I had stocked the Antechamber with enough supplies for two people to last a month: water jugs, ration bars, and a portable toilet. Nothing beyond the bare minimum.
Every day, I spoke to them through the speaker mounted inside. I gave them updates on conditions outside. In return, I heard their regrets and their pleas.
Mom's voice always carried the edge of tears. "Iris, I'm so sorry. I never should have treated you the way I did. Please forgive me."
Dad's voice had gone quiet and worn. "I was wrong. Open the door and let us in. We can live properly, all of us together. I'll do better by you, I promise."
I didn't respond to any of it. I kept to the same routine: a brief, factual report, delivered on schedule.
"Temperature outside dropped well below freezing today. The Infected are movi
