The truck rattled once we hit the main road.
I kept both hands on the wheel.
Daryl and Rick sat in the passenger seat, squeezing against the dash, window cracked an inch, their weapons in hand.
Daryl glanced sideways at Rick, then toward me. A sly glint flashed in his eyes.
"He overslept?" Daryl asked Rick casually.
"No," Rick said, playing along. "Didn't look like it."
Glancing sideways briefly ,"focus on the road," I said.
Daryl smirked. "Road's straight. Ain't much to focus on."
Rick's mouth twitched. "Maggie see you off?"
My shoulders stiffened. "Quit it," I said stiffly.
Daryl barked a quiet laugh. "Boy scout finally loosens up, and now he's shy."
"I'm not shy."
Rick adjusted the strap of his rifle. "You've been walking around that house since Maggie joined like a man guarding state secrets."
Daryl added, "Seems the state finally signed the paperwork."
"You two done?" I said exasperated as I adjusted the wheel to avoid a shallow pothole.
"Just making sure the morale's high," he said.
"It is," I replied flatly.
Daryl glanced at Rick. "Hear that? Man sounds different."
Rick nodded. "A little lighter."
"Shut up," I said.
They did, and the truck kept rolling.
Maggie Third Point Of View:
The bedroom was quieter now.
Maggie stood in the middle of it for a second after Zephyr left.
She bent down and picked up her shirt from the floor.
It took her a couple of tries to get it on straight.
Her jeans were hanging from the back of a chair.
She stepped into them, hopping once to pull them properly. Button, zip.
She ran her fingers through her hair and winced.
"Great," she muttered to herself.
She pulled a tie from the dresser and pulled her hair back into something that looked intentional. "Good enough," she said to herself.
Downstairs, she could hear movements: plates, a chair scraping, someone pouring something.
Breakfast.
She squared her shoulders and headed down.
The kitchen smelled like coffee and toast.
Jenny was at the stove flipping something in a pan.
Carol stood near the counter slicing apples into careful, even wedges.
They both looked up at the sound of Maggie's boots on the last step.
They didn't say anything at first; they just looked. Maggie slowed.
"Morning," she said, reaching for a tin cup.
"Morning," Carol replied.
Jenny turned slightly, spatula still in hand. "Sleep okay?" she asked.
"Yeah," Maggie said, pouring coffee.
Silence again.
Carol and Jenny exchanged a look—not subtle.
Maggie frowned slightly. "What?"
Jenny's mouth twitched. "Nothing."
Carol set the knife down. "You look… well-rested."
Maggie paused mid-sip. "I always look rested."
"Mhm," Carol said, nodding slowly.
Maggie stepped away from the stove and leaned her hip against the counter.
"So. You and Zephyr had that long conversation you've been putting off?"
Maggie nearly choked on her coffee. "We talk all the time!"
"Oh, I'm sure you did," Jenny said lightly.
Carol picked up an apple slice and bit into it, her eyes never leaving Maggie. "Walls aren't exactly soundproof in this house."
Maggie froze, then blinked, then blinked again. Her eyes shifted toward the ceiling. "Oh my god."
Jenny lost it first. She had to turn toward the stove to hide her grin, her shoulders trembling slightly from the effort to suppress her laughter.
Carol was less kind. "Honey," she said gently, "next time, maybe don't knock the bathroom shelf into the wall."
Maggie's face went red, pepper-red.
"That was—" She started stuttering, then stopped. "We weren't—"
"Maggie," Jenny cut in, still laughing. "It's been a long time since anyone's made sound in this house that wasn't fear or arguing. Let us enjoy the change."
Carol reached over and patted Maggie's arm. "We're happy for you."
Maggie set the cup down carefully, too carefully. "You could've pretended you didn't hear anything."
Jenny flipped the eggs in the pan. "And miss this moment? Absolutely not."
Carol leaned closer. "You do realize Rick's in that truck right now?"
Maggie groaned. "Oh no."
Jenny nodded, grinning. "And if we heard you—
Daryl definitely heard you," Carol finished.
Maggie covered her face with both hands. "I'm never coming downstairs again."
Carol laughed softly. "Oh, you'll come downstairs. You just might walk a little slower."
Jenny slid a plate toward her. "Eat," she said. "You're going to need the energy."
Maggie pointed at her. "You both are terrible."
Carol smiled warmly. "Probably."
Jenny added, "But we're right."
Maggie picked up her fork, still flushed, but there was a small, satisfied smile she couldn't quite suppress.
The house felt different this morning. Lighter. And everyone knew why.
The teasing died down once the eggs started to cool.
Maggie ate anyway—quick, efficient, avoiding eye contact every time Jenny smirked into her coffee.
Carol eventually took mercy on her and shifted the conversation to feed inventory and the fence line near the south pasture.
Normal things.
Grounded things.
By the time Maggie finished, her face had returned to something close to its usual color.
She stood, carried her plate to the sink, and rinsed it.
She wiped her hands on a towel and headed toward the back door.
Before she stepped out, she paused. "If anyone says anything about the bathroom shelf, I'm moving to the barn."
Jenny laughed behind her. "Noted."
The morning air was cool and clean. Dew still clung to the grass.
The barn doors were open, and she could hear the low sound of cattle shifting inside.
Hershel stood near the fence line, checking a loose plank with a hammer tucked into his belt.
He looked up when he heard the boots on the dirt. "Mornin'," he said.
"Morning, Daddy."
He studied her for a half-second longer than usual. Not accusing, not suspicious, just observant.
She bent down to grab the spare boards stacked near the fence.
"Jenny said the north trough needs refilling."
"Mhm." He tapped the plank back into place and tested it with his hand.
Silence stretched, and Maggie felt it.
She kept her eyes on the fence post she was tightening.
Hershel cleared his throat.
"Zephyr leave already?"
"Yeah, early."
"With Rick and Daryl?"
"Yes, sir."
Another pause.
A cow shifted behind them, hoofs pressing into dirt.
Hershel rested both hands on top of the fence and looked over the pasture.
"You're a grown woman, Maggie."
There it was.
She stopped tightening the fence post but didn't turn. "I know."
"I raised you to make your own decisions."
Swallowing, she turned to face him. "You did."
He met her eyes. "And I trust your judgment."
The tension she'd been holding in her shoulders eased a fraction. He adjusted his hat slightly.
"World's already taken enough from us," he continued. "I'm not about to start policing what little peace we find."
Maggie blinked. "That's it?"
He gave her a look. "What were you expecting? A sermon?"
She huffed a small laugh. "Maybe."
Hershel's mouth twitched faintly. "I may be old-fashioned," he said, "but I'm not blind. I see how he carries himself around you and around the farm." He tapped the fence one more time. "He's steady."
"He is."
Hershel looked at her a moment longer. "Just make sure steady goes both ways."
She understood what he meant. "I will."
He gave a short nod and picked up the water bucket. "Now," he added, tone returning to practical, "if you're done dreading this conversation, the north trough still needs refilling."
Maggie let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Yes, sir."
They walked back toward the barn together.
The conversation she'd braced for never came—just work and the quiet understanding that some things didn't need more words.
(To be continued...)