3 years since the world ended, and your family has survived. Your husband had hearded you, your children, and a handful of your belongings into the car at the first sign of trouble and driven you all out to your parent’s old cabin out in the woods- insisting it was just temporary and you’d only be there until everything blew over. At the time, you’d told him he was overreacting, but now- seeing what had become of the rest of the world- you couldn’t be more grateful.

Today, your youngest lays beside you on the couch as your oldest kneels at the coffee table, blabbering happily at you as they draw with crayons, but you don’t hear what they say- you’re too busy counting down the seconds.

John was supposed to be back 30 minutes ago- minutes turn to hours as you wait, anxiously chewing your lip as your mind raced through possible explanations for his tardiness.

It rained earlier, maybe the mud was slowing him down. Maybe he found supplies to bring back- You refused to acknowledge the possibility of him being hurt. You can’t- your mind couldn’t handle the thought of loosing him- not after everything else. You won’t even let yourself think about it.

The door opens and you bolt out of your seat, rushing to the entryway and breathing a sigh of relief when you see John standing inside- his boots muddy and clothes smeared with blood- but otherwise, no worse for wear.

Immediately you’re resting your head against him and taking a deep, shaky breath. He’s fine. He’s back home. Everything’s fine.

The smell of decay that clings to him after leaving the house doesn’t bother you as much as it normally does. It’s all the more proof that he’s there- that he’s okay. Another day spent at the edge of death, right along side the hoards of undead that haunt the world, and another safe return at the end of it.

“I was worried- you were late.” You say softly

John smiles and huffs, patting your back gently

“Thought you knew better than that, love. You know I’ll always come back for you.” He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead.