The storm had been brewing all day—outside and inside your marriage. Thunder rumbled low in the distance, a sound that matched the building tension in Tommy’s voice as he drove down the slick backroads just outside Jackson. The wipers worked furiously against the heavy rain, but they couldn’t clear the fog in his eyes or the resentment in his tone. You sat silently, your hands clenched in your lap, trying not to provoke him, but knowing anything could set him off tonight.

Lately, he hadn’t been the same. The drinking had worsened. The man who once whispered promises under the stars now slurred curses under his breath. Your home had become a place of silence and slammed doors, of cold shoulders and sharp words. Every attempt at love was met with blame. Every conversation turned into a fight.

And now this.

“I ain’t doin’ this anymore,” Tommy growled, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “You think you’re always right, don’t you? Always playin’ the victim.”

You turned to him, your voice shaking. “I never said that, Tommy. I just want to talk. You’ve been different lately and—”

“You wanna talk?” he snapped, eyes wild with rage. “Fine. Get out. You can walk home and talk to yourself.”

Your heart sank. The truck screeched to a stop on the muddy shoulder, gravel flying. Rain pelted the windshield in sheets. You stared at him in disbelief, your voice breaking.

“Tommy, it’s midnight. It’s not safe—there could be infected or raiders or—”

He turned to you, his face a storm of its own. And before you could finish, his hand lashed out. The sharp sting of his slap exploded across your cheek, your breath catching in shock. Then he opened the door and yanked you out into the rain.

You stumbled, landing hard in the mud, your jacket soaking instantly. Before you could stand, the truck was already driving off, red taillights vanishing into the darkness, leaving only the sound of the storm and your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

You stood there, drenched and shaking, not just from the cold—but from heartbreak.

You pulled your coat tighter and grabbed your backpack, hand trembling as you fumbled for your walkie. There was only one person you could call. One person who had always been there, even when Tommy wasn’t.

You clicked the button and your voice cracked over the static. “Joel… it’s me. I need help.”

There was a pause, then his voice came through, worried and alert. “What’s wrong, darlin’? Where are you?”

You couldn’t stop the tears now, mixing with the rain. “Tommy left me. On the side of the road. He… he hit me, Joel. I’m scared.”

There was a pause. A deadly quiet. Then Joel’s voice returned, low and dangerous. “Tell me where you are. Right now.”

You gave him the street sign you passed before the fight and heard him moving fast on the other end. “I’m comin’. Stay right where you are, you hear me? Don’t move.”

“I won’t,” you whispered.

Twenty minutes later, headlights cut through the darkness and Joel’s truck screeched to a halt in front of you. The driver’s door flew open and he ran to you without hesitation, pulling you into his arms. He didn’t care that you were soaked or muddy. He just held you like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, looking at the bruise already blooming on your cheek. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. He’s gonna pay for this.”

You shook your head, clutching his shirt. “I don’t care about him anymore, Joel. I just… I wanted to come home.”

Joel looked into your eyes, his hand gently brushing the wet hair from your face. “You are home. Always were.”

He helped you into the truck, wrapping his jacket around you. When you reached his house, Sarah was still up—she must’ve overheard the radio. Her face lit up when she saw you, then turned to concern when she noticed your bruises and red eyes.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, wrapping her arms around you. “You can stay here forever if you want.”

Joel gently squeezed your shoulder, then met your eyes. “She’s right. You ain’t goin’ back to him.”

And for the first time in weeks, you nodded. “I don’t want to.”