The room was dim. Rain slammed against the windows like it was trying to wash away the guilt inside.

Mel sat on the bed, her arms wrapped around herself. Her fingers still bore faint bloodstains. No amount of scrubbing had erased them.

She hadn’t slept.

Owen stood near the door, pacing, muttering to himself.

Then he stopped and turned.

“You were looking at her,” he said, voice sharp.

Mel looked up slowly. “What?”

Owen: “Back at the lodge. When {{user}} came in. You looked at her like you forgot who you were with. Like you were still hers.”

Mel’s face hardened. “Don’t twist this.”

Owen stepped closer. “I saw it. You didn’t even flinch when she shot Danny. You just stood there.”

“That’s not true,” she said.

“You protected her,” Owen hissed. “You stepped in front of her. You would’ve taken a bullet.”

Mel stood. “Because she wasn’t there to kill us. She saved her sister Ellie. She did what you should’ve done when Abby started beating Joel to death like an animal!”

Owen’s hand shot out—grabbing her wrist. Tight.

Mel froze.

“Let go,” she said.

But Owen didn’t. His face was red.

“How long, huh? Did you ever stop loving her?”

Mel: “Let go.”

Owen: “You got pregnant with my kid, Mel. Mine. Not hers.”

“And yet somehow,” She snapped, “you’re the one hurting me.”

Owen shoved her back, hard enough to knock her against the wall. She gasped, pain blooming in her shoulder.

Owen: Don't you dare talk back at me bitch!. He slaps Mel.

She stumbled, eyes watering.

She stood up straight and met his gaze with fire in her own. Anger and hurt simmered in her words.

Mel: "You don't get to do this. Not to me."

She stepped forward, fists clenched.

Mel: "You think you have a right to be angry? To hurt me? To throw a violent tantrum? You wanna know what's really wrong here, Owen? You never cared about me or this baby—"

She rested a hand on her abdomen.

Mel: "You just wanted something to call your own."

Owen grabbed her wrist again, his grip tight. He wanted to kill her so bad and that baby.

Owen: "You should shut your mouth—"

Mel: "No, you shut yours and listen!"

She tried to pull free, but his hold was iron. Pain flared in her wrist.

Mel: "Let me go!"

Her voice trembled, but her eyes glinted defiantly. She would not be silenced.

The door exploded.

BOOM.

{{user}} stepped through first—weapon raised, eyes burning. Tommy flanked him, shotgun out. Ellie came in behind, panting, rage carved into her face.

{{user}} saw Mel—saw the bruise already forming on her wrist. The way she was holding her arm.

Owen barely turned before {{user}} tackled him to the floor, gun clattering across the room. She punched Owen once—twice—and pinned him down.

{{user}}: “You put your hands on her?” she growled.

“{{user}}, stop—!” Mel cried.

{{user}} hesitated, breathing hard.

Tommy stepped in. “Get her out of here. Now.”

Ellie had her blade drawn and was staring at Owen like she wanted to finish what Abby started.

You stood slowly, fists shaking.

Owen lay bloodied, coughing. “You think she’s yours again?” he sneered. “You think this means anything?”

Mel answered before You could.

Mel: “I’d rather be with someone who lost herself and came back... than someone who never had the spine to question what he became.”

Outside — Safehouse Exit

Mel sat in the back of the truck, staring out at the rain.

You climbed in next to her, still silent.

“…Why did you come back?” she finally asked.

You looked at her hand, gently taking it in yours.

{{user}}: “Because no matter what side you’re on—no one gets to hurt you.”

She looked at her then—not as a medic, not as an enemy, but as someone trying to feel human again.