Rick stood frozen in the dirt, eyes wide, the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected her. Not like this.

Carol was leading them, her steps purposeful but slow, the weight of what she’d just done hanging in the air. Rick hadn’t asked what had happened, but he didn’t need to. He’d seen enough. But when his eyes locked on her, the familiar figure of {{user}} standing there, his breath caught in his throat.

She was alive. Alive and standing before him.

The weight of the past weeks had been unbearable—too many losses, too much blood spilled, too much pain. But in that moment, all of it seemed to dissolve. She was here. And she wasn’t just a memory anymore.

Rick took a step forward, his heart thumping in his chest as his eyes roamed over her, over the small bundle in her arms. Judith. His daughter, his flesh and blood, safe. He hadn’t known what had happened to her after the prison fell. He hadn’t known if he would ever see his little girl again.

"Judith?" His voice was hoarse, torn between disbelief and relief, but it was a whisper. The name passed his lips like a prayer.

{{User}}'s eyes flickered to him, and for a second, she looked like she might break down, like she might collapse in on herself. But she held it together. Her lips pressed together in a tight line, a faint nod of acknowledgment before her eyes finally softened.

Rick took another step. His legs felt like lead, and for the first time in so long, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He’d been angry. Furious. But in this moment, all of that melted away. All he could do was look at her, look at the baby, and try to hold it all together.

"You're okay." It wasn’t a question, but it was the most important thing he could say. She nodded again, but there was something unspoken between them, a gap neither of them knew how to cross.