Unbreakable threads

Chapter Thirty-Five: quiet resolve.

For the first time since he'd found her outside the hospital, Rick let go of the restraint he'd wrapped around himself like armor and reached out, pulling Alyssa into his arms. His embrace was tentative at first, as though he feared she might pull away, but when she didn't, he held her tighter, feeling the weight of all the lost years settle heavily in his heart. This was his daughter—his teenage daughter, the daughter he'd missed growing up, the daughter he hadn't known existed until the world fell apart. She was flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood, a piece of himself that had walked a path he'd never been there to witness.

Alyssa stiffened slightly, surprised by the sudden warmth of his embrace, but she didn't pull away. The walls she'd carefully constructed around her heart softened as she felt the strength of his arms around her, felt the silent apology woven into his touch. She let herself lean into him, her head resting against his shoulder, her own emotions swirling in a mixture of confusion, relief, and a quiet longing she'd kept buried for so long. She hadn't expected this—this unspoken acknowledgment of the bond they shared, a bond she'd been hesitant to trust, but one she'd secretly longed for.

Rick's hand came up to rest on the back of her head, holding her gently, his fingers brushing through her hair in a way that felt both protective and tender. "I'm sorry, Alyssa," he murmured, his voice thick with the weight of all the words he'd never said, all the years he'd missed. "I should've been there... I should've known. I didn't... I didn't even know how to begin with you, and I let that keep me away. But I don't want to be like that anymore. I don't want to keep missing things."

Alyssa swallowed, her throat tight as she felt tears prickling at the edges of her eyes. She'd told herself she didn't need this, that she was fine on her own, that she didn't need a father who had only just found her. But in this moment, as she felt his arms around her, she realized how much she had craved this feeling—this sense of belonging, of being seen and held, of knowing that maybe, just maybe, she could be part of something bigger than herself.

"I get it," she whispered, her voice barely audible, filled with a vulnerability she hadn't let anyone see. "I didn't... I didn't make it easy, either. I kept pushing you away because... because I didn't think you'd really want me here." She paused, taking a shaky breath. "But I'm tired of that, too. I want... I want to be part of this, part of... you."

Rick held her a little tighter, his heart breaking and mending at the same time. This was his daughter, the one he'd missed so much of, but there was still time—time to build something, even if it was fragile, even if it took time. "You are, Alyssa," he said softly, his voice filled with conviction. "You're my daughter. I won't let anything take that away again."

As Rick held Alyssa close, he took a deep, steadying breath, gathering his thoughts. The weight of everything—Lori's revelation, Shane's possessiveness, the betrayal—settled heavily on him, but as he looked down at his daughter, he found a renewed sense of purpose. He felt the need to open up to her, to speak his truth, even if it was difficult.

"Lori... she's still my wife," he murmured, almost as if reminding himself. "No matter the DNA, no matter what's happened between her and Shane, that baby is part of my family. And I'll protect it. I'll protect Carl... and you. But it's getting harder, Alyssa. Shane... he's different now. He's... dangerous." He paused, the last word hanging in the air between them like an unspoken threat.

Alyssa looked up at him, her eyes searching his face as she absorbed his words. She could feel the weight of his realization, the acknowledgment that Shane was no longer the friend and deputy he once knew. There was something darker, something unsettling that had emerged in him. She'd felt it, too, especially with Shane's accusations against Daryl and the way he seemed to smother her, always keeping a watchful, possessive eye on her.