Twenty minutes North of Macon, GA

A year into the end of the world and things were still looking like shit and Michonne was starting to think it would always be shit when she made her way to the back of the karaoke bar she had been holding up in for the past few days, trying to figure out what her next move would be. She had Andre to think about it and Andrea looked more like the dead than the living. Nothing seemed to be going right. The last good thing that happened to her was Andrea. Being alone with Andre on the road for months at a time was no way to live and as much as she loved her peanut, he didn't make for great conversation. She wasn't looking forward to it just being them two again.

She walked past her two pet walkers that guarded the hallway that led to the private karaoke booths and unlocked the first one that contained Andre who was playing happily with a few toys. Right now he seemed to be fixated on toy cars, making all the appropriate sounds to boot. She was glad she found a soundproof space for him to play. She wanted him to be able to express himself instead of playing the quiet game.

Michonne knelt down and smiled at her son. He was the only thing that could make her smile these days. He had a full head of curly hair, dark and soft like his father's. His eyes were a mix of them both, a beautiful hazel with flecks of blue. It was hard to tell she had anything to do with his conception outside of his tawny skin and bright smile, he was the spitting image of his dad. He was a beautiful child and she hoped he wouldn't grow up to be an asshole like his father-she couldn't deal with her heart being broken a second time.

Andre ran over to his mother and hugged her neck, kissing her face in greeting. "Hi Mommy."

"Hi my love, you've been a good boy while I was away?" She asked.

Andre nodded, smiling, "Yes."

"Have you been practicing with your sword?" She asked when she noticed the small wooden practice sword in the corner.

"Yeah," he said with a decisive nod, his curls flopping with the movement.

"Alright then, let's see what you got," she said, getting up from her knees and waited for him to show her the different stances he practiced. He looked so cute standing there, going through the movements with his tiny sword. It was lucky for them that the karaoke room was just large enough for them to practice. Ideally, she would have him in a less confined space but this would do just as well. He may end up in a tight situation and will need to use his sword when space is limited. And she would rather a tight practice than no practice. She didn't want him to end up like those kids at the F.E.M.A. camp. If she hadn't been there...She shook herself from those thoughts and focused on Andre.

He did a pretty decent job with the forms, they would need to work on the transitions between them. But she didn't think he was quite ready to learn the actual thrusts and swings of the real sword, so he would just have to keep practicing his forms. Michonne wanted to make sure he knew how to defend himself should she not be around, the dead were getting numerous and she needed him to be able to take care of himself.

"Good job Andre, you're a natural," she complimented.

Andre smiled wide at her and bowed.

Michonne picked her son up, taking him over to the small air mattress she had set up in the room. Making sure the door was closed behind her, she sat him on the mattress and began digging through the bag of items she found on her run. She pulled out a face mask, and some gloves before putting them on. She took out the medicine bottle that had the word fever reducer scrawled across it in marker.

"I have to go take care of Aunt Andrea. Don't leave this room okay peanut?" She asked, holding the medicine out to her son.

"Okay, but I'm not a peanut, I'm a peanut butter cup," he laughed.

"That's my baby." Michonne chuckled, kissing her son's cheek.

She picked up the walkie-talkie that was beside him and placed it in his hands.

"Press the button if you need me. Okay?" She pointed to her walkie-talkie that was still clipped to her belt. "Mommy will come right away."

"Okay Mommy," Andre agreed.

She gave him another kiss on his forehead before leaving the room, locking the door behind her.

It wasn't that she didn't trust her son, but she was still worried about his safety. She had seen the looks other survivors had given him and it scared her. She would rather him not see the worst side of people.

Walking just next door to the booth that contained Andre was a petite blonde woman lying on one of the couches in the private karaoke room. Michonne dug a bottle of water from her bag and walked up to the napping woman. Gently, she tapped the woman's leg.

"Andrea, I have something for your fever. Wake up," she said.

The woman slowly opened her eyes and blinked at Michonne and the large water bottle that was being pushed in her face.

"You can't stay here. You have Andre to think about," Andrea said as she pushed away the water bottle Michonne offered her. She smiled wearily at her best friend when she saw the look of determination cross her face as if she was battling something internally. "My namesake can't have his mama distracted by someone on their last legs."

"Andre's a family name. It's a complete coincidence," Michonne muttered as she knelt in front of Andrea who wasn't fairing too well.

Her cold had progressed into a fever, he skin pale and clammy. There was also a bruise forming on her head from when she had a coughing fit and hit her head on the metal cabinet. The cut wasn't bad, but it still concerned Michonne. She poured some water on the cut and pulled an alcohol wipe to clean the area around the cut from the bag of supplies she retrieved from the pharmacy. Finally, she covered it with a band-aid and tossed the bag to Andrea.

"There's some fever reducer in there. Take it and drink the whole water bottle. We don't have any antibiotics, but these should help," Michonne said.

"Always the hero," Andrea laughed as she took the medicine and drank some water. "Good soldier won't leave your post."

"Yeah well," Michonne began as she sat on the couch opposite of the woman, watching as she took her medicine. "Who else am I gonna get to watch the little guy while I make a run? I have an invested interest in keeping you alive...besides the fact you are my son's Godmother."

Andrea sighed as she settled back against the couch and watched Michonne, her face scrunching up in thought.

"You've done so much for me. More than you ever had to. You're a good friend, a better person and an even better mother. It's no wonder you survived when most others didn't," Andrea said. "I don't think I'm doing the best job as Godmother though. I can barely take care of myself let alone a little boy. He doesn't need the burden of having to worry about me, I think it's best I go."

Michonne stared at her friend and frowned, "So you're gonna die alone in a karaoke bar? That's a shit way to go."

"Well, if I can't survive a simple cold, then what's the point?" Andrea asked, her face becoming a blank mask.

Michonne hated it when Andrea did that. She was so quick to give up, to sacrifice herself. Someone would see it as being noble, a selfless act, but she knew her best friend, she was just being stupid. Michonne could tell Andrea was tired. Hell, they all were, but there were some people you couldn't give up on.

"It's an honor I take seriously—being his godmother." The blonde said before having a coughing fit. "So heed my words, take him and go. I won't have you two dying for me."

Michonne frown deepened and she looked out of the door into the hallway. The chains of her pet walkers rattled slightly as they stumbled in place, not able to really go anywhere. She thought about cutting them loose, Mike and Terry, and killing them for good but she was still angry. Angry at them for almost causing her to lose the most precious thing in the world and angry at herself for trusting them in the first place. It was crazy but they were doing a better job protecting him in death than they ever did alive.

And now thanks to them, they had some semblance of safety. The trio found the bar a week ago and made it their safe house. It had been easy to secure, all they had to do was move the pool table against the door and block the exit in the back with a couple of heavy barrels. The place had enough provisions to sustain them for a while, including canned food and bottled water. It was a temporary respite from the dangers lurking outside, but Michonne knew they couldn't stay holed up forever.

"Andrea, you're not a burden," Michonne insisted, her voice soft yet firm. "We're in this together, remember? We look out for each other."

Andrea managed a weak smile, her eyes reflecting gratitude mixed with exhaustion. "I know, Michonne. But I can't shake this feeling that I'm holding you back. You have Andre to think about, and he needs you more than ever."

Michonne bit her lip, her throat becoming tight. She couldn't disagree with her friend. After losing her boyfriend Mike in the early days of the outbreak, her life revolved around protecting Andre, making sure he had everything he needed and that he never felt the pain of being parentless. He had a roof over his head, three square meals a day, and clothes on his back. That was her priority. But so was Andrea.

"If things get bad, you have my word that I will take him and go, but right now we stick together," Michonne replied with conviction. "It's been us three for months, and it will stay that way."

"But...," Andrea tried to protest but was cut off by another round of coughing.

"No buts," Michonne stated firmly. "Get some rest. We'll stay here for a few more days but once you start looking a bit better, we can get back on the road. Find someplace permanent. Maybe look for your people."

Andrea scoffed, "Find my people. It's been months Michonne! We're a few hours out of Atlanta by foot and they had cars. They're long gone by now if they're not already dead."

"You don't know that," Michonne stated, trying to sound hopeful but she knew the odds.

"Yeah," Andrea said as she laid down. "I do."

"Stop being such a drama queen," Michonne joked, not sure how to respond. Yeah, things were shit and there was a real possibility that Andrea wouldn't pull through but they needed to hope. "You'll be fine. I promise."

Andrea rolled over to her side and closed her eyes, letting sleep take her.

Michonne stepped out of the room and walked into the one her son was in. She could hear him muffled laughing from the other side of the door. She smiled as she opened the door and was greeted with the sight of Andre sitting on the floor, playing with the walkie-talkie.

"Are you okay peanut?" She asked as she picked up her sword.

"Yeah," he replied.

"What's funny?" She asked as she went through the stances Andre was supposed to do, practicing the movements with her sword.

"Someone is using a different radio. He's calling for help." Andre said as he handed her the walkie-talkie, pressing the button so she could listen.

"Attention all survivors, this is a pre-recorded message from Woodbury, Georgia. If you are receiving this transmission, please listen carefully..."

Several miles away in a prison south of Atlanta

Rick Grimes, former Deputy Sheriff of King County and leader of the survivors residing in a nearby prison was making his rounds around the grounds of the prison, making sure the walker population stayed low and there was nothing else that was a potential threat. Rick was a good leader, his group knew him to be fair, strong, and a great strategist. He was also a very determined man. When the dead rose, his number one priority was to find his family. His wife and son. Now, almost a year after the end of the world, his family had grown to include many people he was almost certain he would never come across pre-apocalypse.

He was no longer the same man he was back when he woke up from his coma and found the world had gone to shit. He wasn't just the husband and father who would go the extra mile to keep his family happy and protected. He was also a leader. Someone who was looked to for guidance. A man that didn't take bullshit and wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. And he thought that would be the end of his evolution but now he was a grieving man. He was grieving the loss of his wife and his failed marriage. He was grieving what could have been had he followed his heart five years ago instead of some fucked up sense of duty. He was grieving for the future he lost. The future he thought he had.

Rick was no stranger to loss. He lost his parents, a good friend, his best friend and his old partner, a lover but none of them could compare to the feeling of losing Lori in all of this. They may have been going through a rough patch but he loved her deeply. He always would, she was the mother of his children and had been his wife for more than ten years. Even when they were separated, he still loved her...he just wasn't in love anymore.

Their relationship had been a roller coaster of ups and downs. In the beginning, it was a whirlwind romance that quickly ended in a shotgun wedding. Lori had gotten pregnant and they had rushed into things because of a fear of what everyone would say. They hadn't meant for it to happen. It wasn't planned, it was a surprise. A blessing and a curse. But they did what they thought was the right thing to do. Rick married her, bought a house, and tried to become a respectable member of the community. He wanted to make his wife proud and show her that he was worth the sacrifices she made.

For a while, it had seemed like a perfect life. He had a job, a home, and a beautiful family. Things had started great but things began to fall apart a few years into their marriage. They began fighting over every little thing. Their fights became more frequent, and their sex life was non-existent. Rick worked so hard and Lori was often left at home with their son. It had been difficult, the adjustment from lovers to friends and co-parents. Eventually, they had drifted so far apart that the only time they spoke was when Rick was home with Carl.

Rick knew he was at fault for the failure of his marriage. He had neglected his wife and his duties as a husband. It was no wonder that Lori had fallen for Shane, the man was her complete opposite.

His thoughts drifted to Michonne, the woman he found happiness for a few months while Lori and he were separated. Rick found himself chuckling at the irony. When they were separated by distance, Lori found happiness in Shane and when they were considering divorce, Rick found Michonne. It was a small consolation for his grief, but a consolation nonetheless.

He wondered how Michonne was doing in all of this. Did she make it? Was she alive or was she one of the dead? The thought of her being a walker, her soul trapped within a rotting shell made his chest tighten. Besides Carl, the time that he spent with her was one of the only good things that came out of his failure of a marriage. He wondered what his life would have been like had he stayed with her and not attempted to reconcile his marriage for Carl's sake. Maybe she would have had a child that looked like her and the two could have raised their kids together.

Maybe Carl would have a second person he could call Mom.

Rick shook his head, clearing those thoughts. They weren't productive. It also wasn't fair to the memory of Lori or Michonne. He needed to focus on keeping his people safe and not thinking of what could've been.

"Dad," Carl called out to him as he walked over. "Everything okay?"

Rick put his Colt Python back in his holster and gave his son a weary smile.

"I'm alright," he answered.

"Beth put Judith down for a nap. Judith is gonna run out of formula in a couple of weeks. Mom was supposed to-we need to get more. Sooner rather than later," Carl said.

Rick nodded, "We'll have to make a run soon. Maggie and Glenn are supposed to go on a run in a few days. I'll have them see what they can find. In the meantime, if things get rough, Hershel might have some suggestions for portioning until we can find some more."

Carl nodded, "Yeah."

The pair stood in silence as they looked around the field, seeing how the grass had begun to grow back. In the distance, he could see the ghost of Lori staring at him, wearing her wedding dress. She looked beautiful...serene.

His waking moments were haunted by memories of Lori, his wife lost to the chaos of the world. Yet in the sanctuary of sleep, it was Michonne who danced through his dreams. Her radiant smile illuminated the darkness, her rich, ebony skin glowing with an ethereal light. In his sleep, her laughter echoed, carrying with it the warmth of happier times, and her playful wit brought a fleeting sense of solace amidst the turmoil of his mind.

"Dad, you okay?" Carl asked, concern etched on his face.

Rick sighed and rubbed his forehead, his eyes still on the apparition.

"Yeah," he whispered, blinking the image away.

"Are you thinking about mom?" Carl asked.

Rick didn't say anything for a moment.

"Do you want to talk about her?" Carl asked.

Rick's brow furrowed, he didn't want to talk about his dead wife, he wanted to forget her. He wanted to forget his failure of a marriage and how his inability to protect her had left both Carl and Judith motherless.

"Not really. It's a bit too fresh," Rick answered.

Carl nodded, not pushing the subject.

"I should be asking you that," Rick continued. "I'm sorry you had to be the one to-" He couldn't say it.

Carl swallowed hard and took a deep breath, "She was in a lot of pain. I did the right thing."

Rick nodded and patted his son's shoulder, "Yeah, you did."