You were pregnant — and although your silhouette remained slender, your waist still traced with the echoes of your former lightness, it was undeniable. It wasn’t your belly that gave it away, but the relentless nausea at dawn, the silent vomiting, the exhaustion that seemed to settle deep into your bones. Your body spoke before you were ready to listen.

The revelation fell upon you like a sentence. In the midst of the world's collapse, where the dead walked with more certainty than the living, you carried the impossible: a new life. The idea felt cruel. How had you let this happen? You felt anger — not just at the circumstances, but at yourself. A baby. A fragile, innocent being, destined to be born into a shattered world, surrounded by the undead, uncertainty, and dangerous choices. And you didn’t even know which world you belonged to. You were torn between two communities — one that had saved you from death… and another that lured you in with promises too sweet to be trusted.

Negan watched you with narrowed, suspicious eyes, as if trying to solve a riddle hidden in the subtle curve of your silence. “You seem so serious today,” he said, his voice low, almost careful. You looked away, but you could feel the weight of his gaze — he knew something was off. He just didn’t know what.

You were young, no older than twenty-four, but the eyes that met his for the briefest second carried the shadows of someone who had already seen — and lost — too much.