It was two weeks since Rick disappeared in a fireball at the bridge, and Michonne was lost. During the day she was at the site searching for him, hour after hour. Looking for footprints. Looking for body parts, clothing, anything. Night time was the worst. She couldn't sleep. She constantly had hope in the back of her mind that she'd hear the door open, and Rick's boots clomping up the stairs. He would return to her with the craziest story about where he'd been, but he'd come home to her, alive. Unable to sleep with those thoughts running through her head, she'd taken up the nervous habit of cleaning and organizing at night.

She'd begun to go through Rick's belongings. Not to get rid of them, as she was still holding on to the hope that he'd be found, but looking at each of his belongings, just to remind her that he really existed, and everything that she'd gone through with him wasn't just a figment of her imagination. His scent was all over his laundry, their bed, their room. She figured if she could still smell him, he was still here, and she refused to wash anything that he'd worn. Not until she couldn't smell him anymore.

She'd begun to go through his drawers, sifting through his meager wardrobe of button down shirts, one other pair of jeans that he only wore when his favorite pair was being washed, and a few pairs of socks and boxers. She was pulling them out one by one, and conjuring up memories of what he looked like wearing each item of clothing.

She pulled out a brown t-shirt that she remembered Rick wearing while they were on the road. An image flashed into her mind of it pouring rain, and the t-shirt clinging to his muscular chest, rain dripping from his hair. She visualized the pure relief on his face, because they were dying of thirst and the rain was their saving grace. She remembered the smile he gave her when he realized that the rain meant they'd survive for a few days longer at least.

She pressed the brown t-shirt to her nose and inhaled his smell, when she heard something hit the soft rug beneath her feet. She opened her eyes and looked down to see a folded piece of paper had fallen out of the shirt. She picked it up and saw it was a letter, with a ring safely tucked in the folds of the paper.

She studied the ring in confusion. Whose was it? Why was it in Rick's shirt?

She unfolded the paper and began to read.

Michonne,

I've been looking for the right time to give this to you for weeks, but we've both been so busy. You with taking care of Alexandria and writing your charter, me with building the bridge. And when I do see you I never feel like it's the right time. I've always wanted my proposal to you to have romance, and flowers, and beauty, and elegance, but it seems like our lives very rarely have moments like that.

I've come to realize I've been stalling, because I should've given you this ring long ago. Sometimes when I'm around you I feel like a middle schooler, nervous about talking to his crush. Sometimes I wonder how I was worthy of your attention and your love.

You've been my partner, my wife, for years now. You and I both know that. But I wanted to make it official. For us to be official so that there is no question about how much I love you, how much I cherish and adore you. This is an outward sign of my love for you, and I would be honored if you'd wear it.

Will you marry me? (Circle your answer)

Yes or Maybe

Rick

Michonne stared at the paper for a full minute without a response. She wasn't sure what she was looking at and how to feel about the letter. She reread it two more times before her brain was finally able to comprehend that Rick had written this letter, to her, and intended to give it to her at some point.

She shook her head in shock and then looked down at the plain gold wedding ring that had been hidden inside the note. She took a few steps backwards until the backs of her knees hit her bed, and then she collapsed onto the bed in a fit of sobs, crawling into the fetal position. She grasped the letter in her hands and squeezed the ring between her fingers.

He'd wanted to propose. He'd wanted to officially marry her. And now, he was gone.

Her grief consumed her and she wept alone on her queen sized bed. Eventually, her body was too tired to cry anymore. She sucked in a deep breath and sat cross legged on the bed, bringing the ring up to eye level again.

She kissed the cool surface and held it to her heart. Her fingers inadvertently brushed against her M necklace. Andre had picked it out for her years ago, and even though she'd lost everything else she'd owned from her life before, even her little boy, she still had that necklace. She'd kept it there, next to her heart, a physical reminder of her little boy.

Michonne stood and walked to the mirror over her dresser. Slowly, she unclasped her necklace, the first time she'd done so since the apocalypse began. She slipped Rick's ring on the chain, and fastened it back around her neck. She admired the shine from the new ornament on her chain, and lovingly caressed it.

She turned back to the letter that was still laying on her bed. She grabbed a pen from her drawer near her bed and read the letter one more time, smiling when Rick said sometimes he felt like a middle schooler, nervous about talking to his crush.

When she got to the end of the letter, a radiant smile broke across her face, even as tears began to run down her cheeks again.

She confidently circled yes.