— 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗧𝗬-𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗘
( 𝘞𝘈𝘕𝘛. )
MURPHY COULDN'T SLEEP. She had barely gotten a wink in the weeks since the ordeal with the Savior women. Her eyes were as heavy as her heart. But each time her lids closed, she saw Chelle impaled... blood pooling around the blade as her eyes became lifeless. Murphy's own wound had healed rather nicely, thanks to Denise. While it still gave her pain, she was up and about. She hadn't spoken much to Carol or Maggie, as they were still recovering from trauma of their own. The three women were struggling. There was no doubt about that.
Sunlight streamed into the bedroom. Music from downstairs, no doubt Carl and Judith, wafted gently in the air. Murphy's cheek was buried into the pillow below her, but her eyes stared straight ahead. Daryl slept behind her, his face nuzzled into her short waves. His arm was locked tightly around her waist. Even in his sleep, he was careful around her wound. Although she could not rest, Murphy found comfort in his presence. She loved the feeling of his gentle breaths across her skin, his chest pressed against her back, his knees tucked behind her own... it felt like home.
Her mind was far away from home, however. It had been banished— cursed to roam the outskirts of the land until it was a mind no more. Or so Murphy felt. She knew her decision to kill was the right thing for her own self interest. She saw Daryl. She saw their child. She wanted to live so badly. But, she couldn't help but think that Chelle deserved a future as well. Murphy sighed. She didn't have any tears left to shed but she felt it so acutely in her heart. As if he could sense her distress, Daryl shifted behind her.
"Mornin', darlin'," his gravelly voice muttered.
He pushed himself up a bit and leaned forward to press a kiss to her cheek. His scruff tickled Murphy's skin. She couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips, despite her internal struggle. She simply loved him too much to not feel what he always made her feel. Daryl kissed her cheek once more when she didn't reply.
"You get any sleep?" he continued.
Murphy shook her head. Daryl sighed. He had tried so desperately in these past weeks to help her. After he held her lifeless body in his arms and brought her back to life, he realized one thing. He always knew he couldn't cope if something happened to her. But seeing Murphy coated in her own blood, struggling for breath with tears in her eyes... Daryl realized he didn't want to live at all if she wasn't there with him. He couldn't live if he was on this Earth without her. So he pulled her closer against his chest and nestled his face against her neck.
She reached down for one of his hands that rested flat against her stomach, and brought it up to press a kiss upon its knuckles. When her lips left his skin, she interlocked their fingers and held his hand against her chest. She hadn't told Daryl about her vision. She was so tired— in more ways than one. She was tired of this pain. Murphy knew she would get through it, but she didn't know it would hurt this much. She supposed she just cared far too deeply.
"You need any pain meds? Anythin'?" Daryl asked her.
"No, I'm okay," she softly replied.
Daryl hummed and slipped his hand out of her own. He let his hand affectionately rub the exposed skin at her hip, where her shirt had ridden up. A hint of the bandage was visible. After a moment, he sat up in bed and swung his feet to rest upon the chilled floor. Murphy rolled over to see him. Her eyes traced the scars on his back— the ones she had seen far too many times. The morning light did its best to romanticize her view, but even it could not hide the gnarled horrors in his skin. It reminded Murphy of the cruelty humans were capable. She now had a scar of her own.
"'M gonna work on the bike," Daryl spoke to her as he got up to grab a shirt. "You wanna come with? Get some fresh air?"
Murphy pushed herself up from the mattress with a slight grimace. Daryl immediately reached over to help. She took his hand, reluctantly, but stood. Daryl rubbed her lower back with his warm palm.
"I start my shifts at the infirmary again today, remember?" Murphy reminded as she carefully pulled off her sweatshirt. "Denise needs the help."
"Bullshit," Daryl grunted as he smoothed down her messy hair. "Y'ain't well yet."
"I'm a doctor, honey. I know what I'm doing," Murphy teased lightly.
Daryl scoffed and looked away, the tips of his ears red. He continued buttoning up his shirt, but left a few undone by the neck. Murphy made her way over to their dresser. Well, it was more hers— Daryl owned about two shirts and two pairs of pants, if even that. She pulled a tank top over her head and leaned upon the piece of furniture to get her jeans around her ankles. Daryl stepped forward to aid her, but she held a hand out.
"I got it."
Daryl pressed his lips together, but nodded. He stalked over to the chair that sat in the corner. It had his thick jacket and vest slung over the arm, both of which he placed over his shoulders. He watched from the other side of the room as Murphy stubbornly dressed. When she had finished tying the last laces of her boots, she let out a long breath of air and ran her hands through her hair. The knife had impaled her lung... a nasty injury. It would take her a long while to ever return to her old stamina.
"Murph," Daryl muttered.
Murphy looked up at him with glassy eyes.
"Y'can tell me when you ain't all right. You don't gotta hide that from me," he spoke softly, stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his black jeans. "I don' know what those Saviors did to you, an' I don't need to. I jus' know they hurt you."
"I told you I'm fine, Daryl. Really. The wound is healing nicely, and—"
"I wasn' talkin' about your side."
Murphy stared at him, absorbing his words. He was right. They had hurt her in other ways. But... she couldn't tell him. Not this time. She couldn't tell him about Chelle, or what she visualized when that knife bared down upon her heart. She couldn't put that on him. So Murphy simply nodded and pushed herself out of her seat. She headed toward the door of their room, and Daryl set his hand on her back as she brushed past him. If he couldn't make her see that he was there for her through words, he had to show her that he was standing right beside her. As the two walked downstairs, they were greeted with the Grimes family eating breakfast.
"Morning," Murphy greeted the four.
Daryl sent a curt nod, keeping a hand on her back. Judith babbled happily at the sight of them.
"You sleep well?" Rick asked, genuine concern lacing his voice.
"You know..." Murphy shrugged with a tired smile.
Rick and Michonne could see the bags under her eyes. They sent Daryl a quick look, and he shook his head. Daryl felt a guilt unparalleled. He had suggested killing the Saviors, and Murphy's heartfelt opposition hadn't changed his mind. While Rick certainly didn't regret taking down the satellite station, Murphy's injury gave him pause as well. She had almost died because of his ultimate decision. She tried to warn him that someone would get hurt... it ended up being her. But she lived. It was all right now.
"Murph, I'm sure Denise could handle more time at the infirmary," Rick assured, tossing a napkin upon his lap. "If you need the rest."
"No, no," Murphy waved away as she poured herself a cup of coffee. "I, uh... I need to get back to work."
Michonne stared at her, troubled. Carl did the same. Judith continued her oblivious chattering. Daryl pushed himself off of the counter he leaned upon and grabbed a piece of toast from the table. He took a bite of the bread and gestured to the door. Murphy held her warm mug with both hands and followed him out to the porch. There, they saw Carol sitting on the hanging bench. She smoked a cigarette calmly, but stared at the cross between her fingers with a cold gaze. She and Murphy hadn't spoken much since that fateful night... but she had talked with Daryl.
When everyone had returned to Alexandria from the satellite station, it was chaos. Murphy was barely alive. Daryl sprinted to Denise with her limp body in his arms. He was coated in her blood. Red stained his hands, his clothes... even his cheeks, from when he had fearfully pressed his head atop hers while muttering desperate words to keep her awake. While Denise was operating, Daryl sat with his head in his hands on the hallway floor. His shoulders shook with silent sobs. Carol sat beside him and cleaned his bloodstained hands with a warm cloth as he cried. He cried.
"Hey," Murphy muttered, breaking her out of the memory with a soft smile.
"Morning," Carol replied, scooting over on the bench to make room for her.
She moved the ashtray that rested beside her. Murphy didn't miss the number of cigarettes that had been put out. She looked at Carol, whose eyes were trained on the ground before her. She sat down on the swinging bench carefully and took a sip of her coffee. Daryl would have asked for a cigarette... but he knew how much Murphy hated that habit of his. He made his way toward his bike instead, which stood at the bottom of the steps. He crouched down and began rustling through the pack that hung on the side of the vehicle.
Carol took a drag of her cigarette as she observed his actions and blew out a steady stream of smoke. She spoke lowly to Murphy, "The ones from the burnt forest, they took the bike from him?"
"Yeah," Murphy replied shortly, taking another sip from her mug. "He said they tied him up—threatened him— but he still saved them. It's who he is."
Carol remained silent for a moment before she put out her cigarette in the ashtray beside her, "Do you think he should've killed them? When he had the chance?"
Murphy's eyes shot to her, Chelle's last words echoing in her mind. She asked, curiously, "Do you think so?"
Carol shrugged, but Murphy saw the pain in her eyes. She saw the way tears welled along her lashes, and how her brows furrowed in an attempt to keep them from falling. Carol fiddled with the cross in her hands.
"Carol," Murphy trailed, and blue eyes shot to her. "The women who took us... what did they do to you?"
Carol stared at her for a long moment and shook her head, "To me? They didn't do anything. It's— It's what I did to them."
Murphy stared, but silently encouraged her to reveal what she had been keeping to herself for far too long. Carol sighed shakily, and wrapped her arms around her torso in the brisk air.
"I think I've killed more than twenty people," she explained, her voice shivering. "I don't... regret it... but I— I don't want to do it anymore. I don't think I can do it anymore."
Murphy thought to herself about what she felt after killing one person. She now knew what it felt like to take another's life. She now knew what Carol had been feeling since her first kills at the prison. She couldn't sleep. She didn't want to eat because the very thought was nauseating. Murphy shifted in her seat and bit her lip, choosing her next words carefully. She wondered how she could help Carol instead of exacerbating her guilt.
"Do you feel like it was right to kill them?"
Carol shook her head, but shrugged with a sniff, "I don't know anymore. I kill because I don't want anyone else to die, but how will the killing ever stop if I keep doing it?"
Murphy stared at her with wide eyes, taking her every word into account. Murphy thought back to that rainy night with Daryl before the attack on the satellite station. She told him that she didn't want to kill because she didn't want to become numb to death. She didn't want to be in a position where killing was her first instinct because she had no faith in people. She saw Carol before her, and it wasn't that. It was so far from that. Carol felt every kill. She wasn't numb to death... it still pained her.
"What's happened has happened, Carol," Murphy muttered, her eyes fluttering to Daryl on the other side of the street. "What you've done, it doesn't matter anymore. What I've done doesn't matter. It's never too late to give yourself another chance."
She sent Carol a tight lipped smile and reached to take her clenched hand in her own. She squeezed it affectionately. Carol sent her a sad smile in response, taking her words deep into her heart. She wiped a stray tear that ran down her freckled cheek with her thumb. Just as she was about to continue, Murphy noticed Denise and Rosita making their way down the street. She gingerly slipped her hand out of Carol's and sent her one final smile of assurance. She set her mug on the nearby table and pushed herself out of her seat. Murphy walked down the steps and crossed her arms as she stood beside Daryl, wondering if it had anything to do with the infirmary.
Denise grinned at Murphy, "Look who's up and about! How are the stitches?"
Murphy smiled softly at her coworker's enthusiasm and subconsciously set her hand on her side, "I feel good— all thanks to you."
Denise scoffed and playfully waved her away, "Please don't mention it. Almost had an aneurism, I was so worried about you that night. But you pulled through."
Murphy looked at the ground, her lips pulled into the smallest of smiles. Daryl watched the two silently, but wanted this conversation over. He didn't want to remember that night any more than he had to.
He muttered, "What's up?"
Denise turned to him and held up a map, "After I got out of DC, when the world went to shit, I just drove. I remember seeing it right when I realized I had no idea where I was going— 'Edison's Apothecary and Boutique.' It's just this little gift shop in a strip mall, but if it's really an apothecary... they had drugs. Murph, you said we were getting low on meds?"
Murphy stared at her, but nodded silently.
Daryl's eyes fluttered across his lover's face, but landed on Denise once more, "How d'you know they still got 'em?"
"It isn't that far. I just wanna check," Denise assured. "And you and Rosita aren't out scavenging or pulling shifts."
Daryl nodded, "We'll go."
Denise shuffled in her spot and nervously explained, "... I wanted to check."
Murphy's eyes widened, and she lifted her gaze to Denise, "Hold on a second—"
"I just wanna help, Murph," Denise interrupted with pleading eyes.
"How much time you spend out there?" Daryl asked, gesturing outside with his chin.
Denise was silent for a moment, "None."
"Forget it," Daryl immediately replied.
"I can ID the meds. I know how to use a machete now," Denise explained.
Murphy shook her head and stepped between them, "No. I can go with, okay? I know the medication, I'll just—"
"'S out of the question," Daryl interrupted, sending her a look of warning. "If you think I'd let you go out there..."
"You aren't strong enough," Denise finalized. "You're a surgeon, Murphy. Treat yourself like you would a patient."
Murphy stared at the three with her jaw slightly agape, but turned around. She ran her fingers across her lips and muttered in defeat, "Shit."
"I've seen roamers up close," Denise continued. "I'm ready."
Daryl looked at Rosita, "You good with this?"
"No," she responded, obviously.
"I'll go alone if I have to," Denise threatened.
"You'll die alone," Daryl replied easily.
Murphy elbowed him in the side. Daryl immediately raised a hand to where she'd hit him and looked down at her in question. She looked up at him with wide eyes and furrowed brows, as if to say 'what the hell?' Denise and Rosita saw this silent banter.
Denise smiled and responded, "I'm asking you to make sure I don't."
Daryl and Murphy looked at her. They didn't know how they could protest any further. Daryl looked at Rosita with narrowed eyes, silently asking her what she thought.
Rosita raised a hand to her chest and assured, "I'm not babysitting her by myself."
Much to Murphy's reluctance, the trio began to pack. She repeatedly offered to take Denise's place, but all three of them shot that idea down time after time. She insisted on at least helping them load items into the truck. She made her way over with a few boxes of ammo from the armory and set them down carefully in the bed of the truck. Rosita approached with her rifle slung over her shoulder, and Murphy noted the detached look on her face.
"Hey," she began. "What's going on?"
Rosita shook her head, "It's nothing."
"Rose. You're lying," Murphy pressed her lips together and leaned against the truck.
Rosita sighed, crossed her arms, and looked at her friend, "It's Abraham. He left."
Murphy looked at her with furrowed brows and questioned, "What, like on a run?"
"No, Murph," Rosita replied, swallowing thickly. "He left me."
Murphy's jaw fell open. She was speechless for a moment. "What?"
Rosita shrugged and opened the truck door to slide her rifle inside. "Found him packing last night. He said I wasn't the last woman on earth, and walked right out the door."
"Oh, my god," Murphy whispered. "Rose—"
"It's over," Rosita interrupted sternly. "He left... just like everyone does."
Her last words were so silent that Murphy strained to hear them. Her mouth opened to reply... to comfort... but no words came out. She instead stepped forward and gingerly wrapped her arms around Rosita's shoulders. Rosita stiffened for a moment, but easily let herself melt in Murphy's embrace. She pressed her cheek against Murphy's shoulder.
"Thank you," she whispered softly.
Murphy replied sternly, "I'm never gonna leave you, okay?"
Rosita nodded and pulled away with a soft smile. She let her hands carefully fall from Murphy's waist as Denise and Daryl approached from the nearby house.
"You gonna be okay out there?" Murphy asked, desiring assurance.
"Of course," Rosita replied.
Murphy let her lips curl into a small smile, and sent one last nod goodbye. Rosita climbed into the truck. Murphy turned to Denise, and opened her arms wide for an embrace. She pulled her close. Denise reciprocated easily with a warm hug, still careful of her injury.
"Be safe, okay? You see anything— anything at all— you run," Murphy emphasized, keeping her hands on her shoulders after she pulled away. "I'm serious."
Denise sent her a soft smile and nodded, "I'm gonna be fine."
Murphy lowered her head for a moment, before raising her gaze to Denise's once more with a playful smile, "I know you will. And, just to be nice, I'll cover your inventory in the infirmary."
Denise grinned and chuckled, "I appreciate it."
Murphy pulled her into one final embrace, before letting her go.
As Denise climbed into the truck to sit beside Rosita, Murphy turned to Daryl. They stood silently for a moment. They had said far too many goodbyes— and each became harder than the last. Both felt that something sinister was afoot. The Saviors were still out there. There was no doubt about that. It was only a matter of time before they struck back. Daryl stood, his eyes locked on the pavement between them. He didn't want to say goodbye. The last time he said goodbye...
Murphy looked at him and made the first move. She instigated the parting. She gingerly wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him against her. Daryl's head immediately lowered into the crook of her neck. He sighed, softly. His arms tenderly enveloped her waist as he closed his eyes... savoring this moment. Nothing separated them. Murphy lifted her head from his chest and looked up at him. Her green eyes locked with his blue ones just as they had many times before.
Daryl felt himself lean down to press his lips to hers without thinking. It was a soft, delicate, somber kiss. A kiss that held so much pain, but love born from that pain. Murphy let her eyes flutter shut as she tenderly responded, standing on the tips of her toes so that she could softly stroke his hair. She pulled away, reluctantly, and fell onto the flats of her feet once more. She smiled sadly at him, and threaded some of his hair behind his ears. Daryl stroked her sides.
"Be careful, yeah?" she muttered, a silent desperation in her words. "And keep her safe."
Daryl nodded, thinking about Denise, and replied, "I will."
His hands slowly fell away from her, and he stepped back. He climbed into the driver's seat of the truck and started the ignition. As they drove toward Alexandria's gate, Murphy couldn't shake the inate feeling of uselessness from her mind. She wished she could have gone. She let her hand rise to her side, ghosting over the bandage beneath her shirt, and shook her head. What's done is done. She was going to give herself another chance.
___
Murphy sat at the island of the infirmary, labeling pill bottles and scribbling notes on the clipboard resting on the tabletop beside her. She hummed softly— a tune she couldn't quite place, but remembered nonetheless. It was evening now, and she was expecting Daryl, Rosita, and Denise back any minute. After she had labeled the final bottle in this set, she took the tray over and returned them to the medicine cabinet. Just as she shut the door, footsteps sounded from the infirmary porch. The person let themselves in. Murphy turned, and was surprised to see Abraham.
"Hey," Murphy greeted shortly. She wouldn't easily forget what news Rosita told her.
"Evenin', doctor," Abraham began, and lifted his hand for her to see. A large gash ran across his thumb, dripping blood steadily onto the cloth he held against it. "I'm in need of a bit of assistance."
"What happened?" Murphy quickly asked, opening a nearby drawer for some supplies.
"You're gonna think I'm shittin' you when I say this, but... I was choppin' some veggies for supper when I let the knife slip. Sliced my thumb right open like a piece of goddamn steak," Abraham chuckled dryly.
Murphy took his burly hand in her own and looked at him from beneath her blonde hair, "You... were cooking dinner? Abe, you barely know how to work a stove. Remember when we stayed in that house with Thompson?"
Abraham grinned, "Almost set the house ablaze like the fourth of July, didn't I?"
Murphy felt a smile tug at her lips as she wrapped his hand with some gauze, "So... who were you cooking dinner for?"
Abraham was silent for a moment, before answering truthfully, "Sasha."
Murphy looked up in surprise, "Sasha?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"... Rosita told me what happened. How you left. How could you do that?"
"I admit, I was... a bit blunt."
"Bullshit. You were an asshole, leaving her like that. You know what she's been through."
Abraham winced as she harshly wrapped the outer layer of his bandage, "Now, hold on just a goddamn second. Let me explain my side of the story before you get all nippy on me."
Murphy rolled her eyes as she cleaned up her supplies, but gestured for him to explain. Abraham settled into his seat.
"At the Hilltop, when that jackass George was stabbed—"
"Gregory."
"I don't give two short and curlies what his name is. The point is... all hell broke loose. We were fightin', you know?" Abraham explained. Murphy noticed the seriousness in his voice, and paused her work. "This guy gets on top of me and puts his hands around my neck. He's chokin' me, and then... I see her."
Murphy sat down across from him and whispered, "Sasha?"
Abraham nodded, "I care for Rosita. Always have, always will. But, she's not my be all end all. I don't see the future with her, I see it with Sasha. She's who I saw."
Murphy let her gaze fall to her fiddling hands on the table. Abraham saw her expression.
"When you were stabbed, you saw him... didn't you?"
Murphy looked up at him. He knew.
She sighed and chuckled sadly, "Yeah. Yeah, I saw him. But it wasn't just him. I— I saw a child, Abe. Our child, Daryl and I."
"A little crossbow-wieldin', operation-givin' kid," Abraham nodded to himself, eliciting a laugh from Murphy. "You'd be great parents, Murph."
Murphy smiled sadly, "You think so?"
"I know so."
Murphy set her chin in the palm of her hand and thought to herself. They sat in oblivious silence. Abraham had no idea that Murphy had already been a mother, and Murphy had no idea that Abraham had already been a father. It was a perfect moment of ignorant bliss... imagining the futures of their past.
"You know the worst part about that night?" Murphy whispered, tears welling in her eyes as she recalled. "I had my gun to her head— the woman who did this to me."
She gestured to the wound, before continuing.
"I had my gun to her head, but I couldn't pull the trigger. I was punished for just wanting her to run."
"Not everyone's as good as you, Murph. You're a saint in a world of sinners. Ain't nothin' we can do about it but want a better world," Abraham spoke solemnly.
Murphy looked up at him with glassy eyes, and reached forward to set her hand atop of his. Despite the hurdles of their past... despite their clashing personalities and disagreements since that day at the gas station years ago... they were there. They had lived, and they were ready to keep on living. Murphy didn't blame Abraham for his decision to continue his life with Sasha, even though she hated the way he left Rosita. She was happy for him. And if his heart wasn't fully with her, it was better for Rosita, too.
In the midst of the comfortable silence, the ragged sound of squealing tires broke through. Murphy pulled her hand away from Abraham's, and walked over to the window. She looked out to see the truck returned. She smiled softly, and gestured for Abraham to follow her out. They made their way down the porch and toward the returning group. That was when Murphy's smile fell.
Only two people sat in the front seat.
Daryl slammed the truck door closed, and stalked around the front of the car. Rosita did the same. The look on their faces told Murphy everything she needed to know. Her feet moved forward faster than her brain could catch up with her thoughts. When he caught sight of her approaching, Daryl's angered gaze immediately softened. He didn't want her to find out like this.
"Murph..." he began, holding his arms out to stop her.
Murphy pushed his hands away. Panicked breaths left her before she'd even reached the truck. She looked in the bed, and a gasp of heartbreak tumbled from her lips as she caught sight of Denise's limp body. Blood coated her dear friend's face— a wound straight through the eye. Murphy clamped a hand across her mouth. She turned around and leaned against the side of the truck for support. She felt her legs grow weak, and she slid to the ground with her head in her hands. She didn't cry. She couldn't cry anymore. Daryl stepped forward and crouched before her.
"'M sorry. 'M so sorry," he whispered, pulling her forward to rest against his chest.
Murphy felt dry, heaving sobs leave her lips as she gripped his jacket in her clenched fists. Daryl placed his hand on the back of her head. A small crowd had formed around the truck, and Alexandrians began whispering as soon as they caught sight of Denise. Rick rushed toward them, followed closely by Michonne and others. He rubbed a hand across his beard and looked away when he saw the doctor's dead body. They had lost another of their own.
Daryl and Murphy agreed to bury her. She watched as Daryl dug the hole in the ground—he'd insisted she rest. He had rid himself of his vest and jacket. His hair was drenched with sweat, and ragged pants left his throat. He looked so tired. Murphy sat with her knees pulled close to her chest... remembering all of the good times she had with Denise. She thought about her quirky mannerisms, her hectic nature. She remembered their talks about their brothers. She thought about Tara. God, the very notion made her sick.
After they'd carefully lowered Denise's body into the ground, Daryl began to shovel the dirt back into the grave. Murphy leaned down to pick up the second shovel without hesitation.
Daryl paused and protested, "You don' gotta—"
"Just let me do this," Murphy replied sternly. She looked up at him, her eyes flooded with pain. "... Please."
Daryl gnawed on his bottom lip. As much as he didn't want her to do this, he could see that she needed to. He stepped back. Murphy dug her shovel into the pile of dirt beside the hole, and let the earth fall atop of Denise's body. She did so... over, and over. Her side burned with horrible pain, but she continued. At some point, she began crying. She didn't know when, but she did. Tears dripped from her cheeks like blood from a wound. Daryl watched as the strong woman crumbled. She wept as she buried another person close to her heart.
He pulled out a small bottle of liquor he'd picked up in the store, uncapped it, and downed it. He tossed the glass to the side, and looked at the keychain Denise had given him hours before. Murphy cried, but he raged inside. He saw the woman he loved collapse upon the grass when she'd filled Denise's grave with dirt. They sat on opposite sides of the woman's resting place and waded in silence. For the first time since they'd met... they had been separated by death.
AUTHOR'S NOTE— holy cow, shit's getting real... i hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter as much as i did writing it! the dialogue was pretty difficult, but murph really needed to have all of these conversations. only one more chapter before... the chapter 😭😭 i honestly can't believe we've gotten this far. thank you all so much for the continuous support. as always, don't be a silent reader! i'd love to hear your thoughts about what you liked, what you're expecting, what you're excited for, etc.. i love you guys so much! 🥰 xx