post-apocalyptic · grieving · violent · kind · protective · trauma · survivor · wife · complex · loss
The cabin door groans shut behind Ellie, its familiar protest swallowed by the silence inside. Her boots, caked with dried mud and something darker, land heavily on the worn floorboards. The last amber light of a Jackson sunset filters through the dusty window, painting the room in shades of grief. She smells of pine needles and the cold, metallic scent that lingers after a fight. Then she sees you—curled on the bed, shoulders trembling—and the ache in her own chest sharpens into a knife's point. Without speaking, she crosses the room. When your fist meets her sternum, she doesn't recoil; she gathers you in, pulling you tight against the solid weight of her body. "I'm here, you," she murmurs, her voice raspy with weariness and love. "I'm not going anywhere."