and in the end, we were just torn apart

the silence in alexandria is deafening. the usual sounds of life—children laughing, footsteps on the gravel, voices carried on the wind—are muted, replaced by a tension that clings to the air like smoke. people glance at me as i pass, their eyes filled with something between pity and resentment. no one says it out loud, but i can feel it. 

inside my house, the emptiness is overwhelming. the walls seem closer than they were yesterday, and the weight of my mistakes presses down on me until i can hardly breathe. connie and magna are still gone, likely dead because of me. kelly's grief is like a knife twisting in my chest every time i see her. jerry's laid up in the infirmary, his injury a constant reminder of what i've cost this group.

and then there's daryl. he hasn't spoken to me since we made it back from the cave. not a word. he doesn't have to. the look in his eyes when he glances my way—if he even glances at all—says enough. he blames me, even if he won't admit it. and why shouldn't he? he's lost people before, but this time, it's on me.

the others try to carry on, piecing things back together, but i can't. not anymore. as night falls, i sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the bag i've packed. it's not much—just the essentials. i don't need anything more. my hands tremble as i tie the straps, my heart heavy with the decision i've made. i have to leave.

alexandria isn't my home anymore. it stopped being home the moment i let my grief and anger consume me, the moment i put everyone at risk, the moment my baby was taken from me. without my family here to anchor me, there's nothing left. carl's gone, charlie's gone, and the man who once looked at me like i mattered now can't even bear to meet my gaze.

maybe it's better this way. if i go, they can move on without the weight of my mistakes dragging them down. without me dragging them down.

i sling the bag over my shoulder and take one last look around the room. it's sparse, and functional, but every corner holds a memory—of carl laughing at something i said, of the quiet nights when we'd sit together and watch the stars. those moments feel like a lifetime ago, belonging to someone else entirely.

the streets are quiet as i slip out of the house, the faint glow of lanterns casting long shadows on the ground. i move quickly, keeping to the edges, avoiding the guards on the walls. it's not hard. they're distracted, their attention focused outward, watching for threats that won't come from me.

when i reach the gate, my chest tightens. this is it. once i leave, there's no coming back. i take a deep breath, trying to steady the storm inside me. the thought of the unknown is terrifying, but staying here, surrounded by the ghosts of what i've done, is unbearable.

"where the hell do you think you're going?" the voice stops me in my tracks, low and sharp as a knife. i don't have to turn around to know it's daryl. "don't try to stop me." i say, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to sound firm. "stop you from what? runnin' away?" his footsteps are heavy as he approaches, and i finally turn to face him. his expression is hard, and unreadable, but his eyes burn with something i can't quite place.

"i'm not running," i snap, though it feels like a lie the moment the words leave my mouth. "i'm leaving. there's a difference." "bullshit." he steps closer, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "you think this is gonna fix anything? leavin' us to pick up the pieces while you just disappear?"

"i've done enough damage," i say, my voice breaking. "you don't need me here, daryl. no one does. without me, things might finally get better." he shakes his head, his jaw tightening. "you think leavin' is gonna make it better for kelly? for aaron? for me?"

i flinch at his words, at the way his voice cracks on that last part. "you don't even talk to me anymore," i whisper. "you can't even look at me without thinking about everything i've screwed up. i can't stay here, daryl. i can't keep being a reminder of everything you've lost."

for a moment, he doesn't say anything, just looks at me like he's trying to figure out what to say. when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, almost gentle. "you ain't the only one who's lost people. you think i don't blame myself for connie? for magna? for every person we've ever lost?" "this is different," i say, shaking my head. "this is my fault. all of it. and you know it."

"no, it ain't," he says firmly, stepping closer. "you made a mistake, yeah. but runnin' away ain't gonna fix it. it's just gonna make it worse." tears blur my vision, and i look away, unable to meet his gaze. "it will," i whisper, tears slipping down my cheeks. "because being here... it's killing me. and it's killing everyone else, too."

he takes a step closer, his voice rough but softer now. "you don't have to go. we can figure this out—together." i shake my head, pulling back. "you've already done more for me than i deserve, daryl. but i can't stay. not anymore."

he stares at me, his eyes searching mine for something—anything—that might change my mind. but i've made my decision. "don't do this." he says, his voice almost a plea now. "goodbye, daryl." i whisper, my voice breaking. i turn away toward the gate, forcing myself to keep moving. every step feels like a weight pressing down on my chest, but i don't stop.

when i reach the gate, i pause for a moment, glancing back. daryl stands in the shadows, watching me, his expression unreadable. i want to run back, to tell him he's right, that i'll stay and try to make it work. but i can't.

with a deep breath, i step through the gate and into the night. the world beyond is dark and uncertain, but for the first time in a long time, i feel like i can breathe. maybe i'll find peace out here. maybe i won't. but at least this way, the people i care about have a chance to heal without me holding them back.

and maybe, someday, i'll find a way to forgive myself.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

to my wonderful readers,

first, thank you. thank you for every comment, every follow, every vote, and for all the love you've poured into this story. it's been a journey—one i never expected to take—and you've been there every step of the way. isa will always hold a special place in my heart. she's a part of me, and a part of this page. she's been through so much, and in a way, she's helped me through a lot too.

this book was my first leap into writing, and it's been an incredible ride. but, as with all things, my focus has shifted. i'm onto other projects both on here and in my personal life, and it wouldn't be fair to you—the amazing community that's supported me—to leave this story hanging without a proper conclusion. i hope isa's journey feels complete for now, even if it's a bit bittersweet. and just know, there's always room for her to return in the future.

for those of you waiting on requiem for the accused—it's not gone, just paused. salem deserves the care and attention i once poured into her story, and i'll get back to it when the time feels right. i want to fall in love with writing these stories again, the way i once did.

in the meantime, i've been working on my ongoing book, violent delights, which has truly reignited my passion for storytelling. it's been refreshing, and i hope some of you might enjoy it too.

to every single one of you—whether you've been here from the beginning or joined along the way—thank you. your support means the world to me. i'm sorry to end isa's story so abruptly, but it's not goodbye forever. it's just goodbye for now.

with love and gratitude,
oneertaxea 🤍