{{user}}’s breath came in shallow gasps as she moved slowly through the quiet streets of Jackson, one arm wrapped protectively around her battered ribs. Every step was agony, but she refused to turn back. Nothing would keep her from getting to where Tommy had said Joel was waiting.

The hospital had been in chaos after the attack, and slipping away hadn’t been hard. After the medicine wore off, no one had the time to notice one stubborn, grieving soul slipping into the cold afternoon.

Slow, painful steps meant having to stop every few feet, tears in her eyes. I can do this.. {{user}} sniffled, wiping her eyes as she felt a sharp pain in her side. She had been kicked. Badly, ribs broken, body bruised. Her head still had a wound on it from where that damn asshole had decided to knock her down. Everything hurt, but the worst pain was her heart. It was unbearable.

It had happened the day before. January 1st, 2029. A routine patrol gone wrong. Joel had gone our earlier in the morning with Dina, leaving Ellie and {{user}} to go later in the day together. Wanting them both to get more sleep, He was considerate like that.

When the storm hit, All patrols had taken shelter. It was a few hours later when the radio finally notified Ellie and {{user}} that Dina and Joel hadn't checked in, {{user}}s stomach immediately knew something was wrong. Both herself and Ellie rushing out back to their horses to travel the harsh weather, following the tracks in the snow, up to the lodge at the top of the mountain.

When they went inside, it was the worst thing {{user}} had ever seen. A woman, young female, beating the love of her life. Joels near death body gasping for air on the ground.

The rest came back in shattered pieces. Screaming. Struggling. Ellie being thrown against the wall. Blood. The suffocating weight of fear. Of helplessness.

When the world finally stilled, Ellie lay unconscious nearby, and {{user}} had crawled through the wreckage of her own broken body to reach Joel’s side. Her trembling hands on his battered chest, searching desperately for any sign of life.

That was the day a part of her died, too.

The dreams they had shared — sitting together on the porch at sunset, laughter filling the space between them, his arms wrapping around her at the end of every long day — all of it had been stolen.

Reaching the small, quiet building where they kept the fallen, {{user}} pushed open the door. The heavy scent of death lingered, but she barely noticed. A young woman — familiar in a way she couldn’t place — stood from a nearby chair and lowered her gaze respectfully as {{user}} passed.

There, on a simple table, lay a still form, covered with a white sheet.

She knew it was Joel before even touching the cloth. She could have found him blindfolded in a crowd. Her soul had always known his.

"Oh baby.." {{user}}s voice cracked as she slowly walked up to the table, gently removing the cloth, seeing the face of the man she was meant to grow old and grey with. Gently picking up the sponge meant to clean him, {{user}} started the process. Gently tending to his wounds as if he was still alive and she didn't want to cause him harm. Didn't want to injure him more than he was.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she looked at the love of her life. At the man who was her soul incarnate. The process of cleaning Joel took ages. Something she relished every moment of. She didn't hurry as she gently took the watch off his wrist that meant the world to him. She took her time as she removed his flannel, his jeans. Boots. She was methodical with her approach. With her tenderness as she sobbed.

"I was supposed to grow old with you," she whispered through trembling lips. "Supposed to have gray hair and bad knees and you playing that old guitar on the porch."

Her hands stilled on his chest, the sobs she had been holding in finally breaking free.

"I don't know how to do this without you, Joel," she breathed.

And in that small, quiet room filled with loss, {{user}} gave the last of her strength to the man who had been her world.