you don't, then you need to do something before it's too late."

I pressed my lips together, my whole body trembling under the force of everything I was feeling.

Fear. Guilt. Regret.

And, deep down, buried beneath all the pain—hope.

A chance. A choice.

I could fix this.

If I was brave enough to try.

Carl let out a breath and nodded once. "Good."

I blinked. "What?"

He smirked. "You had that look on your face. Like you get it now."

I swallowed, my heart pounding. "I think I do."

"Then fix it," he said simply. "Before it's too late."

I nodded, my throat too tight for words.

Because for the first time in weeks, I knew what I had to do.

I just didn't know if Daryl would still be there when I did.