Prologue
"Bella, baby, you have to eat," Jacob coaxed as he proffered a spoonful of chicken soup. Bella turned away from him, unable to bear the sight of him being so normal. She just wanted to sleep, and wake up without this agonizing pain of knowing that their baby was dead.
Other people would say that the baby was just a blob at this time, but she loved it the moment she learned of its' existence. Funny how your world could revolve around somebody who wasn't even born yet. Their marriage even got moved ahead because of it, but they didn't mind as the baby completed their love.
And now the baby's gone. Bella felt as if a black hole had opened up and swallowed her whole, and she didn't know how to get out. She didn't even know if she wanted to. She just wanted to sleep, and not wake up. Suddenly living was such a chore, and being in this hospital bed was preferable to getting up and facing each day without her baby.
She couldn't understand how the world could go on without pausing and mourning the small life she carried for almost five months. She couldn't see beyond the pain and reach out to Jacob, whom she knew was hurting as well.
Jacob looked silently at Bella, feeling both helpless and useless. He had vowed to love and cherish her, but he didn't know how to alleviate her pain. Losing their baby had him unmanned, almost bringing him to his knees in pain, but he knew he had to be strong for Bella's sake.
"Bella, I need to leave now, but I'll be back tomorrow. In the meantime, just rest, and try to eat, okay?" He turned and left quietly, knowing he would not be getting any reply.
Edward
He won. For the first time in his life, he was in a Grand Slam finals. Not any Grand Slam, but the Wimbledon Championships. He felt like crying even though he hadn't even won the Championships yet. Edward knew he had it in him to win tennis' most hallowed trophy, and the detractors who said he was just another pretty boy who couldn't handle the talent god gave him will eat their words. His head was screwed on properly, thank you, and he'll prove them wrong come Sunday.
Edward knew that sometimes he let the good life interfere with his game, but he had his priorities straight now. He came so close with the previous two Grand Slams just cruising on talent alone. His losses in two semifinals jolted him, and for the first time in his life, his attention narrowed enough for him to concentrate solely on a goal: winning Wimbledon.
Ready-made excuses were set aside, his entourage culled from having bimbos to just having his physio and hitting partner, and practice sessions upped in intensity. He was determined to win them all, and now he has the chance to do so.
The media were in a frenzy at the change they sensed in him. First they remarked on the lack of supermodels usually present in his box during matches, then they noticed that he won more efficiently. They joked that the rise in his game corresponded to the drop in his sex appeal. Edward couldn't care less. His looks were enough to land anybody he wanted, he didn't need to flaunt his wealth or his tennis ranking to do so. Coupled with his innate talent, Edward was spoiled by the world around him.
Whistling in happiness as he unlocked his car, a sudden booming sound startled him along with numbness in his chest. He looked down and saw blood spurting out and making a mess on the drivers' seat. He couldn't make sense of what was happening, and why he couldn't make his body move. He clutched the opened car door but his hands slipped and he stumbled then went down. He heard more than he saw somebody shout and run toward him.
The last thing he felt was a burning pain from somebody biting him.