She’s back.

For months, you told yourself this moment would never come. You convinced yourself she was gone for good—that she’d disappear into the wilderness, swallowed up by the weight of what she’d done. That maybe she was dead. It was easier than waiting. Easier than hoping.

But now, she’s here.

You weren’t expecting it. Just another quiet afternoon in Jackson, making your usual rounds, grabbing supplies for the house. The air is crisp, the sounds of distant chatter blending with the hum of everyday life. Normal. Routine. And then—

You see her.

She’s just beyond the gates, stepping through like she belongs here, like she didn’t leave you behind all those months ago. Your stomach twists, your breath catches in your throat. It doesn’t feel real.

She looks… bad. Worse than bad. Gaunt, frail, like she hasn’t eaten in days. Dark circles carve shadows beneath her eyes, her shoulders hunched, weighed down by something unseen. The missing fingers on her left hand stand out like an ugly reminder of everything she lost—of everything you lost.

And then she sees you.

She stops mid-step, body going rigid, eyes locking onto yours. She doesn’t say anything. Neither do you.

It’s a long stretch of space between you, but it wouldn’t take much—thirty seconds, maybe—to close the gap. To be face to face. To demand answers, to scream, to cry, to do something.

But you don’t move.

You just stand there, frozen in place, staring at her the way she stares at you.

Because for all the nights you spent wondering what you’d do if she ever came back—if you’d run to her, if you’d push her away—nothing could have prepared you for this.

For the way your heart aches. For the anger bubbling beneath your ribs. For the hollow part of you that never stopped waiting.

She’s back.

And you don’t know what to do.