New World (D.Dixon) ~rewritten~

•chapter 21• <rewrite>

**Lost and Then Found **

< rewritten version >

word count — 4005
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Alessia's POV.

Alessia sat alone on her cot, her body slumped under the weight of the world. Time had become a blur, every day blending into the next, until it was impossible to tell when the grief would end. It hadn't. Not since her mother's death, and not since she'd been forced to take Lori's life. Her mom had been the last connection to her old life, the life before everything fell apart. Losing her had fractured something inside Alessia, something she wasn't sure would ever heal.

She stared blankly at the concrete floor beneath her, the smell of old dust and damp air filling her lungs. Her mother's laughter, her gentle voice... all of it was gone. Sophia, too—she hadn't been given a proper goodbye, and that ache was a wound she carried deep inside.

Even Rick was broken. Alessia couldn't look at him or Carl. Not with the weight of what she'd done. Lori's death was haunting her, and she could feel Rick's silent judgment, even though he never said a word.

And then there was Daryl.

He tried. He kept trying to reach her, even when she pushed him away. He would visit, just to sit with her, to make sure she was eating. But she couldn't bear it. She couldn't bear to be touched, to be held, when she felt like she had nothing left to give.

But Daryl—Daryl wasn't giving up on her.

A soft knock on the door of her cell interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up to see him standing in the doorway, a familiar figure she hadn't realized she needed so badly.

"Hey," he said, his voice low, almost hesitant, like he wasn't sure if she was ready for him to be there.

"Hi," Alessia whispered back, her voice hoarse, barely a sound.

He leaned against the doorframe, watching her with those unreadable eyes. "How're ya feelin'?"

Alessia couldn't help the small, bitter laugh that escaped her lips. "Sad," she said, the word tasting like defeat. What else could she say? She had no more energy for false pleasantries.

Daryl didn't push. He just nodded, his expression softening as he stepped closer, his boots quiet on the concrete floor. "Yeah. I get it. It's tough," he said, his voice gruff but warm, the kind of warmth that made her chest tighten.

"Sorry," Alessia muttered after a beat, the guilt weighing her down even more. "I just... I'm not good company."

Daryl didn't react with sympathy or pity. He didn't try to talk her through it. He just let the silence stretch, wrapping around them both.

"You eat?" he asked after a moment, his voice casual, but there was a touch of concern hidden in it.

"Owen shoved oatmeal down my throat earlier," Alessia said, forcing a small smile. It was a weak attempt at humor, but Daryl seemed to appreciate it.

"Good ol' Owen," Daryl muttered, though his tone was soft, like he understood. He took a seat on the edge of the cot without asking, his weight settling next to hers. It was a comfort, the kind that came without words.

"They're going on a run," Daryl continued, his voice a little more upbeat now. "Maggie and Glenn. Goin' for formula for lil' ass kicker."

Alessia furrowed her brow, confused for a moment. "Lil' ass kicker?"

Daryl shrugged, an easy grin crossing his face. "Yeah. The baby. No name yet, so we're callin' her lil' ass kicker."

A small, genuine laugh escaped her lips then, the first one in what felt like weeks. She felt the lightness of it, like the briefest flash of sunshine in a storm. It was fleeting, but it was enough to remind her of who she used to be.