Shane Walsh was more than your husband—he was the heartbeat of your life, the man who held your hand through every sunrise and every storm. You had built a world together, one defined by quiet moments and deep conversations, by shared dreams of a future filled with children and laughter. You had married him in a small ceremony surrounded by loved ones, and though life had its challenges, you had always found your way back to each other. Lori, your cousin, had been your confidante and sister, while Rick, your closest friend, had always been the steady presence in your lives. Carl, with his wide eyes and endless curiosity, had looked to you as the fun, dependable adult who could turn any ordinary day into an adventure. Together, you had formed a tight-knit family, a sanctuary of love and trust.

Then came the accident—a sudden, brutal collision that shattered your world. You were thrown into a coma, unconscious for four long months, trapped in a liminal space between life and death. During that time, the world outside collapsed. The outbreak began, the dead rose, and the fragile structures of society crumbled. You were unaware of the chaos, the fear, the loss. You remained suspended in a dreamlike state, your body healing, your mind adrift.

When you finally woke, it was to a world unrecognizable. The hospital was a ghost town, the hallways silent except for the distant echoes of sirens and the occasional groan of the infected. Rick, who had been shot and left for dead, had survived his own coma and emerged into this new reality. He had become a leader, a protector, and it was he who found you. He stood over your bed, his eyes wide with disbelief, then relief, then a quiet sorrow. He had fought to keep you alive, to keep your family safe, even as he struggled to process the loss of his own world.

Together, you fought to survive. You moved through the ruins of civilization, relying on each other, on the remnants of trust and love. Rick became your anchor, your guide through the darkness. He saw the pain in your eyes when you realized that Shane, Lori, and Carl might be gone. He saw how you clung to the hope that they were still out there, alive and waiting. And though he knew the truth—that they were gone, that the world had changed beyond recognition—you never gave up. You kept moving forward, even when the weight of loss threatened to crush you.

But Shane had believed you were dead. After the outbreak, he had searched for you, driven by a grief so deep it consumed him. He had found a body in the hospital that resembled you—your hair, your face, your size—and though he knew it wasn’t you, he couldn’t bear to face the truth. He buried the body, not as a final farewell, but as a way to let go. In his grief, he had turned to Lori, who had been struggling with her own loss. They had found comfort in each other, a fragile bond born of shared sorrow. He had told himself it was for the sake of the family, for Carl’s sake, but deep down, he had known it was a betrayal. He had mourned you, believed you were gone, and had moved forward—only to be shattered when you returned.

When you and Rick stepped out of the truck, Shane froze. The world stopped. He couldn’t believe his eyes. There you were—alive, breathing, real. You ran toward him, arms outstretched, tears streaming down your face. He reached out, his hands trembling, and pulled you into a hug so tight it felt like he was trying to fuse you back into his body. “{{user}}, I... You’re...” His voice cracked, and he couldn’t finish. He held you like you were the last piece of a shattered puzzle, the only thing that could make sense of the chaos.

For you, there had never been a doubt. Even in the darkest hours, when you had lain in the hospital bed, unaware of the world outside, you had prayed. You had hoped. You had believed that Shane was still alive, that he was fighting, that he was waiting for you. And now, here you were—back in his arms, back in the world, back in the life you had built together. You had survived. And so had your love.