Together No Matter What

It had taken roughly an hour and a half to dig three graves, the summer heat didn't make it any easier. Zena brushed her hand across her forehead collecting the sweat that had gathered there, T-Dog let out a sigh and looked to her.

"That's it," T-Dog said, his breath coming in heavy pants. Zena nodded, her muscles sore from the hard work. She pulled herself out of the grave and wiped her brow, the sweat stinging her eyes.

"I'll get Carol," Zena said, her voice quiet but determined. She turned toward the RV, taking slow, deliberate steps as she approached the door. She knocked softly, then ascended the steps. Inside, Daryl sat on the counter, arms folded, his face set in a hard expression. Carol was at the table, staring out the window, her gaze distant and empty.

"We're ready," Zena said gently, her words carrying a weight that matched the somber atmosphere. Carol's eyes flicked to her, then dropped back to the table. She shook her head slightly, as though the idea of facing what lay ahead was too much to bear.

"Come on," Zena urged, her voice softer now. She stepped closer, trying to reach her, but Carol remained motionless, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Why?" Carol's voice was rough, strained with emotion. She didn't look up.

Daryl spoke, his tone more coaxing than before. "Because that's your little girl."

At this, Carol finally raised her eyes, her gaze locking onto Daryl's. The pain in her eyes was unmistakable.

"That's not my little girl," Carol murmured, her voice carrying an unsettling mix of grief and disgust. "That's some other thing." Her eyes shifted away from Daryl, turning back toward the window, as though it might give her an answer, a reason to feel differently.

"My Sophia was alone in the woods," Carol said, her voice barely a whisper, the words trembling on the edge of her grief. "All this time I thought... she didn't cry herself to sleep. She didn't go hungry. She didn't try to find her way back. Sophia died a long time ago." Her words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Zena stood silent, her gaze fixed on Carol. The raw truth of it sank in like a dagger—Her best just wasn't good enough. She had failed to bring Sophia back, failed to keep her safe.

In that moment, the pain inside Zena transformed, turning into a fierce, smoldering anger. It was the kind of anger that burned hot and fast, scorching everything in its path. Without saying a word, she exchanged a fleeting look with Daryl—both of them carrying that same gnawing frustration, the same bitter wound.

Without another word, Zena turned and walked out of the RV, leaving the heavy silence behind her.

The others gathered around the gravesites. Carol wasn't among them—she remained locked inside herself, just as she had during the burial. Hershel didn't speak, no sermon, no words of comfort this time. He stood quietly, as did the rest of them, each of them holding their own unsaid words, their own silent grief. The wind swept through the trees, carrying the weight of it all—things left unspoken, regrets that could never be undone.

Soon, the others began to trickle away from the grave, their shoulders slumped with the weight of it all.

Zena's eyes found Daryl, standing off to the side, his crossbow slung over his shoulder. His expression was a mix of anger and something darker, something raw. He sneered, his gaze distant, as he snatched up the crossbow and began heading toward the pasture.

She let out a frustrated huff, her breath sharp. Without hesitation, she followed him.

"Hey, wait up." Zena's voice broke through the thick silence, forcing Daryl to slow his furious pace. His steps were heavy, a reflection of the rage bubbling beneath the surface. He didn't look at her—he didn't want to.