Chapter 1326: Story 1326: I Shot My Husband
The first ti I shot soone, it was an accident.
The second ti, it was rcy.
The third ti… it was him.
We found the safehouse buried beneath a collapsed theater in what used to be the Eden District. The neon signs still flickered faintly: NOW SHOWING — FOREVER LOVE. I almost laughed at the irony.
Ryder pried open the tal trapdoor with a crowbar. Tess and Milo were already inside. I was the last to enter.
The mont I stepped in, I froze.
He was there.
Daniel.
My husband.
His face was gaunt, skin pale, but those eyes—they still looked like mine. Like ho.
He stepped from the shadows slowly. “Lara?”
My knees gave. I almost dropped my rifle.
“I thought you were—”
“I was.”
“No. I an… I saw the fire. The evacuation. The hospital—”
“I got out,” he said, voice cracking. “I’ve been hiding here ever since. I didn’t think… I didn’t hope.”
I ran to him.
And for five minutes, we forgot the end of the world.
We lit candles. We shared rations. We held each other like ti had folded. Even Tess smiled.
It felt like a miracle.
But Milo kept glancing at Daniel’s arm.
A twitch. A shudder. A discoloration along the wrist.
“He’s sick,” Milo whispered when Daniel left to check the barricades.
“No,” I snapped. “He’s just malnourished.”
“He’s turning,” Ryder said bluntly. “You saw the skin. That vein color isn’t malnutrition—it’s pre-necrosis. Late stage. Maybe two days left.”
I refused to believe it.
That night, I stayed up watching him sleep.
His breath hitched.
His fingers jerked.
And in one mont—barely a whisper—he moaned for at.
Raw.
He woke up to the barrel of my gun.
“I love you,” I said.
He didn’t cry. He didn’t plead.
He just looked at and whispered, “Thank you.”
And then—he smiled.
A real, human smile.
Not the hunger that follows.
Just love.
Still him.
Even in decay.
I pulled the trigger.
Clean. Between the eyes.
His body fell back onto the cot.
Still warm.
Still him.
Then… not.
Tess held as I shook. I buried my face into her shoulder, the sobs torn from my ribs.
“I shot my husband,” I whispered again and again.
And no one told I was wrong.
The next day, I carried his wedding ring in my palm. It burned like a promise and a curse.
Not because I killed him.
Because I let myself love again.
In this world, love wasn’t a gift.
It was a test.
And I passed it in blood.
So vows don’t end with death.
So begin with it.
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