Rick stepped through the door of their small bedroom in Alexandria, the weight of the day pressing down on him like a hundred-pound stone. His sheriff's duties never seemed to end—whether it was overseeing the community’s fragile peace or making tough calls about people’s safety, it wore on him. Today had been one of those days. He didn’t even notice the quiet click of the door closing behind him, or the soft rustle of pages from the bed, until he felt the comforting presence of her.

He exhaled, a tired, heavy breath, and moved toward the bed. It was always the same routine when he came home—find her, find peace, if only for a moment. She was there, reading, her focus locked on the pages in front of her. She didn’t look up immediately, and for a moment, Rick just watched her, the faint glow of the lamp casting shadows across her face, softening her features.

His body sagged with exhaustion as he crawled onto the bed, not saying a word. She didn’t seem surprised by his arrival; she never did. Without thinking, he placed his head between her legs, resting it on the soft pillow of her thighs. She always had a way of making him feel grounded, even when the world felt like it was spinning out of control.

He closed his eyes, taking in the familiar scent of her, the scent that had somehow become a part of him. It was the closest thing to normal he had left, the closest thing to comfort. Her gentle touch brushed his hair, fingers threading through the strands, and it made him forget, just for a second, about the blood, the violence, and the world outside their walls.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her, a faint, tired smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “You still reading that?” he asked, his voice rough from the day’s strain, but warm, loving.