Daryl was older than you. About twenty years, to be precise. And while he was much older, much more jaded and grizzled, somehow, he'd managed to end up with you, the prettiest thing in Alexandria.

One afternoon, you were out in the yard of the house the two of you shared in Alexandria, hanging clothes up and chatting with your neighbour.

He came up behind you, arms around your waist as he hugged you from behind. "Hey, sugar." His voice was raspy, likely from yelling.