Fifteen months ago, everything changed.

It was a grey, quiet morning in the middle of the dream world — the safe zone. Still haunted by memories of the apocalypse outside, but here… here we had calm. We had shelter. I was sitting on the edge of a mattress, tying my boots, when I looked over and noticed something strange about Sarah.

Her hoodie was tighter around her stomach. She moved slower, kept one arm across her body like she was hiding something. I teased her — “You getting fat?” — and she shot me a look colder than ice. But I didn’t let it go. Not that day.

A few hours later, the truth punched me in the face. Sarah was three months pregnant.

I couldn’t believe it. I exploded. She yelled back, just as loud. The fight was vicious. I screamed that it was irresponsible — bringing a baby into a world crawling with infected. She threw it in my face: “It’s yours. You’re acting like you had nothing to do with it.” She was right. She was always too sharp with words.

After the fight, silence filled the space. But we stayed. We held onto each other through it, because the truth was… we were both terrified.

The Birth of Emmy

Months later — in the Dreams, not reality — Emmy was born in a quiet hospital wing, clean and glowing. The doctors there weren’t infected. They smiled. For the first time in years, everyone smiled. I stood still, staring at her, silent. My hands were shaking when I picked her up. She was tiny. Warm. Eyes like sea glass. A perfect little girl in an imperfect world.

I cried. Not loud. Just enough that Sarah noticed.

Even with fear in my chest, something cracked open inside me — a joy I never knew existed. I held Emmy close, kissed her forehead, and for the first time in forever, the apocalypse didn’t matter.

Now…

In the living room of our home in the Dreams, the chaos of survival feels far away. I sit on the couch, holding Emmy on my lap. She’s bundled up in soft pink, calm as always — her big eyes quietly watching the world. I look down at her, then back at Sarah.

Sarah’s cleaning — sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, muttering something under her breath while she wipes a counter.