Chapter Text
Wednesday
The scent of freshly ground coffee floated through the kitchen, mingling with the sweeter smell of pancake batter.
Lori, in a t-shirt and black leggings, held the ladle over the pan, focused on the cooking.
Carl, sitting on a stool at the counter, had a bowl of red berries in hand, which he was nibbling on without much interest.
Rick was reading the newspaper, leaning against the edge of the table, a steaming mug in hand. His boots, still a bit muddy despite the past few sunny days, left dry marks on the tile. He had put on the uniform earlier, out of habit. But that morning, he wasn’t on duty. Just woke up with the day.
“Keep staring at that paper like that and you’ll end up burning it,” Lori said, flipping a pancake.
Rick looked up briefly. “I’m reading.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve been staring at the same article for ten minutes.”
He shrugged, saying nothing.
In the room, everything was simple. Ordinary.
The radio crackled with an old country tune.
The coffeemaker clicked softly.
A Saturday just the way they liked them.
“Can I invite Michonne to my party?” Carl suddenly asked, not looking up from his bowl. “And André too? He said he wants to come. He even showed me his ninja costume.”
Lori turned her head toward Rick.
Rick set his cup down. “Of course you can.”
“Want me to call them?” Carl offered.
“We can send them a message,” Lori said, placing a plate in front of him.
“Yeah, but Mom, we can do a video call! That way André can see the cake I want!”
Lori smiled, defeated. “Alright. Go get the tablet.”
Carl jumped off his stool and dashed into the hallway.
Rick folded the newspaper without a word.
He looked at the table — the half-filled juice glasses, the sugar jar, the melted butter.
Everything seemed in its place.
Lori sat down across from him, wiping her hands on a towel.
She watched him in silence for a moment.
“You were thinking about your father and his speeches again?”
Rick gave a tired smile. “No. Well… maybe.”
“You could tell him you’re not obligated to think like he does.”
Rick didn’t reply. He just nodded vaguely.
Carl came back with the tablet, hyper.
“It’s ready! I’m calling them!”
The screen lit up.
André’s voice rang out immediately. “Caaaaaarl!”
The room seemed to lift a notch.
Rick leaned in slightly to look.
Michonne appeared on screen, her hair hastily tied up, a mug in hand.
She wore a loose shirt and half-smiled, clearly only recently awake.
Carl and André began chatting, each speaking louder than the other, their conversation spiraling in all directions.
Rick kept his eyes on the screen for a moment.
Michonne nodded to him in greeting.
“Rick,” she said simply.
“Michonne.” He greeted her the same way.
There was a short silence — not an awkward one, just the kind filled with familiarity.
Then Mike walked behind Michonne, shirtless, toothbrush in hand.
He tossed a distracted “Hey” toward the screen before disappearing.
Rick looked away and took his mug.
Meanwhile, Lori watched the scene from the corner of her eye.
André’s voice rang out again. “And I’m gonna wear a black headband, like this, Carl! You’ll see!”
Rick looked at his son. He was laughing out loud.
It was a good morning.
The morning light was still filtering through the kitchen blinds when the tablet conversation turned from joyful chaos to full-blown mayhem.
Carl waved a box of Legos in front of the camera while André made ninja sounds with his mouth.
Michonne, sitting on her couch, still held her mug — now empty.
Rick had remained standing behind Carl, arms crossed.
He hadn’t said much since the call began, but his eyes missed nothing.
The fatigue on Michonne’s face.The way she let André take up all the space without ever raising her voice. And that measured, slightly breathless laugh she let out when Carl said something silly.
“Carl, show her the drawing you made,” Rick said, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder.
Carl obeyed.
Michonne leaned toward the screen to look.
“That’s you and André, huh?” she asked.
“Yeah! And we’ve got laser swords!”
Rick smiled. “I thought those were samurai swords.”
“No, Dad. It’s a mix!”
“A laser-sword then,” Michonne said, amused.
They exchanged a quick look — almost complicit.
Rick leaned against the counter, more relaxed now that Lori had stepped out to get the laundry from the living room.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
Michonne nodded, eyes still on the screen, then looked up at him. “I’m fine. You?”
Rick shrugged. “It’s quiet here.”
A brief, dense silence settled. Not awkward. Just… full.
The kind of silence you don’t share with just anyone.
Michonne looked down, the corner of her mouth twitching into a faint smile.
Rick was about to answer, but a voice called out behind him.
“Rick! You know we’re supposed to be at your parents’ later? Let’s not be late again.”
Lori reappeared in the kitchen, arms full with a laundry basket.
She glanced at the tablet.
“Hi Michonne!”
“Hi Lori.”
“You’re still coming tomorrow, right? Carl would be so disappointed otherwise.”
“Yes, of course. We’ll be there,” Michonne replied.
Lori set the basket on a chair and continued, as if the conversation had already played out in her head.
“I’m going to make an apple pie. Mike likes that, right?”
Michonne gave a polite smile. “Yeah, he likes it.”
Rick, meanwhile, said nothing more.
He just kept watching Carl, still engrossed in his conversation with André.
“Alright,” Lori said, closing the tablet with a smooth motion. “Time to get ready for later. Carl, go take your shower and put away the Legos.”
Carl groaned. “But we were still talking!”
“You can continue tomorrow.”
She set the tablet on the counter and turned her eyes to Rick.
“You too. Wear a clean shirt please.”
Rick nodded, his eyes still on the now-black screen.
The table was set with familiar precision.
Starched white tablecloth, matching glasses, the same silverware as every Sunday since Rick was a kid.
George was absentmindedly chewing on a potato, his chin resting on his hand.
His tablet was next to his plate — forbidden, but silently tolerated that evening.
Paul, his father, was slouched in his chair with a half-full glass of wine.
Dark circles under his eyes, an unshaven face.
Rick, seated across from him, could still smell the whisky under the cabernet.
“So Carl, what do you want to do for your birthday?” asked Rick’s mother with a soft, slightly forced smile.
“I want a party! And for Michonne to come with André. And maybe a cake shaped like a T-Rex,” said Carl, mouth full.
“She’s always been a polite girl, that Michonne,” said Rick’s mother as she spooned some peas onto Carl’s plate.
“She always called me ‘Mrs. Grimes’ even when I told her to call me Rachel. She and Rick were inseparable back then, remember, Harold?”
Rick’s father barely looked up from his plate.
“I mostly remember that she had strong opinions for her age.”
He cut his meat with a sharp motion.
“But she had guts. Not like certain people who crumble as soon as life pushes back.”
Paul scoffed, leaning on the table, his cheeks slightly flushed.
“You mean me? Go on, say it, Dad. I ‘crumbled’ like a coward because I signed some divorce papers.”
He raised his glass.
“To freedom, then.”
Rick avoided his gaze, focusing on his fork.
Lori brushed his hand lightly under the table, but he didn’t move.
Paul kept going, a bit louder: “By the way, you’re the one who should talk about pressure,Rick. Aren’t you tired of playing house?”
“Paul, stop,” said Rachel, frowning.
Rick calmly set his napkin next to his plate, then looked up at his brother.
“You really want to do this in front of the kids?”
A tense silence followed.
Paul shrugged, pushed his plate away, jaw clenched.
Carl had stopped fiddling with the tablecloth. He was watching his father closely.
George looked down.
Paul raised his hands.
“I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”
Harold set his fork down firmly and spoke, voice low and deep.
“What I see is that this family needs to refocus. We’re too busy pretending everything’s fine when it’s all falling apart.”
He locked eyes with Rick.
“You do what you want with your life, son. But maybe it’s time to ask yourself what you’re still fighting for.”
Rick lowered his gaze.
Lori squeezed Carl’s hand under the table.
“Can we talk about something else?” she asked softly. “Carl had something to share…”
“I got a silver star in science today,” Carl murmured.
Rachel smiled, breaking the tension with a warm tone.
“Now that’s news worthy of another slice of pie!”
George turned to his grandfather.
“Papaw, can I have dessert?”
He smiled, almost gratefully.
“Of course, son. Go get some pie with Mamaw.”
The boy ran off to the kitchen.
Rick took a slow breath.
Lori placed her hand discreetly on his thigh.
Paul stood up without a word and left the table, glass in hand.
Rick smiled, but it was nothing more than a polite crease at the corner of his mouth.
He glanced toward the window.
Silence was never complete in that house — there was always some background noise: a remark, a regret, a drifting brother, a father with a judgment too heavy.
He stood up to help his mother clear the table.
Grimes House.
The front door closed softly.
Lori took off her heels near the doormat while Carl was already racing to his room.
“He’s wiped out,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “We stayed too long.”
Rick hung his keys on the wall hook.He hadn’t said a word the whole ride home.
“Want me to make some tea?” Lori asked, glancing at him briefly.
“No, I’m good.”
He stood for a moment in the dark living room, facing the window.
The neighborhood was quiet. A flickering light went out in a house down the street.
“You think he’ll be okay again one day?” Lori asked, talking about Paul.
Rick shrugged.
“George is fine there. Mom takes care of him. He looks happy.”
She nodded, then yawned softly.
“I’m going up. You coming?”
“In a minute.”
She looked at him, hesitated to say something, then gave up.
The stairs creaked under her steps.
Rick stayed there.
In the silence, the echo of the dinner still turned in his head.
He rubbed his face, slowly.
Then finally went up too.
Thursday Morning — Police Station
The pale neon light buzzed softly above the desk.
Rick was holding a preliminary coroner’s report in his hands.
The file was thin, but dense.
He frowned as he read the last line: “Irregular bite marks on the forearm and neck. No typical canine teeth. No formally identified animal prints. Cause of death uncertain.”
He set the document down on his desk and stared at the photo of the body: a man in his fifties, naked, found behind an abandoned gas station.
Frozen expression, mouth slightly open, skin torn in places.
“You think he got into a fight with a mutant raccoon?” asked Perkins, a young deputy, chewing on a donut.
Rick didn’t answer.
“Or a werewolf, come on. That’s what everyone’s saying around here.”
“And what do you believe?” Rick asked without looking up.
“I think that guy had been sleeping outside too long, saw or did something stupid, and something ate him. But what ate him, that… I have no idea, Sheriff.”
Rick ran a hand through his beard.
“Tell the lab to run a full DNA analysis. Everything they can find. And I want to speak with the officer who found the body.”
“I’ll send them to your office.”
Rick nodded.
The coffee tasted like dust.
The morning was shaping up to be a long one.
Atlanta
The hallway of the Fulton County courthouse echoed with hurried heels, muffled whispers, and tired clerks.
In courtroom 3C, the atmosphere was heavy. Not tense. Just… controlled.
Michonne stood tall, sharp as a blade.
Her client — a woman in her thirties, hollow cheeks, eyes blackened by fear — stood to her left.
Across from them, the defense attorney was already fidgeting, flipping through his notes with nervous haste.
“Your Honor,” said Michonne, her voice firm and clear.
“My client wasn’t just struck. She was hunted. Manipulated. And when her partner raised his hand to her for the umpteenth time, she acted to protect her life and her son’s.”
The man in the gray suit frowned.
“Objection. The term ‘hunted’ is subjective and unsupported by—”
“Let her finish,” the judge interrupted, tiredly.
“Proceed, Counselor Hawthorne.”
Michonne resumed, unshaken.
“I’m asking the court to acknowledge a prolonged pattern of psychological abuse, confirmed by text messages, medical records, and the neighbor’s testimony.
This isn’t an isolated incident. It’s an escalation.”
A brief silence.
The judge jotted down a few words.
The defense attorney squirmed in his seat.
When the session adjourned, Michonne briefly shook her client’s hand.
She didn’t say anything else. She never believed in those canned phrases — things will get better now, you’re strong, you did the right thing.
Wounds didn’t vanish just because they were spoken in front of a judge.
In the hallway, a colleague caught up to her.
“You handle it like it’s nothing,” she said. “You could be ice-cold, Michonne. Sometimes we wonder if you even feel anything in there.”
She smiled, without malice. More like a confused form of admiration.
Michonne raised an eyebrow and simply replied,
“I’ve learned not to mix everything.”
She slipped her file into her bag, adjusted her suit, and went down the courthouse steps without looking back.
The exit left behind the echoing footsteps, the black robes, the restrained formality.
Michonne let out a soft sigh as she unlocked her car.
The sun was gently warming the windshield.
Just before turning the key in the ignition, her phone vibrated,Mike.
She answered, phone pressed to her ear, handbag on her lap.
“Hello?”
“Hey, babe.” Mike’s voice — quick, distracted, as always when he called between two things.
“Just wanted to let you know I won’t be able to come with you and André, unfortunately.”
Michonne frowned.
“What do you mean? We talked about this.”
“Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry. It’s a last-minute seminar. Work thing. In Birmingham. But I’ll be back before the weekend, I promise. We’ll still do our little weekend getaway like planned.”
She closed her eyes for a second.
“And you’re telling me now? You could’ve said something yesterday.”
“I forgot. It just came up.”
“Like always.”
She sighed, slammed the door shut.
“Did you at least pick up André?”
“I’m getting him in five. I got it, don’t worry.”
Michonne stayed silent. Then: “You know, I just wish we’d tell each other things. Ahead of time. Just once.”
“I get it.” A pause. “I’m doing my best, Michonne. You know how it is.”
“Yeah.”
She started the engine.
“Call me when you’ve picked up André.”
She hung up, jaw tight.
Then after a few seconds, she scrolled through her contacts and tapped.
“Dad?”
Her father’s reassuring, even-toned voice answered.
“Sweetheart. Everything alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry. I just wanted to confirm — is this weekend with André still okay?”
“Of course. Malik’s here too, he’ll be happy to spend time with his nephew. And your mother said she’s making his favorite dish.”
A small smile touched Michonne’s lips.
“I’ll drop him off Friday morning then.”
“Perfect.”
“Alright, I’ll let you go. Hugs to everyone. Bye!”
She ended the call gently.
Then started the car, her thoughts elsewhere.
The road stretched out beneath the thick sky of a Southern afternoon.
The sheriff’s pickup cruised unhurriedly down County Road 19, its tires swallowing the asphalt like they knew every turn by heart.
Rick was driving, his left arm resting halfway out the window, the other hand on the wheel.
Shane, in uniform like him, chewed on a toothpick, his feet propped up on the dashboard despite the glances Rick kept throwing his way.
“Think we’ll get a real crime today, or is it gonna be another kid stealing a candy bar from Dollar General?” Shane said, stretching his legs.
Rick gave a humorless smile.
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and break up a rodeo in the schoolyard.”
A comfortable silence settled between them — the kind between two men who no longer needed to fill the gaps.
Then Shane turned to him, feigning distraction.
“Hey… I saw Michonne recently. Still just as impressive, huh? Even after all this time.”
Rick didn’t answer right away.
Shane continued, lighter, but with that something that throbbed just under the skin.
“I mean, you should’ve seen the dress she wore the other day for court? She looked… how do I put it… fierce.”
The word lingered, deliberately. A trap.
Rick kept his eyes on the road, his jaw slightly clenched.
He turned at the roundabout without a word.
Shane glanced quickly at his hands on the wheel. The knuckles were white.
“Relax, man. It’s just a compliment. She’s beautiful, that’s all. And smart too. Mike hit the jackpot, huh?”
Rick braked gently at the stop sign.
The light cut across the windshield, carving out his profile in a calm that was too controlled.
“You say a lot of bullshit, Shane,” he said at last, his voice neutral. “But you’re right about one thing.”
Shane raised an eyebrow.
“She’s brilliant.”
And that was it. Not another word.
But his fingers stayed tight on the wheel, even when silence returned between them.
Suddenly, a crackling voice came through the radio.
“Unit 1, possible altercation behind old Sam Murdock’s farm depot. Neighbor reported shouting.”
Rick grabbed the mic.
“Copy that. We’re five minutes out. We’ll handle it.”
The pickup turned, kicking up a small cloud of dust.
When they arrived, two men were grappling at the base of an old rusty shed.
A flipped tractor, torn-open hay bales, and in the middle, a burst sack of potatoes.
Nothing dramatic, but messy enough to be a scene.
Shane got out first, hand on his belt.
“Gentlemen! Not the time to beat each other’s heads in. What’s going on here?”
One of the men, red with anger, shouted: “He’s been stealing my tools! I’ve been saying it for weeks, and no one’s doing anything!”
Rick stepped in calmly, separating them with his body.
“Alright, that’s enough. Both of you calm down. We’ll take your statements.”
Shane, more relaxed, said to Rick as he took notes:
“A real crime, just like you wanted.”
Rick grimaced.
“Not sure wrench theft counts.”
They spent about twenty minutes calming things down and writing up the report.
When the two men finally walked off, muttering curses under their breath, Shane climbed back into the car with a sigh:
“We’re real heroes.”
Rick started the engine without replying.
The radio stayed silent.
But his mind was already elsewhere.
The sun was setting slowly on the facades of Atlanta when Michonne finally got home.
The key turned in the lock with that dry little click she knew by heart.
As soon as she stepped in, she dropped her bag on the entryway table and called out:
“André? I’m home!”
“In my room mommy!” André shouted back, full of enthusiasm.
Mike appeared in the hallway doorway, jacket over his shoulder and suitcase in hand.
He gave her a cautious smile.
“Everything’s ready. He had his snack. Backpack’s packed.”
Michonne nodded, slipping her heels off.
“When do you leave?”
“Train’s at seven. I’m calling a cab in ten minutes.”
“You can tell me if you want a ride. I’m heading out too.”
Mike shook his head.
“Don’t want you to rush.”
She stared at him for a second, then looked down.
There was still tension in her movements, but she didn’t push it.
“You made sure he’s wearing a clean shirt at least?”
Mike smiled.
“I’m not totally useless. Come see for yourself.”
In the bedroom, André was spinning his backpack like a top.
When he saw her, he jumped on the bed.
“Look, Mommy! I wore my Pikachu socks for Carl!”
Michonne knelt down, adjusted his collar.
“You gonna behave?”
“Yes, Mommy.” He hugged her tightly.
“You’ll come get me tomorrow morning, right?”
“Promise.” She kissed his cheek.
“And then we’re off to Grandma and Grandpa’s.”
Mike stepped in behind her.
“I’m heading out.”
Michonne stood up, grabbed her keys.
“Have a good seminar.”
“I’ll call you tonight.”
“Do that.”
They kissed — more habit than affection.
Then Michonne took André’s hand, and they headed downstairs.
The highway stretched before her, straight and endless, bathed in the golden light of a dying sun.
Michonne drove in silence, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh.
In the back seat, André hummed a made-up song, feet swinging in the air, his stuffed animal tucked under one arm.
“Do you think Carl will let me play on his console?” he suddenly asked, voice full of hope.
Michonne smiled into the rearview mirror.
“Maybe, if you behave.”
“I always behave.”
“Depends on the day,” she murmured, raising an eyebrow — but he didn’t catch the gentle irony in her voice.
King County finally came into view, quiet and familiar.
The landscape turned more rural, houses more spaced out.
Michonne slowed a little, as she always did when approaching this house she knew by heart, despite the years.
She parked right in front of the porch, and the moment she turned off the engine, André was already fumbling with his seatbelt.
“Easy,” she said. “Wait for me to open it.”
She grabbed her purse, her jacket, and André’s backpack — stuffed with toys, clothes, and two spare stuffed animals.
When she opened the car door, the evening breeze brushed against her like a caress.
The air smelled of pine and warm earth.
On the doorstep, Lori appeared, all smiles.
“Hey! Right on time.”
Michonne nodded.
“Hey, Lori.”
“Hi Mimi!” shouted Carl, running from the living room, followed closely by Rick.
André immediately clung to Michonne’s leg, suddenly shy.
Rick stepped forward, a quiet smile on his face.
“You good?”
Michonne returned a polite smile.
“I’m good. He was excited the whole drive.”
Rick crouched down to André’s height.
“Hey, little man. You remember me?”
André stared at him for a few seconds, then nodded enthusiastically.
“You’re the man with stars on his car.”
Rick chuckled.
“That’s right. You’ve got a good memory.”
Carl shuffled over, looking a bit nervous, then mumbled:
“Wanna see my room?”
André nodded and followed Carl without hesitation, his backpack bouncing behind him.
Michonne remained still for a moment, eyes on her son’s small silhouette.
“He’ll be fine,” Rick said gently, as if reading her mind.
“I know,” she replied. “It’s just… always a little hard.”
“You can stay a while if you want,” Lori offered, returning with two glasses of lemonade. “I made a little something to snack on.”
“Thanks, but I won’t stay long. I just wanted to make sure he settled in.”
Lori reassured her with a warm gesture and went back inside to sort through the things André had brought.
“I should go,” Michonne said at last. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”
“Want me to bring him straight to your parents’?” Rick offered. “I’ve got to pass by anyway.”
“No. I’ll come get him. Thanks.”
Rick nodded, his gaze lingering on her just a bit too long.
But she didn’t look away right away.
Then she left.
Rick gently closed the door behind Michonne, his hand still on the handle.
A faint warm draft drifted through the entryway, carrying with it a trace of her perfume — sweet, soft, familiar.
He stood still for a moment, lost in thought.
In front of him, Lori was watching intently from the kitchen, arms crossed.
Rick turned, slightly surprised to catch her inquisitive gaze.
He tried a disarming smile.
“Now it’s suspicious to close a door?”
“No, it’s just… I rarely see you this relaxed at the end of the day. Let alone home this early.”
He raised both hands, mock guilty.
“I’m trying to improve.”
Lori stared at him for a few seconds, a half-smile on her lips.
“Keep going, then. I’m curious to see how far you’ll get.”
In the living room, Carl and André were already sitting on the floor, building a car track Carl had carefully laid out on the rug.
Carl handed André a small pearl bracelet with an elastic band.
“This is our friendship bracelet,” he said proudly.
André slipped it onto his tiny wrist, his face lighting up.
Then the older boy starts explaining the rules of an imaginary race with the seriousness of a military general.
“And here, be careful ‘cause it’s a slope. If you go too fast, you go off-road. Okay?”
André nodded, completely focused, gripping his red car in both hands.
“And if it falls?” he asked.
“You can start again, but you can’t pass anyone for a full lap.”
Rick watched them from the doorway.
There was a gentleness in Carl’s voice that didn’t come out every day.
And in André’s, a kind of innocence Rick found touching.
He thought of Michonne.
Of what she left behind at his place, what she took back every time — and what she maybe didn’t realize she left.
“We’ve got some leftover gratin from lunch,” Lori called from the kitchen.
“Want me to reheat it?”
“Perfect,” Rick answered, still watching the kids. “I’ll call them in five minutes.”
But they didn’t want to stop.
Even after the plates were set in front of them, they kept talking cars, Carl explaining to André that when he’ll be older, he could play video games with zombies, but not real ones.
André, mouth full, mumbled, “Zombies are only on TV.”
Rick raised an eyebrow, curious.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because… Mommy says so,” André replied simply.
Lori smiled.
“Your mom’s right.”
Rick said nothing.
A blurry echo of a strange autopsy report came back to him — but he pushed it away, for now.
Tonight, he just wanted to enjoy the rare peace of a house where Carl was laughing, where there were no emergency calls, no marital duties to pretend through. Just a visiting little boy, and another happy to share his toys.
Later, while Lori made the beds, Rick helped them brush their teeth and read a story.
Carl insisted André sleep in his room.Once the boys were finally tucked in, Rick came back downstairs. Lori was in the living room, phone in hand. She looked up at him.
“I’m going to bed soon,” she said simply.
“Okay.”
“You staying down here a bit?”
“Just for a while.”
She nodded.
“Good night.”
“Good night, Lori.”
Rick sank into the couch, grabbed his phone, hesitated a moment… then dialed her number.
Two rings.
“Hello?”
Her voice was soft, calm, a little surprised.
“It’s Rick. I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”
She smiled. He could hear it in her voice.
“I know who this is… I barely left, Rick.”
“I know. Just wanted to be sure. You never know… missed turn or… suicidal hedgehog.”
“Mmh. Very dramatic.”
“You don’t know how many hedgehogs there are in King County. Total mafia.”
She laughed. A burst of real, pure laughter that hit him right in the chest.
“Thanks for the check-in, Sheriff. I’m home, and alive.”
“Yeah. I also wanted to tell you everything’s fine here. You can sleep easy.”
She sighed softly. Relieved.
“He ate, played a bit with Carl, and passed out like a little prince.”
“Thank you.”
Her voice was gentle, full of quiet gratitude.
“It’s silly, huh? I already miss him.”
“It’s not silly.”
He smiled.
“It’s you. Mama bear.”
She laughed gently.
“You think it’s curable?”
“I hope not.”
A little silence. Not awkward, not empty.
“And you, still awake?”
“Can’t sleep.”
“Too much coffee?”
“No. Too many thoughts.”
She understood what that meant. She didn’t answer right away.
“It was nice seeing you,” he finally said.
“For me too.”
“You haven’t changed, you know.”
He paused.
“Well… you take care of a kid, you’re always on the move, you’ve got two phones… but… you’re still you.”
Her throat tightened.
There was something in his voice. Something from the old days, slipped into present-day words.
“Rick…” she murmured. “I think it’s better if you go to sleep.”
“I don’t want to.”
“But you need to.”
He sighed, long and deep.
“You still protect everyone. Even me.”
“Always.”
He closed his eyes.
“Good night, Michonne.”
“Good night, Rick.”
She hung up before he could say anything else.
And he stayed there, alone in the sleeping house, phone still pressed to his ear.
Friday morning.
The sun was already filtering through the curtains when Michonne parked in front of the Grimes’ house.
She turned off the engine, took a deep breath, and got out.
A night without André had left a hollow in her chest she didn’t like to admit.
Even thirteen hours was already too long.
Rick opened the door before she reached the porch steps.
“Hey,” he said, a quiet smile on his lips. “He’s been waiting since he got up.”
Michonne smiled in spite of herself.
“Bet he didn’t even finish his breakfast.”
“He wolfed it down in two minutes. I think he knew you’d come early.”
Inside, Carl was sitting on the floor, focused on a figurine battle.
André jumped up the second he saw his mother.
“Mommy!” he shouted, running to her.
Michonne knelt down and caught him in her arms.
“Hey, sweetheart… Did you have fun?”
“Yes! Carl showed me his dinosaurs and we watched a cartoon with a shark that talks!”
She laughed, kissing his temple.
“A talking shark, huh? I hope he didn’t give you any bad ideas.”
Rick stepped closer, hands in his pockets.
“He was good.”
Michonne nodded and set André back down.
“Thanks again. It’s always reassuring knowing he’s in good hands.”
Lori appeared just then, holding two mugs of coffee. She handed one to Rick, the other to Michonne.
“A little pick-me-up before you hit the road?”
“Thanks, Lori. That’s sweet of you.”
“And it’s always a pleasure to have André here. He’s such a sweet boy.”
“I know,” Michonne replied with pride she didn’t try to hide.
Rick gave Michonne a look — one she’d known since their teenage years.
Gentle, warm, and just a bit too long.
She looked away.
“Well… we better not linger. My parents are waiting for us for breakfast.”
“Want help with his stuff?” Rick offered.
“I’ve got it, thanks.”
André, already eager to go, grabbed his mom’s hand and waved to Carl.
“Bye, Carl!”
“When are you coming back?” Carl asked.
Michonne smiled.
“He’ll be back Sunday night for your birthday. Bye, Carl, be good.”
“Always, Mimi,” Carl replied with a grin.
Rick opened the door.
“Drive safe, then.”
She paused a moment on the doorstep.
“And you… try to get some rest. You look like hell.”
He only replied with a small nod, his eyes still locked on hers.
André had half-fallen asleep on the passenger seat when Michonne parked the car in front of the family home, just a few blocks from the Grimes’ house.
The neighborhood was quiet at that hour, lulled by morning birdsong and the distant sound of a lawn mower somewhere.
She turned off the engine and gently turned to her son.
“Hey, peanut. We’re at Grandma and Grandpa’s.”
He blinked, grumpy, tugged a little at his seatbelt without saying anything.
She stepped out and went to open his door.
“Want me to carry you?”
“I’m not a baby…” he grumbled, even though he reached his arms out.
Michonne smiled and picked him up easily. He rested his head on her shoulder, already calmer. They walked through the little gate, gravel crunching under their feet. Michonne adjusted André against her hip and climbed the two porch steps.
She was about to knock when her mother’s warm voice rang from inside: “Michonne? Is that you?”
She smiled, amused.
“Yeah, it’s us!”
The door opened immediately onto her mother’s beaming face.
“Well come in already, what are you waiting for! That little boy must be starving!”
“Hi Grandma!” André shouted before even being set down.
“My darling!” his grandmother exclaimed, scooping him into her arms and covering his cheeks with kisses.
“You’ve grown again since last week, or are my eyes playing tricks on me?”
Michonne let out a tender laugh, setting the bag down on a chair in the living room.
“Hi Mom. You say that every time, and every time he believes you.”
“And he’s right. Come on, I saved you some hot coffee and Malik just came downstairs.”
They’d barely made it through the hallway when a voice called from the kitchen:
“Ah! Here comes the queen mother and the crown prince.”
Michonne rolled her eyes, already annoyed.
“See, André, this is exactly why I told you never to take your uncle seriously.”
Malik, sitting at the table with a bowl of cereal, raised a lazy hand.
“Can I at least get a good morning from my genius nephew? I’m studying, you know.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Michonne said, settling into a chair with a sigh, while her mother set a plate of still-warm pancakes in front of André.
He clapped his hands, excited.
“Thanks, Grandma!”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Eat while it’s hot.”
Michonne took the cup of coffee her mother handed her and thanked her with a look.
She watched André for a moment, seeing him devour a huge bite of pancake, cheeks full and eyes shining.
“You said he slept well at the Grimes’?” her mother asked, pouring maple syrup.
“Yes. You know how much he adores Carl, they get along so well.”
“Doesn’t surprise you, Malik?” her mother teased.
“Funny how her kid gets along with Rick’s…”
Michonne didn’t react. Malik, however, jumped on the chance.
“And Michonne keeps going back and forth to her old county for ‘practical reasons.’ ”
Michonne sipped her coffee, unbothered.
“You’re working on a master’s degree, not a stand-up set. Focus.”
Her mother raised her hands in surrender.
“Okay, okay. Enough teasing. I made more pancakes than we’ll ever eat. Michonne, can you stay a while or do you have to run?”
“I’ll stay a bit. I’m hitting the road just before noon.”
As André finished his second pancake, legs swinging under the table, and Malik stirred his now-lukewarm cereal, the creak of a door drew their attention.
Michonne’s father entered the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear, a focused look on his face.
He raised a hand in greeting, walked calmly over to the coffee pot, and filled his mug halfway, nodding.
“Yes, I know it might sound exaggerated, Hera. But I’m telling you what I read.”
He paused, listened, then rolled his eyes with tender exasperation.
“No, not from some shady site. A serious group, doctors — well, there were doctors in the comments, I checked. They’re all talking about a strange flu, a virus, I don’t know, but apparently it’s spreading fast.”
Michonne exchanged a look with her mother. She just shrugged, used to it.
Her father continued, voice lower now, as if not to worry those in the room:
“Look, you work in a hospital. You see people all day — blood, illnesses, things we don’t even understand. I’m just telling you to be careful, that’s all. Wear your mask, use your sanitizer, your… everything you need, alright? And tell your boss if you see anything weird.”
He set the pot down, took a sip of coffee, and called out across the room:
“She’s mocking me, your sister. Says I spend too much time on Facebook.”
“She’s right,” Malik said, chewing slowly. “You just liked a video about curing diabetes with honey and frogs.”
Their father ignored the comment and went on:
“And I forbid you to leave your department to go see that kind of patient without protection. I’m not joking, Heraclès, you’re my oldest,i care about you. I don’t want someone telling me you caught some virus from God knows where because you wanted to play the hero. There. I said it.”
He listened again for a moment, then sighed.
“Yes, yes, I know you’re careful. But that doesn’t make me feel better.”
A silence settled.
Michonne watched her father, a small smile on her lips.
He’d always had this theatrical way of showing love — wrapped in a layer of constant suspicion and questionable articles. But beneath it all, it was just raw tenderness.
He eventually hung up, then approached André and tousled his hair.
“You eat like a champ. You wanna grow up big like your Uncle Malik?”
“No,” André said seriously. “I wanna be stronger than him.”
“Well there you go!” the grandfather exclaimed. “That’s how we talk in this family.”
Then he turned to Michonne.
“You’re leaving soon, I suppose.”
“In a bit,” she replied. “I just wanted to drop him off for the weekend and say hi. I’ll leave before noon.”
He nodded, looked at his daughter for a few seconds, then said in a more serious tone:
“You be careful too. Epidemics always start slow. A symptom here, a small article there… And then it’s too late.”
Michonne said nothing, stepped over to kiss him on the cheek.
“I’ll be careful, Dad.”
Afternoon, King County- Sheriff’s Station
The sun beat against the dusty windows of the King County station, tinting the walls with an amber, almost reddish light.
Rick was finishing up a report on a neighborhood complaint that had been dragging on for two weeks.
Nothing serious: a shared fence, a noisy dog, a bad habit of parking on the neighbor’s lawn.
He set down his pen, massaged the back of his neck, and glanced at the clock. 5:43 p.m.
“You planning to stay much longer or do you wanna miss Morgan’s mini hot dogs?” Shane called as he walked in, sleeves rolled up, a crooked smile on his face.
Rick sighed.
“Just finishing this damn report. After that, I’m good. You coming with me?”
“I was thinking of going home to change, but it’s not like I have a special outfit for suburban barbecues. I’m in.”
Rick nodded, slipped the papers into a folder, and snapped the binder shut.
“You think we’ll run into Bill and his fly-fishing stories again?”
Shane burst out laughing.
“I bet he already printed the photos.”
They left the office together, Rick grabbing his hat on the way, then locked the station door.
The air outside was still warm, but carried a subtle coolness — the kind that hinted at a peaceful evening.
Music floated gently through the evening air, mixed with bursts of laughter and the clinking of plastic cups.
The Jones’ backyard was strung with multicolored lights that blinked softly, casting shifting reflections on smiling faces.
Children ran by laughing, their shouts mingling with the lively music spilling from the speakers.
The air was thick with the scent of grilled food and the sweet perfume of homemade desserts.
In the distance, the chirping of cicadas reminded everyone that summer was in full swing.
As he passed by Mrs. Parker’s house, Rick noticed the shutters were closed and the mailbox overflowing. He frowned, promising himself to stop by later.
Then, he parked his car at the corner of the street.
Shane, sitting in the passenger seat, got out before the engine was even off.
“I recognize that smell of industrial hot dogs and overcooked ribs. This is America.”
Rick raised an eyebrow.
“You planning to say that to Morgan tonight?”
“Never. Unless he serves me a warm beer — then it’s war.”
They laughed as they crossed the lawn.
Morgan spotted them immediately, bottle in hand, a wide smile on his face.
“Sheriff! And there’s the loudest deputy in Georgia! Come in, come in! Jenny’s at the buffet, and I think Dwayne already stole three cupcakes.”
“We brought the law with us,” Shane joked.
Morgan handed each of them a cold beer.
“Well, better cuff me then, officer.”
Rick nodded his thanks and scanned the crowd.
He recognized several neighbors: Bill and his wife, the Jenkins from the end of the street, even the corner grocer was there, lounging in a deck chair like he was on vacation.
Jenny came over to greet Rick with a warm smile.
“We’re glad you came. Lori’s over there, with Véronique and a few others. Carl must be running around with Dwayne somewhere.”
Rick followed her gaze.
Lori was sitting on a garden bench, drink in hand, speaking animatedly. When she caught his eye, she gave him a small wave. He answered with a smile.
Rick moved through the guests, greeting with a nod, a few simple words, a polite smile.
Shane had already disappeared toward the buffet, lured by cheese chips and crispy chicken wings.
He approached the bench where Lori was talking with Véronique Miller and Patty, the Jenkins kids’ nanny.
“I told you he wouldn’t come in uniform,” Lori said to the group, her eyes on Rick.
“What can I say, I’m making an effort,” he replied casually as he walked up. He handed her his beer — she accepted it with a knowing smile.
“Now that’s hospitality,” she murmured, taking a sip. “I see you really are making an effort. You finally let your desk breathe a little.”
“Shane dragged me out by force.”
She gave a small laugh.
“I’ll have to thank him.”
He sat beside her, one arm resting loosely along the back of the bench, not touching her.
There were people everywhere, voices filling the air, but for a moment, they were in a bubble.
“How was today?” she asked, without pressure.
“Nothing new. Just an old dispute over a fence and a grumpy dog.”
“That’s been going on three weeks, hasn’t it?”
“I’m patient,” he said with a touch of irony.
She nodded, her eyes wandering for a moment toward Dwayne, who was now spinning around with Carl and another boy — probably one of the Jenkins’ kids.
“You know… I’m glad we could all come tonight.
It’s been a while since we’ve had a real evening, without thinking about who’s on shift tomorrow, or who needs to stop by the store.”
Rick slowly nodded. He wanted to tell her he felt the same.But the words stayed stuck.
“You want something to eat?” he offered.
“Maybe later. I’m keeping an eye on Véronique — she has a way of cutting conversations in half when she starts talking about her French linen sheets.”
“A true domestic menace,” he muttered.
“Save me in five minutes?” she asked, half-serious.
“Promise.”
He stood up and went to join Jenny near the barbecue, where smoke and flames danced above the ribs.
Jenny handed him a plate with a wink:
“Don’t touch the ones in the back — those are for my dad. He likes them nearly burnt.”
Rick sat at a nearby table where Bill was already retelling his famous fishing story.
In the background, Shane rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless.
In the golden light of evening, with children laughing and stories overlapping, the chaos of the world felt far away.
The lanterns swayed gently in the evening breeze.Laughter had quieted, voices slower, more relaxed.The kids were yawning between sprints.He watched Carl sited next to him.
Rick smiled before checking the time on his watch.
Almost 9 p.m.
“Carl! Put on your sweater, we’re heading out.”
The boy groaned a little but obeyed without much resistance.
Dwayne waved at him, and Carl waved back, tired but happy.
“That was fun, Dad,” Carl whispered once settled in the back seat.
“I know.” Rick shut the door with a smile.
On the lawn, Jenny was saying goodbye to the last guests.
Shane was bidding farewell to a woman he’d clearly tried to impress all evening — without success.
Lori joined Rick by the car, coat over her arm.
Morgan approached too, holding a bag full of Tupperware.
“Here, for tomorrow. Leftover ribs. And cupcakes — hidden far from Dwayne.”
Rick laughed as he took the bag.
“Thanks, boss.”
They exchanged a knowing look, then Rick got into the car, followed by Lori.
Shane pulled out behind them, honking once.
The small convoy dispersed into the quiet night of King County, everyone heading back to their homes, their routines, their familiar walls.
In the distance, a dog barked once — then nothing.The night had stretched with laughter and memories.
Back home, Rick put Carl to bed.Then took a shower himself and lay down without a word, the hum of the party still echoing in his ears.
The silence of the house contrasted with the bustle of the evening — but it was soothing.
The next morning, Lori was reviewing a hastily scribbled list, her brow furrowed, a pencil tucked into her messy bun.
On the table: still-packaged party plates, a Pokémon tablecloth, balloons in a bag.
Rick was already dressed. He wore a gray T-shirt and jeans, holding his phone to his ear, looking slightly hesitant.
“Come on, pick up,” he muttered.
Two rings later, a hoarse voice answered.
“Hello…”
“Paul, it’s Rick. Did I wake you?”
A pause, then a sigh.
“No… well, a little. What time is it?”
“Almost eleven. I was wondering if you’re free for lunch. I can swing by to pick you up, or if you’d rather meet somewhere?”
Paul didn’t answer right away. Rick could hear sheets rustling, a glass clinking against a table.
“Not sure I’m great company today.”
“You never are,” Rick replied with a small smile. “But it’s Saturday, I’m buying the coffee, and you won’t even have to pretend to like the pancakes.”
A tired chuckle came through.
“Yeah, okay. Pick me up in an hour?”
“Deal.”
Rick hung up, slipped his phone into his pocket, and joined Lori in the kitchen.
She was counting the candy bags, her eyes fixed on her schedule.
“Paul coming over?”
“I’m picking him up. We’re grabbing breakfast, having a talk.”
Lori nodded.
“You think he’s doing better?”
Rick hesitated.
“I think he’s doing his best.”
She gave him a brief smile.
“Tell him George is still welcome tomorrow. If he wants to come, or even sleep over tonight.”
“I’ll let him know.”
He grabbed his coffee, then stepped out back to make another call.
Rick leaned against the railing.
He searched for Michonne in his contacts, then hit dial.
“Hey,” Michonne’s voice answered, slightly upbeat.
“Hey. Just about tomorrow. Are you dropping André off, or are your parents?”
“My parents. They’re excited to spend time with him, and I’ve got the weekend to myself.”
Rick smiled despite himself.
“I was thinking, if you don’t mind, I could go pick him up. I’m not far from their place — gives me a reason to stop by and say hi. Been a while.”
Michonne paused — surprised, but not suspicious.
“That’s fine. I’ll let them know. They’ll be happy to see you.”
“Perfect. Enjoy your weekend.”
“You too, Rick. And say hi to Carl for me.”
He hung up, eyes briefly closed, then headed back down the steps.
A few minutes later…
Paul’s Apartment
The place smelled of stale air and the aftermath of a long night.
Paul had thrown on clothes in a rush: a loose shirt, slightly wrinkled jeans.
He had made an effort — and that was already a lot.
“Where we going?” he asked as he got in the car.
“Martha’s. Coffee’s still decent there, and it’s always busy.”
“Great. Love seeing happy people before my second coffee.”
Rick rolled his eyes.
“You’ve always been such a morning delight.”
Paul laughed, then leaned his head back against the headrest.
There were dark circles under his eyes, a paleness Rick knew too well. No need for a bottle in hand to guess the night had been long.
At the café, they ordered scrambled eggs, bacon, and pancakes.
Rick started the conversation slowly.
“George is doing well. He’s excited to see Carl tomorrow.”
Paul nodded, mouth full.
“I know. He tells me on the phone. Thinks I’m coming too.”
“You could.”
Paul froze. Rick saw the tension in his shoulders.
“You think it’s that simple?”
“No. But you could come anyway.”
Paul set down his fork.
“You know… I messed up, Rick. With Linda, with George…And I can’t stop thinking I’ll screw it all up again. Even with you.”
Rick took a sip of coffee.
“You didn’t mess up with me.And you didn’t mess up George either. You’re just having trouble breathing sometimes. And that’s okay. But you’re still here.”
Paul gave a bitter smile.
“And you? Still breathing?”
Rick looked at him for a long moment.
“Not always. But I fight.”
A silence settled, filled by the background noise of the café — voices at the counter, a country song playing softly.
Then Paul picked up his fork again.
“So we just keep breathing, huh?”
Rick nodded.
“One day at a time.”
Rick watched his brother walking down the sidewalk.
Even from a distance, he could see his shoulders were still slumped.
Late Afternoon, Atlanta
The suite was bathed in soft light — a blend of late-day gold and the warm glow of ambient lamps.
Everything exuded calm, comfort, and a restrained sense of luxury: polished wood, immaculate linens, minimalist yet refined furnishings.
Michonne was leaning against the pillows, one leg stretched out, the other tucked beneath her.
Champagne glass in hand, she watched Mike, who was flipping through the hotel’s service menu.
“You know you’re incapable of staying still for more than twenty minutes when you’ve got nothing to organize,” she said with a smirk.
Mike looked up at her, mock-offended.
“I’m trying to maximize our relaxation. Did you see the options? Four-hand massage, Himalayan pink salt scrub, essential oil steam bath—”
“You want me smelling like rosemary for two days?”
He raised his eyebrows, playful.
“If it means you’re relaxed, then yeah. I’ll take the risk.”
Michonne laughed softly, set her glass down on the nightstand, and reached for the brochure. She skimmed it.
“Hmm… couples massage. One hour, with aromatherapy. Might be worth it.”
Mike smiled.
“I booked it for 7 p.m., just in case.”
She glanced at him, amused but touched.
“You want everything to be perfect.”
“Because I don’t get you all to myself that often — no schedule, no obligations, no phone vibrating every ten minutes.”
Michonne tilted her head, watching him for a moment.
“And you miss that?”
“This moment? Or you?”
“Both.”
Mike gave a small shrug, his voice quieter, more serious.
“I know you’re doing your best, Mich. You’re a great mom, a hard-working boss. But yeah… sometimes it feels like we have to fight just to exist, you and me. Against the routine, against exhaustion, against the past.”
She didn’t answer right away. She looked at him, for a long moment, then slid her legs out of the bed. Slowly, she walked over to him, knelt on the chair where he sat, and rested her forehead against his.
“This weekend, there’s nothing to manage, nowhere to rush. No mom, no lawyer. Just me. Just you. That okay?”
Mike nodded, his hands resting on her hips.
“Sounds perfect to me.”
They stayed like that for a while, in a calm silence that nothing disturbed. Then Michonne pulled back, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
“But I’m warning you — if you snore after the massage, I’m calling room service to drag you out of bed.”
“Okay” Mike replied with a laugh.
Late Afternoon, Grimes House
Lori was putting away sheriff-themed paper plates into a cupboard she had emptied for the occasion.
Deflated balloons still lay across the counter, waiting to be blown up.
On the table, a handwritten list with names crossed out, checkmarks, arrows.
Carl poked his head into the doorway, a bag of chips in hand.
“Want me to put the napkins in the party bags mum?”
“That’d be great, thanks sweetie. But not the dinosaur ones, okay? It’s a cowboy theme this year — let’s stay consistent.”
Carl rolled his eyes but smiled as he left again.
Lori shook her head with a tender smile.That’s when the front door opened.
Rick walked in with George by his side, carrying an old Spiderman backpack.
“We’re back,” Rick called.
George ran off to find Carl without a second thought, and already their laughter echoed from the living room.
Rick set his keys on the counter, walked behind Lori, and kissed her on the temple.
“Everything going okay here?”
“We’re getting there. You wouldn’t believe how many balloons he wants…And guess what? He asked if he could have a horse.”
Rick raised an eyebrow.
“A real one?”
“Yes. Alive. With hooves and everything.”
Rick chuckled, then glanced at the list.
“My parents said they’ll come tomorrow. And Paul… maybe. He said he’d see how he feels.”
Lori nodded.
She placed a little check next to Paul’s name, without crossing it off.
Rick noticed.
“You can leave it pending. But he’s trying. That’s already a lot.”
A voice rang out from the living room:
“DON’T FORGET DWAYNE!”
Rick looked up at Lori, a mock-serious expression on his face.
“We wouldn’t dare.”
Lori smiled.
“Jenny confirmed this morning. Morgan’s dropping him off around two. And Michonne said her parents are bringing André.”
Rick, scanning the names, added distractedly:
“Actually, I’ll pick him up myself. Good excuse for a drive, and I haven’t seen her parents in… way too long.”
Lori nodded without saying anything.
“Just remembered I need to pick up a file at the office. I’ll be right back.”
“No problem,” Lori replied distantly, her focus still on Carl’s birthday guest list and planning.
The town was sleeping, peaceful, when Rick returned.
A warm breeze crossed the street, brushing along a few leaves that had fallen too early.
Rick stepped slowly out of his car after a quick stop at the station to retrieve a forgotten file.
He was about to lock the doors when he noticed, sitting on the curb across the street, an old man with a white beard and glassy eyes, staring into nothing.
“Good evening?” Rick called, without moving.
The man turned his head slowly, then murmured in a raspy voice, barely more than a breath:
“They’re coming back. They’re all coming back.”
Rick frowned.
“Sorry?”
But the man had already looked away, as if he’d never spoken.
Rick stood still for a moment, remembering what he’d heard earlier on the radio:
A local DJ had just announced a Johnny Cash song when the transmission was suddenly cut.
“—unusual behavior in several rural hospitals across the Southeast. Patients aggressive, disoriented—”
Then, a sharp cut. And immediately, the DJ’s cheerful voice:
“And now, for our country fans, a Saturday night classic!”
He shook his head. Just an old man a little lost. Nothing more.
And the news hadn’t sounded that alarming, he tried to convince himself.
He climbed the steps and closed the door behind him.
Sunday Morning, Grimes House
Rick walked in quietly, followed by Lori carrying a tray with a mini cake, some strawberries, and a small candle in the center.
“Happy birthday, my favorite cowboy,” said Rick as he set the tray down.
Carl peeked out from under his blanket, his eyes bright with sleep and joy.
“Ten years old,” Lori said as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Can you believe it? You have to tell us if you suddenly feel your legs growing.”
Carl burst out laughing. Rick sat down too.
“You look smarter than yesterday. Must be starting.”
Carl gave a thumbs-up, then threw himself into his parents’ arms.
The house had turned into a miniature Wild West.
Balloons, banners, plastic sabers, and sheriff hats flew everywhere.
Lori was finishing setting the cake on the table while Rick tested the barbecue out on the deck.
Guests began arriving: Jenny and Morgan with Dwayne in cowboy gear, Danielle the neighbor with her slightly off-center cowboy hat, the Jenkins and their kids with homemade cookies.
George was already running around the yard with Carl and Dwayne, foam guns in hand.
Lori’s phone buzzed on the counter. She picked it up.
A video popped up: Michonne, in what looked like a sunlit hotel room.
“Hey Lori,” she said brightly. “Is the birthday boy there?”
“He’s here — hold on, I’ll get him.”
She called out for Carl through the back door, and he came running the moment he heard it was Michonne.
“Happy birthday, little cowboy! You’re officially a big kid now.”
Carl rushed over, out of breath, and leaned close to the screen.
“Thanks Mimi!”
“And don’t worry — I didn’t forget your gift. You’re gonna love it.”
No sooner had she finished than Carl ran off to tell Dwayne and George about the amazing gift Michonne had promised.
“You two enjoying the weekend at least?” asked Lori.
“We’re trying. With André at his grandparents’, we get a little time to ourselves.”
Rick, from the side, glanced away slightly but kept smiling.
“Speaking of him,” said Rick, grabbing his keys, “I’ll go pick him up.”
Michonne nodded.
“Well, enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You too,” Lori replied.
Afternoon, King County
Hawthorne Residence
Rick stepped out of his car, greeted by André’s laughter from the yard.
Malik was sitting on the steps, tablet in hand.
“Uncle Rick!” André shouted, running into his arms.
Rick lifted him up.
“You’ve grown again.”
“I ate Uncle Malik’s cereal this morning — that’s why!”
Malik stood up, stretching.
“Yo. Hope Carl’s ready for the best treasure-hunt partner ever.”
“He’s waiting,” Rick replied.
They exchanged a quick hug.
“When you coming to visit me on campus?”
“You need to send me your thesis date.”
“Already did. You didn’t check your email? You’re invited to the official graduation.”
Rick nodded, touched.
“I’ll be there. Promise.”
Michonne’s father, Michael Hawthorne, stepped outside too, wearing a cap, his face calm.
“Sheriff. Want a glass of whiskey before you head out?”
Rick hesitated.
“Can’t stay too long — Lori’ll think I’ve run away to hide out here.”
They laughed together.Then, more quietly:
“Tell me, Rick… At the station, do you all talk about the things they’re saying on the radio? The weird stories?”
Rick was about to give an honest answer, but he saw over Mr. Hawthorne’s shoulder the still figure of Maya watching them from the porch, arms crossed, silent.
He straightened up.
“No, nothing official. Just rumors. Stuff floating online or from old radios out of tune. Nothing serious.”
The old man nodded slowly.
“Hope you’re right.”
Maya approached, holding a brown paper bag.
“For Carl. From André. And this…”
She pulled out a small, carefully wrapped package.
“… this one’s for you.”
Rick raised an eyebrow.
“For me?”
“No, I was only joking. It’s for Carl too. From Michael and I. He’s always been a good boy.”
Rick smiled, touched, and nodded.
“Thank you. I’ll let him know.”
André was asleep in the back seat, his cowboy hat slid down over his eyes.
The steady hum of the engine seemed to lull the child as the road lights passed by in a hypnotic procession.
Rick’s phone vibrated on the console.
He answered without taking his eyes off the road.
Carter’s voice — a young officer at the dispatch desk — was panicked, shaky, nearly trembling.
“Chief… We just found a guy in a barn, about two miles out. He… he was barely moving. He’s… he’s torn to pieces, my God. Half his guts out. We thought he was dead. But then he… he started moving. And growling. He tried to… he bite Samuels.”
Rick slowed down, heart pounding.
“What?”
“He doesn’t have a face anymore, Chief. He doesn’t have… He was dead. I’m sure of it. But he moved. I… I’ve never seen anything like it. I swear… he wanted to bite me.”
A heavy silence settled in.
Rick glanced at the rearview mirror. André was still asleep, peaceful, unaware of the chaos seemingly looming on the horizon.
He took a deep breath, trying to contain the rising anxiety.
“I’m on my way.”
He hung up, accelerated, and the car disappeared into the night — toward the unknown.