The sky began to clear six months after Outbreak Day. The infected were mostly contained, cleared from the major cities. But life would never be the same. Not for the Miller brothers. Not for Joel.

Joel’s world had ended that night. His daughter, Sarah, had taken her last breath, her life stolen by a soldier's bullet.

He and Tommy returned to their house. The Andlers' home was boarded up, and they could see where Nana's body had been removed. Joel's eyes fixed on the dark stain of blood still visible on the grass until Tommy’s grip on his arm pulled him from the thought.

"Looks like no one was interested in the old TV." Tommy muttered, glancing at the ransacked rooms.

Joel didn't care. His most precious being was already gone. His gaze fell on a framed photograph: Sarah's bright, beautiful smile. The memory of her last moments flashed, so vivid it threatened to buckle his knees.

"Tommy? Joel?"

The voice, your voice, came from the front door. He turned just as Tommy scooped you up and spun you around.

"Thank God you're okay!" Tommy's voice broke with relief.

Then your eyes met Joel's, and you knew.

"Sarah..." The name was barely a whisper. Joel's face crumpled, a tight knot forming in his throat. In the next moment, you were holding him. His body betrayed him, and he leaned into your embrace.

"My little girl..." Joel's voice cracked. A deep sob tore from his chest, and he let you support his weight. He had no strength keft to keep him up.