In the Dark, We Chose - the Valentine Reset
Copyright© 2026 by Sci-FiTy1972
Chapter 7: Valentine’s After the End
One year later, the world no longer remembered Valentine’s Day.
There were no red displays in windows. No balloons tied to mailboxes. No commercials telling people how to love.
February 14th passed now like any other day—cold, gray, and careful.
But Tom remembered.
He always would.
He stood in the basement just before dusk, holding a single candle between his fingers like it was something fragile instead of wax and flame. The generator hummed quietly in the corner, steady and reliable, a sound that had become the pulse of their lives.
Sarah watched from the couch.
“You don’t have to,” she said softly.
Tom smiled faintly. “I want to.”
He set the candle on the small table and struck the match.
The flame caught.
Small.
Defiant.
The light barely touched the walls, but it didn’t need to do more than that.
Across the basement, Sarah stood and walked over, her steps unhurried. A year ago, she would’ve joked about the sentiment. A year ago, she would’ve guarded herself behind humor and distance.
A year ago, she never would’ve imagined standing in a bunker with the boy she used to argue with and feeling ... peace.
“Hard to believe,” she said quietly, “this is the day everything ended.”
Tom looked at the flame. “Feels more like the day everything started.”
She met his eyes.
They stood there in the soft light, close but not touching, the way they always were—by choice, not fear.
Above them, Nora Bryan slept in the small room they’d turned into a safe space. She was older now. Softer in some ways. Stronger in others. She had learned how to live in a world that no longer promised tomorrow.
And Tom had learned how to lead in a world that demanded it.
They had never gone to the facility.
Not yet.
It remained a last resort—an answer to a question Tom prayed he wouldn’t have to ask.
He had chosen something else instead.
To stay.
To help quietly.
To become the man his father never quite believed the world would allow him to be.
Outside, the neighborhood had changed too.
Some houses were empty now.
Some families had moved on in caravans.
Some stayed, learning to share what little they had, building a fragile kind of community that didn’t rely on grids or governments.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was human.
Tom sat on the couch and Sarah joined him, their shoulders brushing lightly. A year ago, that contact would’ve felt charged with confusion.
Now it felt like home.
“You ever think about how weird we are?” Sarah asked with a faint smile.
Tom chuckled. “All the time.”
“No labels,” she continued. “No grand declarations. Just ... this.”
He nodded. “Feels more real that way.”