"I doubt you'll ever read this, let alone see this but, here it goes." He writes on the sheet of paper, making sure his words are legible.
"Let's see... Ah, you're two months old. Born healthy and happy. Everyone in the groups spoils you. Not something I approve of, but not something I'd stop." He smiles, thinking of how every celebrated his little girl's birth. Everyone tried to make the best of it, even though Lissa died during childbirth.
"It's fall now, gonna be winter soon. We found a bunch 'a little coats in a old store down by the city. Everyone loves seeing you wearing 'em. I uh... I hope you'll be told of your mother in better ways than I can but, I'll try. Lissa was a beautiful woman, always very selfless. She was too trustin' though. She had blue eyes and black hair. I'm hopin' you'll inherit her beauty 'cause I ain't much to look at." He chuckled softly. "She was loving of everyone til the end. Lissa was a great woman."
"Named you after her. You know, in memory. Lissa Hathers. Though nobody really cares 'bout last names anymore. I don't know what else to write to you, Lissy. I wish I was good at writing that sentimental stuff that Sarah always writes."
"Please remember me and you're mother. I... I don't want to be forgotten after I die. I'll always love you, Lissy. Be a good girl, okay?"

Thomas stares down at the paper for a long minute. With a deep sigh, he sets it on a shelf and sits down, twirling the pencil between his fingers. His baby girl would never be able to run out to an ice cream truck for ice cream; never swing on a swing set among friends in the summer. Thinking pessimistically, she'd probably die before she turned 13.
His hands shake lightly, and the lighting fixture above flickers. His sleeve is soaked with blood, so he pulls it up to look at the bite on his forearm.
"Not much time left." He murmurs, standing up and stretching. "I'm done with everything, Rebecca." He calls out through the bars on the door's window. "I can't kill you, Thomas." She says, hoisting the rifle up on her shoulder. "I won't be one of them, Becca." He says. "We can try to stop the infection. Rick's got the idea that if we cut off the arm-" "Even if it saves me, that's my shooting arm. I'll be as good as dead and no use to any of ya'h."
Her eyes are brimming with tears. "No use crying about it. This is the world we live in, ain't it?" He turns and picks up the paper. "Make sure she gets this when the time comes." He says, sliding the paper through the bars. "You would never be a burden to us, Thomas." She says with a tone of pleading. He shakes his head solemnly.
"Get it over with." He grabs the bars with his hands, and moves up to put his face against them. "We'll make sure Lissa always knows about you." Rebecca raises the gun to his head, right between his eyes. A tear rolls down his cheek. "Make sure she's good." His voice is choked up. Rebecca's lower lip is trembling as she tightens her grip.
A slight squeeze and he falls to the floor.
The light above him flickers out, and the pencil he had been griping in his hand rolls under the chair.
There ceased to be life in that small room.