Winter happened suddenly in December. She had only noticed it when she stepped up to her bedroom window and looked down onto the street (she never actually expected the silver Volvo to be there, waiting, but she still hoped.) She rested her forehead on the cool glass, feeling soothed suddenly, as her breath wafted against the glass, melting the icy stars frosting the window. It would be the longest, coldest winter she'd ever remember.

The environment she'd once thought of as 'too green' was white now. Snow blanketed the tree outside her bedroom, the branches bowing down with the weight of the icy precipitation, looking drooped and sad, ready to snap beneath the excess weight.

The trip to school that morning, the last before Christmas break, was fraught with peril. Sheets of black ice coated the city streets, and the creeks and rivers were all but frozen over, only a thin vein of running water left open in the middle.

The snow, the ice flooded her mind with memories of another time: a van careening toward her in an icy parking lot, lying pinned between the cool, hard lines of his body and the concrete. Once the memories surfaced it was difficult to hold back the tears. Not only for the loss of him, but that every day it was harder to recall the precise color of his eyes, the soft timber of his voice, the sweetness of his smell, and the way his cool body felt next to hers in the middle of the night. They were painful to dwell upon, but she clung to them with as much ferocity as she could bear. Everything, everywhere reminders of him ate away at the intact pieces of her.

And it was at night that the memories haunted her the most. It was when Charlie snored obliviously, and Renee dozed on the couch downstairs (it was still embarrassing that her dad had to call her mother to come care for her in the first place.) Sleep evaded her now. Night had once been a time of intimate conversations and caresses, of lullabies, and dreams that involved a beautiful angel, her personal protector. Nighttime was now a prison of recalled memories and subsequent tears, a constant reminder that she was alone. When sleep did come, it was not the sweet reprieve she'd hoped for.

Nights were long and too silent with no lullaby softly hummed in her ears between kisses, no sweet breath caressing her face. Sometimes, before the nightmares came, she would close her eyes, wrapping herself in her quilt, imagining he was there in the room, the way he used to be—lurking in the dark shadows, waiting in the rocking chair, or beside her in the narrow bed. The nightmares always came though, leaving her to feel varying degrees of loneliness. Sometimes they caused her to cry out, prompting Renee to slowly rock Bella in her arms, whispering words that would never truly soothe her the way his sweet breath and cool embrace would. Sometimes she awoke slowly, conscious of the too quiet bedroom and the lack of arms around her waist and anxious whisper in her ear—"Bella?"

And the fact that it was Christmastime did not help matters. She laid in the dark, torturing herself, wondering where he was now, what he was doing, was he happier now that he didn't have to pretend to be human? Was he happier with someone else?

The numbers on the clock turned over bringing forth a new day—and a wave of tears.

Christmas day.

She turned over, looking at the empty rocking chair and closed her eyes, blinking away the tears. Her bedroom was too empty, and she felt too alone. Grabbing the quilt off her bed, Bella wrapped it around herself, quietly tip-toed down the stairs, sneaking past Renee on the couch, and curled up in Charlie's chair.

The multi-colored lights on the scrawny, sparse, artificial tree from Charlie's attic blinked intermittently. They weren't supposed to. It would have been her first Christmas with him, and she couldn't help but wonder what it might have been like. She could just imagine how the big, white house in the woods would look, all decked out in garland, lights, and poinsettias at Alice's behest. There would be mistletoe, and she would inevitably try to lure him underneath it. He would trail his lips across her throat, whispering the words "Merry Christmas, my love." They would have a Christmas tree bigger than Emmett, adorned with ornaments from Tiffany's. No doubt the family would exchange ridiculously expensive presents, and she and Edward would have squabbled about price limits on gifts—but what she wouldn't give to have the argument now.

Snow fluttered past the window like glitter, and the yellow star atop the tree shone brilliantly; it was difficult not to smile and wonder where he would spend his Christmas. The hope that he could be content, despite her misery, was enough. Edward deserved happiness. Imagining him smiling, sparkling, in the full moon's light amidst the snow was the best gift she could imagine.