Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended. Unending thanks to Susan Ashlea & Saluki168 for their beta efforts on my behalf.

Chapter 1

Charles Swan was an incredible human being. He was the Chief of Police, a sports enthusiast, a wealthy man who made the conscious choice to live a humble life, and a single father. My father.

My mother had left us both behind when I was only an infant. But, with Charlie, I never felt as though my childhood was lacking. He was there to bandage every scrape, of which there were more than a few. We shared thousands of laughs and he helped mend every broken heart. That being said, he never deprived me of learning or experience. He allowed me the freedom to live my life and make mistakes, and to live through and learn from those mistakes. He had even looked on as I married my high school sweetheart at nineteen, withholding his judgment. He was also there a year afterward as I found myself a twenty year old divorcee; I was married and divorced before I could even consume an alcoholic beverage legally.

And now, Charles Swan was gone, his life stolen from him before his time. His essence sucked dry by a dreadful illness know as Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. ALS. Lou Gherig's disease. I wouldn't have wished it or its symptoms on my worst enemy. Watching the person I held most dear being overtaken by it had withered my twenty-five year old body into that of an elderly person.

It was a short three months after my divorce that things began to change. We had both known something was wrong when he became symptomatic. We both also avoided addressing it as long as we could. At first, there were just small indications of something being off; a sudden fall brushed off as stumbling or slightly slurred speech as if he had tossed back a couple at lunch. But I knew my father; he had a steady hand and would never drink on the job. In the very pit of my gut there was no denying that something was extremely wrong with Charlie, and I knew it was something big.

When his falls became more frequent, and his hands trembled when he lifted a spoonful of food to his lips, he had no choice but to seek out the advice of an expert. After a full year of tests and three neurologists later, we had finally received the grim diagnosis.

Dr. Carlisle Cullen was the best and warmest neurologist we had found. He handled my father, and me for that matter, with great care when relaying the news. He explained everything in as much detail as he possibly could and answered every question we asked, even if we asked it twice. He never expressed annoyance or indifference, and he treated my father like a human being rather than a pin cushion. The only thing that had irked me was when he suggested I begin looking into assisted living for my father. There was not a cell in my body that would even consider it. I would care for my dad. I would never leave Charlie to die alone in some dreadful, depressing, generic building with ugly pastel artwork and strangers as bedfellows. His prognosis was three to five years. From the beginning, he was determined to outlive the odds, and he never had a defeatist attitude. He was incredibly strong; much stronger than me.

Although anyone who didn't know my father would take him for your typical blue collar, middle class man, he actually came from great wealth. His father, my grandfather, was an aerospace engineer and had run a successful, multi-million dollar company in Seattle. When he passed away, he left everything to my father-all of his assets and every dollar to his name. Charlie was his only child, making me his only grandchild, although he died before I ever formed memories of him.

Now that it was obvious his life was going to be cut short, Charlie could have retired right away; he had more money than he would ever need to live on. But, Charlie loved his job; it was his passion. He felt responsible for every deputy, and they had become his extended family. So, he didn't give up on his job right away. Instead, he resigned from active duty and remained behind a desk. His shaky hands couldn't control a gun any longer, and his legs couldn't carry him fast enough if a suspect ever gave chase. That was the very beginnings of him losing everything that made him who he was.

I soon learned that living with ALS was all about adjustments. It's an unpredictable disease, affecting each and every one of its inhabitants differently. With every added symptom came an adjustment, and with every adjustment came a battle with Charlie.

Charlie was stubborn. He wouldn't give in to anything easily. It took him falling at the station and hitting his head to finally accept that he needed to use a walker. The thing had collected dust in the three months it sat in the garage since we first received it.

Then there were the emotional effects. As he slowly began taking more and more time off from work, he also fell into a mild depression. I ached when I heard him crying in his bedroom, letting heavy sobs take over. I had never seen him so vulnerable, and I wanted to help, but I was going through emotions of my own.

After living through the first year of his diagnosis, I had no choice but to give up my job at a local travel agency. I had taken the job shortly before my divorce. My days were spent booking travel to locations that spanned the world I so desperately wanted to explore myself. But, even before he was sick, I could never bring myself to leave my father behind. Maybe I subconsciously knew he would need me and that our time was somehow limited.

Charlie was forced to retire a few short months later. His hands could barely grasp at anything; they were losing their function. His legs became heavy weights, and he got very fatigued simply walking from one room to another. We were both becoming prisoners in our small home.

One day I heard him cursing from his bathroom, and I ran in there, alarmed.

"Dad, what is it? Are you okay?"

I noticed tears were streaming down his cheeks, cutting through the shaving cream that he had put there. His hand was shaking uncontrollably, holding a razor, just below his chin.

"I can't do it Bella," he hung his head.

I swallowed the baseball-sized lump in my throat and choked back my own tears as I walked over to him.

I reached up to his hand that had frozen in mid air, attached to the arm he couldn't lift any further, and took the razor from between his fingertips. "Let me help you."

I directed him over to the toilet, where he sat down, and I began to shave his scruff with tender care. I had to be strong. I couldn't show him how it was tearing me apart on the inside. We were both silent during that time, lost in our own thoughts. I knew he felt ashamed that I had to do this for him, ashamed that he couldn't do it himself. I wanted to scream out that it didn't matter, he was still my dad. Instead, I just slowly moved the blade down his cheeks, revealing soft skin below the fragrant foam. It was another adjustment, but it it's effect was profound.

In that moment I realized a hundred things at once. Moments like that were just the beginning of what was to come. I was going to need help. I was going to have to reach out. I couldn't do this alone. He was going to deteriorate. My dad was going to die.

Despite my moment of revelation, I put off making any decisions about it or speaking with Charlie about my concerns. We were two years into his prognosis, and it seemed as if every day brought with it a new challenge.

He could still speak, but it was hard for him to enunciate words, and when he did get them out, it sometimes sounded as if he had a mouth full of food. I was patient and took special care to understand him. That was what made this disease so cruel- Charlie still had something to say, and his mind was fully intact. The illness was trapping that acute mind inside a heavily weighed down human body.

I did everything I could to provide Charlie with what he needed, and what I thought he might enjoy. His old friend Billy from La Push reservation would come visit him, and I would catch up on everything I couldn't when I was caring for my father. Billy brought a lot of levity to the situation and was never short on the quips. He had even suggested to Charlie that they place a bet on when he would finally end up in "wheels." I was mortified at first until I watched as my dad burst into laughter. Billy was a paraplegic himself, so I think Charlie felt much more at ease in the company of his dear old friend.

I hadn't wanted to burden any of my friends with my troubles, especially since they were all off pursuing their lives outside of Forks. My closest, oldest friend was Alice Brandon. She had gone into fashion design and was currently working as a stylist in New York. She had begged me to join her after I divorced Emmett, but I refused. She had fallen in love with the city and, more recently, a man. His name was Jasper, he was southern, and he was a struggling musician living it up in New York. He sounded just like her type. I hadn't seen her for three years, but we made great use of Yahoo Instant Messenger. Thank goodness for modern technology; it was my only window to the outside world at the time. It also made it easier to avoid the dominating topic on my mind. I felt horrible keeping it from her, but it just sort of happened. Talking about it was acknowledging it, and I didn't want to acknowledge the monster.

One rainy day, my mood settled in with the gloomy weather, and I finally decided to pick up the phone and call her. She berated me from keeping something so colossal from her for two years. I tried to explain that I didn't want pity and neither did Charlie, but I could tell from the tone of her voice she was livid.

"Bella, you know me better than anyone! I may have a grand life here in the city, across the country, but you mean more to me than any of that. And Charlie? He's been like a father to me. I am packing my bags and booking a ticket out there immediately." Her voice was sharp and stinging.

"You don't have to do that Alice."

"Oh really, Bella? How can I trust that you will let me know when I need to be there? You are my best friend, and that will never change, but you frustrate me." She let out a heavy sigh on the other end of the line, and I could practically see her rolling her eyes, shaking her free hand in a fist.

"I'm sorry Alice, I should have told you right away. I didn't call you to fight, I just...well...I just really needed a friend." I tried to keep my tone repentant.

"It's a good thing I love you so much Bella. You have my forgiveness. Now, let it out sister. Tell me everything."

Three hours later, my ear was hurting and my arm was sore from holding onto the phone. The flood gates had opened, and everything came tumbling out of me. We cried, we laughed, we reminisced. It was such a relief to share everything with someone, and I realized I should have done it a long time ago. Alice agreed not to hop on a plane as long as I promised to call her with updates and just to talk. It was at this point in my life when I realized who my true friends were.

Not ten minutes after I hung up the phone with Alice, it buzzed again in my pocket.

Without looking to see who was calling, I answered, assuming it was her again. "What, did we forget to cover something?" I laughed into the phone.

"Iz," his voice was deep and concerned. There was only one person who had ever called me by that nickname.

"Emmett?" Although we divorced amicably, we still hadn't talked much in the last few years. He had moved to Seattle a week after everything was finalized and there hadn't been much of a reason for us to keep in touch. No pets, no kids. Hell, we didn't even own a house plant while we were married.

"Yeah. I uh- got a call from Alice. She told me what was up. I just wanted to call and let you know that I'm here if you need anything. I wish you would have told me; I hate to think about you going through all this stuff alone, Iz."

"Em, please don't guilt trip me now. Alice just found out herself. It took me two years to tell her, so don't be offended."

"I'm not offended, I'm just...worried. We went through a lot together, and even though the marriage thing didn't work out for us, I will always care about you."

"I know you will, but I'm fine right now, really. I promise. And honestly Emmett, my ear hurts from the last three hours of conversation. Can we continue this another time?"

I heard a reluctant sigh on the other end. Emmett was a good guy, a really, really good guy. We had just married too young, blinded by our own ignorance and affection for each other. It seemed as soon as the reception had ended, the fairytale turned to shit and reality set in. I was the one who brought up divorce, and I knew how much it hurt him. But, in the end, it was the right thing to do.

"Yeah Iz, call me when you're up for it. Please, give Charlie my love."

"Will do, Em. Take care of yourself and have a good night."

"I'll try. Goodnight, Iz."

And with that, the phone clicked on the other end.

That night was the first night I made forward progression in accepting what was ahead.

Six months later, I had spoken with Alice regularly, Emmett a couple of times, and the ALS was rearing its ugly head again. It scared me shitless. The first time it happened, Charlie and I were sitting at the dinner table. He had just ingested a mouthful of mashed potatoes when he started choking. It was loud and his body lurched forward violently. I was CPR certified and knew how to perform the Heimlich maneuver, but it didn't make sense. Mashed potatoes were soft and would disintegrate, not get stuck in his throat. He waved me off frantically when I got up out of my chair and approached him. I stood there, frozen, not knowing what to do. It seemed like minutes passed but it was probably only seconds, when he began to catch his breath again. I let out the breath that had been trapped in my lungs the entire time.

I called Dr. Cullen's answering service and left a message that we needed an appointment the following day. I wasn't prepared for that. I was far from prepared for that. I paced in my room, my brow furrowed because I was really frightened by the situation and my inability to handle it. I heard Charlie call me. I needed a moment, I had to have some time to breathe, time to figure everything out. But he needed me. He always needed me, and in some ways I resented him for it. It wasn't his fault though, and somewhere, buried deep inside, was the understanding I was so desperately craving. But, it would have to wait because I had to go to him.

I straightened my expression and walked out of my room and downstairs to my needy father. I was a twenty-four year old parent of a dying man who I loved more than anyone.

When I made my way to his side, I saw that he looked downtrodden. "I'm sorry Bella," he eked out.

"Don't be sorry dad. I was just scared, that's all."

He took in a struggled breath and spoke again. "You need to live your life Bella. This is not right for you to have to care for me. I'm worried about you." He panted, out of breath from speaking.

"Dad, you are my life."

He nodded his head, lacking the energy to carry off any more protests.

That night I slept heavily and dreamlessly. I woke up with a start when I heard the phone ringing.

It was Dr. Cullen's office. They could squeeze us in at eleven, so I booked the appointment.

The sleep was rejuvenating and necessary for my sanity. I hadn't slept that well in quite some time. My body was riddled with fatigue; my mind refused to shut down.

Insomnia is a bitch.

At the appointment we explained what had occurred the evening before, and the good doctor broke it down for us. The disease was affecting the function of his esophagus. His food would need to be eaten in small bites and he would require another pill. He was up to seven by that time, and I was sure it wouldn't stop there.

Dr. Cullen decided to examine Charlie afterward so I stepped out into the waiting room. It was thirty minutes before Dr. Cullen came back out, a look of a concern wearing on his otherwise angelic face.

"Bella, may I speak with you for a moment?"

"What is it? Please tell me Charlie is okay." I felt the seeds of panic start to sprout.

He put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Bella, physically your father is okay, despite the progression. However, there is something that is stressing the situation. He's worried about you."

His eyes pierced mine, and I found a measure of comfort in them. He continued before I could respond. "Bella, why don't you come into my office? Charlie is dressing in the examination room, and I would like to discuss something with you."

I nodded and followed him back to his office.

"I don't mean to stress him Dr. Cullen, but I can't leave him. I'm afraid to turn my back at this point."

"Everything you are going through is natural, of course. I understand that you don't want your father to be in assisted living but there are other options. With the appropriate means you can secure a private nurse to come into your home and help care for your father."

"I would have no idea how to go about that, and I don't know if Charlie would be comfortable with a stranger in our house."

"Actually, I asked him about it, and he thought it sounded like a good option. He explained to me that cost wouldn't be an issue. Bella, if you try and take this on by yourself, I fear you will both suffer the consequences."

"Well, how would I go about finding a private nurse?"

"Actually, I have one in mind. I think he would be quite a good fit."

"He?" For some reason I couldn't disassociate the word "nurse" with "female," stupid stereotypical portrayals. Duh. There were lots of male nurses.

"Yes...he." Thankfully the good doctor chuckled. "His name is Edward Cullen and he is my son. He prefers private care but that type of employment is not always easy to secure. I recommend him for his skill, not just because he is my son," he said, his eyes piercing mine.

He scribbled a phone number down on a piece of note paper and handed it to me.

"When you're ready."

That was how Edward Cullen made his subtle entrance into my life.