Chapter 41 - Ella

Dinner was warm and filling—stew with chunks of tender meat and homegrown veggies, fresh bread that smelled so rich I almost wanted to cry.

Ruby sat in my lap, her little fists clutching at the torn bread I'd given her. She was trying to chew it, gumming it fiercely like it was the best thing she'd ever tasted.

Daryl sat beside me, quiet as always, his eyes moving over everyone and everything. Less on edge than usual, but still... watchful. That steady weight of him, always there. Always safe.

Across the table, Ian was practically bouncing out of his chair, inching closer and closer to Ezekiel with every question.

"Do you have a crown?" he asked, his voice so full of wonder it made my chest ache.

"Ah, a crown?" Ezekiel said with that easy smile. "I do, young Ian—but not in the way you might imagine. My crown is the trust of my people, and that's worth more than any silver or gold."

Ian's eyes went huge as he shoveled another spoonful of stew into his mouth. "What about knights? How many do you have?"

Daryl grunted beside me. "Ian, slow down. And don't talk with your mouth full, boy." But there was a smile tugging at his lips—just for me, and for Ian.

"I don't know the exact number," Ezekiel said, his tone warm and patient. "But enough to keep the Kingdom safe. Enough to stand proud."

Ian wriggled even closer, practically perched on the edge of the seat. "Do you have a moat? Or a wizard? Or—" He dropped his spoon right into his bowl, stew splattering on the table. "My enemies will tremble in fear!"

"Ian Samuel Dixon," I scolded gently, reaching for a napkin. "You're making a mess, baby."

He barely even heard me, his big brown eyes locked on Ezekiel like the man was some kind of storybook king come to life.

Ezekiel just laughed, his deep voice carrying through the hall. "Alas, young knight, there is no moat here. No dragons, no wizards. But there is magic, of a sort. The magic of people who care for each other. The magic of hope."

My heart squeezed at that. Ian didn't even seem to notice the spilled stew, not with those bright eyes fixed on Ezekiel's every word.

Ezekiel reached for a napkin, dabbing up the mess without so much as a flicker of annoyance.

"Oh, please. Let me, Your Majesty." I said, attempting to stand.

"Worry not, dear Ella," he said, his voice teasing but gentle. "You've enough to do, caring for your family. Let me take care of this small thing."

I flushed, glancing down at Ruby's sticky little hands. "Thank you, Your Majesty," I murmured.

Daryl's hand slipped to my knee under the table, his thumb brushing slow circles there—just his quiet way of saying he saw me, that he was proud of me.

Ruby fussed a little, smacking the table with a soft little squeal.

"Here," Daryl said, his low voice that perfect rumble that always made my chest flutter. He lifted her from my lap, settling her in the crook of his arm. He held a spoonful of broth to her mouth, his smile soft as she tried to gum it down. "Hungry little thing, ain't ya, baby girl?"

I let out a soft laugh, resting my hand on his thigh.

And for a moment, everything was right.

Ian's laughter. Ruby's soft gurgles. The warm weight of Daryl's hand on mine. The sweet smell of bread and stew.

It was just... family.

Dinner was finished, but Ian's energy was boundless—still bouncing on his toes as Richard approached, arms crossed, that easy grin on his face.

"Hey there," he said, nodding at us.

"Hi Richard," I said softly. Daryl grunted beside me, still spooning broth into Ruby's mouth as she squealed, grabbing at his fingers.

"I hope dinner was good," Richard said, his eyes flicking from mine to Daryl's.

"It was delicious," I said. "What brings you by?"

"I was hoping to keep my promise—showing Ian the barn, letting him meet the animals."

Ian's eyes lit up, practically glowing. "Please, Mom? Please!"

I turned to Daryl, the question clear in my eyes. He sighed, his jaw ticking, but he nodded.

"We'd love that," I said, turning back to Richard. "Thank you."

We walked down a dirt path, the smell of hay and warm earth wrapping around us. The barn was old but sturdy, the wooden boards worn smooth by years of work. Inside, the lanterns glowed softly, casting gentle light on the horses shifting in their stalls.

Ian skipped beside me, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Do they have any babies, Mama? Baby horses?"

Richard chuckled. "One foal. She's a few months old and sweet as honey."

I watched Ian's eyes go wide as Richard guided him down the line, introducing him to each horse, telling him their names and what made them special.

Daryl's hand tightened around mine as Richard hoisted Ian up to let him pet a dark brown mare. His whole body went taut behind me, and I felt that possessive growl in the way he exhaled.

"Hey," I whispered, turning to press my palm to his cheek. "He's okay, Daryl. We're right here."

"I don't like it," he muttered, his eyes never leaving Ian and Richard.

I smiled gently, brushing my thumb over his scruffy jaw. "He's not trying to be his father. He's just showing him the horses, that's all."

He grunted, but didn't argue further.

I pulled Ruby close, her soft baby breath warm on my neck as she cooed and kicked. We stopped in front of a gentle grey mare, her dark eyes soft and patient.

"You wanna pet the horse too, sweet girl?" I cooed, hiking Ruby higher and flattening her chubby little hand against the horse's velvety nose. She squealed, her fingers clutching at the soft hair.

The horse let out a low, gentle snort, and Ruby babbled back, her eyes wide with wonder.

Warmth washed over my back as Daryl stepped in close, his chest flush against me. His hand came up on the other side of the horse's head, his calloused fingers stroking softly.

"She's a sweet one," he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent.

"The horse or our daughter?" I teased, my heart so full I thought it might burst.

"Can't it be both?" he asked, a faint smile pulling at his lips.

I laughed, leaning back into him, feeling his warmth wrap around me like a promise.

Ian turned from the horse, his cheeks flushed pink, his grin so wide it nearly split his face. "Mom! Dad! Did you see? She let me pet her, she didn't even bite me!"

"She's a good girl," Daryl rumbled, his tone softening as he watched our son. "Just gotta be gentle, just like I taught ya."

The barn was quiet except for the gentle snorts and low nickers of the horses, the occasional bleat of a goat somewhere in the back. It smelled of hay and wood and animals, warm and alive.

I shrugged, my smile soft and a little wistful, as Ian's gasp cut through the barn's quiet air.

"Mom! Come see the baby!" he called, his little fingers white-knuckled around the wooden stall door.

I couldn't help but grin, following his voice to the end of the stable. My breath caught as I stepped up beside him.

The foal was beautiful—sleek brown coat glinting under the warm glow of lantern light, her short black mane soft and feathery along her neck. She turned her head, curious eyes bright as she snorted a soft breath.

"Why's she so big if she's a baby?" Ian asked, his voice hushed with wonder.

"Well, horses are big fellas," Richard said, his tone warm and easy. "So their babies come out pretty big too. But she's still small for her age. She's got some growing left to do."

I rested my hand on Ian's shoulder, feeling the soft tremble of excitement running through him. Daryl hovered close, his hand settling low on my back—always that quiet, grounding presence.

The foal circled her mother with slow, careful steps before folding her long legs and settling down in the straw, her head resting on her knees.

"She's so pretty," I murmured, my fingers carding gently through Ian's hair.

Ian didn't even look up, his eyes locked on the foal like she was some kind of miracle. "I wanna take her home, Mom."

I laughed softly. "Oh baby, she needs to stay here with her mama. But maybe we can visit again soon."

He nodded, leaning his cheek against the stall door, a dreamy smile on his face.

Richard led us to see the goats next, their low bleats filling the air. Ian giggled as one nibbled at his fingers, and Ruby squealed happily in my arms, her chubby fists waving in the air.

"Easy, sweet girl," I cooed, helping her pat the soft, wiry fur of one of the goats. Her wide brown eyes were full of wonder, and for a second, I let myself forget the world outside—forget everything but this moment.

Daryl's hand brushed my back again, his fingers warm through the thin fabric of my shirt. I turned to look at him, catching the small, quiet smile he wore. His eyes were locked on Ian, soft and proud.

"Good day," he murmured, his voice low so only I could hear.

"Yeah," I breathed, resting my head briefly against his shoulder. "It really is."

We watched Ian make his way from stall to stall, asking Richard every question his busy mind could come up with—what the goats ate, if they had babies too, if he could come back tomorrow.

"Please, Mom?" he asked, his big brown eyes locking on mine, so full of hope it made my heart ache.

"We'll see," I said, though we both knew I'd do whatever I could to make it happen.

As the last rays of sun dipped low beyond the barn doors, the soft golden light made everything feel warm and safe, even just for a moment.

And when we finally left, Ian's hand clutched tight in mine, I promised myself I'd hold onto that feeling—for all of us.

~

The next morning, once we'd eaten breakfast, we gathered in the heart of the Kingdom, waiting for Ezekiel's decision. We stood by an archery station, the rhythmic thunk of arrows slamming into targets in the background.

I couldn't focus on the hushed conversation between Rick and Ezekiel. My eyes were fixed on the kids and teens lined up, bows in hand, learning to fight. It made me think back to when Daryl built me my first bow—how patient he'd been, how careful. I leaned back into him now, needing that memory to ground me.

"You call yourself a damn king," Daryl growled beside me, his voice low and tight. "You sure as hell don't act like one."

My hand tightened on Ruby's back as she squirmed in the carrier strapped to my chest, her little hand fisting the collar of my shirt.

"All of this," Ezekiel gestured around us, his voice calm but heavy. "It came at a cost. Lives. Arms. Legs."

He turned back to Rick. "The peace we have with the Saviors is uneasy, but it is peace. I must hold onto it, for the sake of my people." His eyes flickered to me, then to Ruby's downy hair. "Although the Kingdom cannot grant you what you desire, the King is sympathetic to your plight. I offer asylum for you, Ella, and your babes. These children should not have to witness the Saviors' cruelty. The Saviors do not set foot inside these walls."

Daryl stiffened. "How long do you think that's gonna last?" he snapped, his voice raw.

He turned away from Ezekiel, his hand dropping to my back as we started to leave. Rick and Richard followed, their low voices carrying just behind us.

When we reached the gates, Daryl looked up at the guard, jaw tight. "Open it up. We're gone."

"You're not," Rick said.

"The hell are you talkin' about?" Daryl spun around, fury burning in his eyes. "We ain't stayin' here."

"Daryl," Rick said quietly, "be reasonable. Negan has a thing for your wife." His gaze shifted to me, heavy with worry. "You've got a baby. He's offering you a chance to keep them safe. You can talk to Ezekiel, see if there's another way. Let Ella work her magic, she's good at that."

Daryl's chest heaved. His hand on my back turned to a fist, knuckles white. He didn't like this one bit.

"Daryl," I said, swallowing the lump in my throat, "he's right. Negan... he's fixated on me. He propositioned me to be one of his wives. What happens when he's done playing nice? When he decides to just... take me?"

"That motherfucker ain't touchin' you." Daryl's voice was low, shaking with rage as he finally looked at me.

"You don't know that," I whispered, my hand curling around his arm. "He'd kill you like he did Abraham and Glenn. Or gut you like he did Spencer. Or he'd just take me, like he did Eugene. The kids need both of us. We have to stay."

I caught Carl's worried face just beyond the gate, his one good eye wet and wide. My heart cracked.

"We need to stay," I repeated, softer this time. "For the kids."

Rick stepped closer, his hand settling on Daryl's shoulder. "We'll be back soon," he said, his voice steady. "This isn't forever."

"Ellie?" Carl called out, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. He looked at me with that one clear blue eye, holding out his hand like he could somehow hold me together.

I took a deep breath, fighting back the tears that were already stinging. My heart ached as I stepped up to the gate, reaching out for his hand. My palm settled in his, warm and rough and shaking.

"Ellie," Carl whispered again, his voice breaking, "you're coming home, right? You'll come back to us?"

"I can't," I whispered, my voice shaking as I held his hand tighter. "Negan wants me. Wants me to be one of his wives. I can't risk it, can't let him take me or kill Daryl to get me. I have to stay here."

Carl's brow creased, his lip trembling. His one good eye went wide and wet. "No. No, Ellie. I can keep you safe. I've always kept you safe—please," he rasped, a tear slipping down his cheek. "Please don't leave me."

I felt my own tears spill over. My free hand came up to cup his cheek, my thumb brushing away that tear as it fell. "Oh, sweet boy," I breathed. "It's not forever. I'll come home. I swear it. I'll come home to you."

His shoulders slumped, and he leaned his forehead against mine. His tears fell onto my cheeks, and I let them. He'd protected me, fought for me, when I couldn't. And I'd always do the same for him.

"Ellie," he said again, his voice cracked and raw. "Please."

"I love you so much," I whispered, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. Ruby gurgled between us, oblivious, her little hands pawing at Carl's jacket. "Promise me you'll be good for your dad. No more threatening to shoot the Saviors over medicine. No more sneaking out alone. And keep those bandages clean, okay? And take care of Judy for me. When I come home, we'll have the biggest sleepover and make fun of Daryl all night long, like we used to."

Carl gave a weak, watery chuckle at that, and it cracked my heart even more. He nodded, pressing a soft, brotherly kiss to my forehead. "I'll miss you, Ellie," he murmured, his voice so small I almost didn't hear it.

"I'll miss you too, Grimes," I whispered back, giving him one last, tear-streaked smile. "Be good."

I turned on my heel, not daring to look back because I knew if I did, I'd run straight out that gate and never stop. I heard it clang shut behind me, sealing me in. And then Daryl's arms were around me, pulling me against his chest, holding me together as I finally let myself cry.

~

We spent the afternoon wandering the Kingdom, me and Daryl moving together like an unspoken promise. Richard wasn't around, and neither were Ezekiel or Morgan. So we let ourselves drift. People paused to coo over the kids, to tell us how beautiful they were—how sweet Ruby's little cheeks were, how wild and bright Ian's eyes were. They offered to help, offered to watch them for a bit if we wanted to rest, and gave us little handmade trinkets—wooden animals, knitted blankets, clay beads. Simple, beautiful things that reminded me of the world we were fighting to keep.

It was easy, in a way. But Daryl was on edge. I could see it in the way his jaw tightened every time someone looked at me too long, every time someone bent down to coo at Ruby. He didn't like being away from home, away from Alexandria and our family. But he knew why we had to be here. Knew it was the only way to keep me safe.

I trusted Rick to come up with a story—some lie that would keep Negan away. Maybe he'd tell Negan we'd died. Or that we'd run away. I didn't care. As long as it kept me from Negan's reach, it was enough.

Eventually, we found ourselves near the archery station, the soft thwip of arrows filling the air. Ian's small hand tugged at the leg of my jeans, his eyes big and uncertain—so unlike the wild, unstoppable boy he usually was.

"Mom?" he asked, his voice soft.

"What's up, baby?" I crouched in front of him, brushing a curl from his forehead.

"They have some small bows..." He glanced over at the kids, some his size, others bigger, all lined up in careful rows, arrows nocked, shooting at targets that wobbled with each impact. "You and Dad always say I'm too small for the crossbow. And yours." He looked up at Daryl, his eyes hopeful, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. "I want to learn, Mom. I wanna be good like you."

My breath caught. My wild boy, asking to be like me. My eyes flicked up to Daryl's. His brows rose in silent question.

Is he ready?

Will he take it seriously?

Can he handle it?

I swallowed the knot in my throat. "What do you think?" I asked Daryl, my voice soft. "You're the one who taught me, after all."

Daryl let out a long, quiet sigh, his eyes moving over the targets, the kids, the bows. His fingers brushed my arm, grounding me. Then he looked down at Ian, his face softening.

"I think," he said, voice low and sure, "if you can take it serious—really serious—and you listen to what Mom and I say? I think we could let you try."

"Really?" Ian's whole body lit up, his shoulders bouncing with excitement. "I promise! I'll listen to everythin', I swear! I'll be real good."

Daryl gave him a tiny, proud smile and reached out, ruffling his hair. "Then let's see what you can do, big man."

Daryl knelt down in front of Ian, their faces level, his hands braced on his knees. He gave Ian a long look, steady and serious, and I could see that glimmer in Ian's eyes—like he knew this was no small thing. Like he was ready to be more than just my wild boy.

"Alright," Daryl said, his voice low and patient. "First thing—this ain't a toy. You understand me, kid? A bow's a weapon. You gotta treat it with respect. You never point it at somethin' you don't mean to shoot. And you never, ever turn it on someone you love."

Ian nodded, his face serious, his little mouth pressed into a line. "I promise, Dad."

Daryl's lips twitched, pride glinting in his eyes. "Good man."

He reached out, adjusting Ian's shoulders, turning him just a little. "You wanna stand like this—feet apart, solid. Not so wide you're off balance, but not too close either. Gotta be able to move if you need to."

Ian spread his feet, mimicking Daryl exactly. My heart ached a little—how they looked so much the same, even if they didn't share blood.

Daryl nodded, then turned to grab one of the smallest bows hanging from a rack nearby. It was light wood, simple, but well-made. He handed it to Ian with care, his fingers brushing over the little notches in the grip. "This is yours for now. You treat it like it's part of you. You understand?"

Ian nodded, his tiny hands wrapping around the bow's grip.

Ruby squirmed against my chest, babbling to herself, but I couldn't take my eyes off the two of them. Daryl looked at Ian like he was seeing something sacred—like this was his chance to give Ian what he never had.

"Now, here's how you hold it," Daryl said, moving behind Ian, his big hands covering Ian's smaller ones. He guided Ian's arms up, adjusting the bow so it was resting just right. "Keep your left arm straight, but not locked. You wanna be strong, but loose. If you're too tight, you won't be able to aim."

I could see Ian's arms trembling a little as he tried to hold the bow steady. Daryl's hand slid up his forearm, steadying him. "Breathe, Ian. Don't forget to breathe."

I shifted Ruby in my wrap, resting my chin on her soft hair. She smelled like soap and milk, and I pressed a kiss to her temple, all while keeping my eyes on my boys.

"Next up—nocking the arrow," Daryl said, reaching for the short, blunt-tipped practice arrows set in a little stand nearby. He handed one to Ian, showing him how to hook the notch onto the bowstring. "Like this. Thumb and finger, slide it in the groove. Hear that little click? That's how you know it's set right."

Ian's fingers fumbled a bit, but Daryl didn't rush him. Just watched, patient and quiet, until Ian got it. When Ian finally looked up, beaming, Daryl gave him a small nod. "Good."

Ian grinned wide, his little chest puffed out. "Now what?"

"Now," Daryl said, his voice calm, "you pull. Not with your arms—use your back, your shoulders. Keep your elbow high, like this." He lifted Ian's elbow, adjusting his angle, his fingers gentle and sure. "Look down the arrow. Find your mark."

Ian's brow creased in concentration, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth just like mine did when I was focused. My breath caught in my throat.

"You see that target?" Daryl asked. "You don't think about how far it is, or how fast you're pullin'. You just see it. You feel it."

Ian nodded, his eyes locked on the target, his arms trembling a little with the weight of the draw.

"Alright, when you're ready—let go smooth. Don't jerk it. Just... breathe and let it fly."

Ian took a deep breath, his little chest rising against the bowstring. Then he let go.

The arrow flew a little short, thudding into the dirt just below the target. Ian's face fell for a split second, but Daryl just ruffled his hair.

"Not bad for your first shot, kid," he said, his voice warm and proud. "We'll keep practicing."

Ian looked up at him, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "Really?"

"Yeah," Daryl said. "You did real good."

I felt tears prick at my eyes, watching them. Daryl turned to me, and his eyes softened. He reached out, brushing his knuckles over Ruby's cheek, and she gurgled happily, grabbing at his finger with her chubby hand.

"You okay, darlin'?" he asked me.

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. He knew. He always knew.

Ian looked up at me, pride shining in his eyes. "Did you see, Mom? Did you see me shoot it?"

"I saw, baby," I whispered. "You were amazing."

He beamed, bouncing on his toes. "I'm gonna be just like you and Dad!"

"You already are," I said, my voice cracking a little. "You already are."

Daryl's gaze locked onto something past the targets—no, not something, someone. Morgan.

His eyes flicked to me, asking without words.

"Go on," I said, my voice soft but sure. "I'll stay with the kids."

He hesitated for only a second, then nodded, his fingers brushing lightly over my shoulder—a silent promise—before he took off after Morgan.

I shifted Ruby in my arms, adjusting her weight against my hip. Her head lolled against my shoulder, her big eyes wide and curious as she watched her brother. I pressed a soft kiss to the top of her fuzzy hair and turned back to Ian.

I adjusted his little shoulders, guiding his elbow lower, my voice gentle but firm. "There you go, baby. Just like that—steady, okay? Keep your focus on the target."

He nodded, biting his bottom lip in concentration, the tip of his tongue poking out just a little as he pulled back the string. The arrow wobbled slightly, but his determination never did.

"Looking good, kid!" Richard's voice called out as he jogged up to us. My gaze flicked over him—and stopped.

The crossbow slung across his back was sleek, new, a deep black that gleamed in the light. My stomach twisted for a moment—Daryl's crossbow was gone, stolen by Dwight—but this one... this wasn't his. Still, just the sight of it made my heart clench.

"Hey Richard," I greeted, forcing a smile. "What brings you by?"

"Just wanted to see how the little guy was doing," he said, his tone easy. He ruffled Ian's hair lightly, and my son beamed up at him. "Teaching him how to shoot?"

I laughed, adjusting Ruby higher on my hip. "He's been begging for weeks. We finally decided to give him a shot—no pun intended."

Ian grinned, pulling the string back again. I stepped closer, resting a hand on his back. "Elbow down just a bit more, baby. There—perfect."

"Okay, Mom," Ian said, his voice serious as he aimed. He let the arrow fly—and it hit the outer ring of the target. His whole face lit up, bright and shining like the sun.

"Did you see that, Mom?!" he squealed, spinning in a circle, his bow clutched tight in his hands.

"I saw it!" I cheered, bending low to attack his cheeks with kisses. "My little man, you did it! Wait until your daddy sees—he's going to be so proud!"

Ian squirmed, pushing my face away through his giggles. "Mom, stop! You're embarrassing me!"

"Oh, no such thing!" I teased, grabbing him around the waist and pressing another kiss to his temple. "I'm just so proud of you, my sweet boy!"

Richard chuckled beside us, shaking his head. "He's a natural by the looks of it."

I laughed softly, my gaze drifting for a moment to where Daryl had disappeared with Morgan. My heart tugged—he would be back soon. I knew he would. And I couldn't wait for him to see this: his son, his little family, safe and thriving.

I glanced at Richard's crossbow again, my mind flickering with memories—of Daryl's hands on mine as he taught me to shoot, of the weight of that weapon in my palms, of the power and protection it represented.

But for now, I let it go. I focused on Ian, on his bright eyes and wobbly aim and the sweet weight of Ruby snuggled against my chest.

For now, we were safe. For now, we had this moment.

Richard's gaze dropped to the practice bows leaning against the fence, then shifted back to me with a small, almost sheepish smile. "You're a natural with the bow," he said. "Think you could show me how it's done?"

I blinked in surprise, shifting Ruby's weight on my hip. "You want me to teach you?"

"Yeah," he said, his smile turning a little wry. "I've always wanted to try it. Figured it wouldn't hurt to learn."

I glanced over at Ian, who was busy lining up another arrow, his tongue poking out in concentration. My lips twitched into a smile. "Alright, Richard. Let's see what you've got."

I moved to the stack of practice bows, choosing one that would suit his larger frame. Ruby gurgled happily against my chest, her little hands reaching out for the bow as I lifted it. I shifted her away gently, brushing a kiss to her forehead. "Not yet, baby girl. Maybe one day."

Richard chuckled as I handed him the bow. "You're gonna have to walk me through the basics."

I nodded, positioning myself in front of him. "First, your stance," I said, my tone soft but firm—like I used when I taught Ian or reminded Daryl how to hold a spoon instead of a crossbow. "Feet shoulder-width apart. Your body facing sideways to the target."

He followed my directions, adjusting his feet and glancing at me for confirmation.

"Good," I said. "Now, hold the bow in your non-dominant hand. Keep your arm relaxed, but steady." I demonstrated for him, holding my own bow with practiced ease. "Draw the string back smoothly. Don't yank it—think of it like a breath, long and steady."

He mimicked my movements, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Like this?"

"Almost," I said, stepping closer to adjust his elbow. My fingers brushed lightly over his arm, guiding him into the right position. "You're too tense. Loosen up a bit."

"Easier said than done," Richard muttered, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

I laughed softly. "Trust me, I know." I moved back a step, watching as he adjusted. "Okay, now aim. Focus on the target, not the bow. Your eyes and your arms have to work together."

I felt Ruby shift in the carrier, her soft breath warm against my collarbone. Ian was a few feet away, his bow raised, his little face serious as he aimed. I smiled at him. "You're doing great, baby."

"I'm gonna be better than Dad!" Ian declared, his arrow zipping toward the target. It landed just shy of the bullseye, but he didn't care—he was already looking for his next arrow.

"You're already making him proud," I said, my voice warm.

Richard loosed his arrow, and it sailed wide, skimming the edge of the target.

He let out a huff, lowering the bow. "Clearly I've got a long way to go."

I grinned at him, shifting Ruby higher against my chest. "You'll get there. It's all about practice. And patience."

"Patience, huh?" Richard said, his tone teasing. "You sure you're the best teacher for that?"

I laughed, my eyes crinkling. "I'm a mother of two—trust me, I know patience." I paused, then softened my voice, catching his gaze. "Just keep at it. You'll find your rhythm."

He nodded, raising the bow again, determination etched in his features. And as I watched him, Ian, and my own sweet daughter in my arms, I felt something settle in my chest—something warm and hopeful.

For a moment, the world felt normal. For a moment, we were just people, learning something new, sharing something good.

And I held onto that, even as my eyes flickered to the horizon, waiting for Daryl to come back to us.