a/n: this will be a short fic documenting the chapters of Paul and Rachel's life following the birth of their daughter. there will be four parts all together! it's a bit heavy, but i promise it gets better :-)) this part is quite short, but more is coming :-))

i just wanted to explore the harder parts of marriage and parenting that not lots of writers on here write about. hopefully it's received well :-)) pls leave reviews enthusiastically! ^.^ ~~

i. the Dicentra Formosa (spring)

It was Spring in La Push, Washington. The gloomy clouds had just began to break, giving way to patches of bright blue and letting streams of sunlight filter through its cracks. Flowers of all different kinds were beginning to bloom, opening up their petals tentatively, straining themselves thirstily in the direction of the sun.

The weather began to reflect the general spirits of the Quileute tribe. Spring was upon them- fish would be once again plentiful and feasted upon, berries popping up on the bushes in the gardens of both Emily Uley and Tiffany Call. The children could once again play outside, in the puddles, without the fear of scoldings looming over their heads.

It seemed like the entire tribe was content. For once, the entire reserve was bathed in sunlight. Wolves and humans alike enjoyed this rare sunny day on the shores of First Beach, gathered around a bonfire that cooked various promises of a feast later that night. The air smelled of liveliness and muffins.

All seemed happy, laughing under the sun.

But just twenty minutes away, on the shores of Rialto Beach, in a cabin built by the strong hands of a pack of preternatural men, was someone still stuck in what felt like the worst of weathers La Push had ever seen.

A young woman. Her long, nimble fingers were curled around a mug of hot chocolate. She sipped at the warm drink despite the sunlight that beat down on her figure that was sat on the porch steps of her cabin. Her face was stern, eyes gazing over the horizon with no tell of emotion in them. She blinked slowly, sighing sluggishly as the sounds of a crying baby rang softly in the background of her ears.

Her hair blew gently in the wind- matted, tangled, and frizzy. Just the way she often did not like it. Rachel Lahote did not let her natural hair blow in the wind like this for long, despite the protests of her nagging husband. She sighed.

One more thing I'll have to do, she thought.

She continued to sip at her hot chocolate, ignoring the man who had emerged at the edge of the forest, and the cries of the delicate baby in a crib on the second floor of her cabin, tiny olive arms reaching desperately up for something to hold it.

The cries of the baby had been heard by the ears of many gifted men, who were sat on the couches and floors of Emily Uley's home. One man sighed, closing his eyes and sending his friends an apologetic look- although his mates made it clear that there was nothing for him to apologize for.

"Hey, it'll be alright." one said, clapping his large hand over the man's tattooed shoulder.

"You know Rachel," one began. "She'll snap out of this in no time."

"Just give her time, Paul." a woman's gentle voice floated over the chattering of advice that filled the living room walls. The woman smiled gently at him, eyes filled encouragement and understanding, as they always were. The woman rose up stepped over to give the man a hug. The man's figure bent over, and his arms encircled the small girl's form. It was a familiar hug- one that he had gotten used to ever since the first day he had met Kim Connweller. The girl had been one of his biggest supporters, ever since his best friend had glanced into her eyes one fateful day in their senior year of high-school.

"She'll get over this." Kim pulled away, an encouraging smile on her lips. "You both will."

And with those words, and a small container of his wife's favorite pecan banana muffins, Paul Lahote waved goodbye to his extended family, and took the trail to his home on the shores of Rialto Beach.

His wife had been where he left her that morning- sitting on the porch steps of their cabin. He had found her sitting there in the cool weather of the morning, and draped a flannel of his over her shoulders. He pressed a delicate kiss on her cheek and mumbled softly in her ear.

"I'm going over to Emily's, mmkay Rach? I won't be there for too long. Call me if you need anything." His voice was uncharacteristically soft and lulling. He was usually a man of gruff words, but ever since his wife had been acting out of character lately, he couldn't help but step in and be extra careful around her.

"She starts waking up around noon, but I should be back before then." Paul said quietly, dark eyes searching for any sign of the woman he had married in the weary face he was kissing. He sighed, as the only response he was given was a small nod and short hum of acknowledgment.

"I love you." He had pressed one last loving kiss to her hair, and he was off.

"Hey, Rach." Paul smiled softly, settling down next to his wife momentarily. "Em made your favorite- banana pecan muffins." Rachel's dark brown eyes broke away from beach's horizon for a moment, to scan the container of muffins that Emily Uley had baked for her. She made a small hum of acknowledgement and returned her gaze to the beach, taking another sip of her drink.

Paul's eyes dropped in disappointment. He had hoped that Emily's gesture would elicit some sort of response from her, but it had failed. He was happy though, to see that she had made herself hot chocolate.

This, at least, was some sort of progress.

Just last week, Paul had to serve her breakfast in bed, just so that she would remember to eat something before he left for work.

"I'm leaving the muffins on the counter." He sighed, pushing himself up so that he could collect the baby that was now screaming desperately for attention.

The desperation in the child's shrill cry was so apparent, but Rachel still couldn't bring herself to walk up those stairs and hold the baby.

Billy sighed as the phone line went dead. It had been a solemn update from Paul about his eldest daughter.

Paul was quite thorough, much to Billy's surprise. Paul was never one to describe every detail he could see in the most descriptive of languages, however, Billy knowing fully from experience, it was easy to take notice of things that a wife always did when she suddenly wasn't present to do them.

Apparently, Rachel had stopped watering the herb garden that she had been gifted from Emily. She used to meticulously obsess over keeping the herbs alive, determined to use them in a dish for a family dinner one day. Paul had taken over the responsibility of tending to her garden. He had said that if she would ever return to her interest in the garden, that he wanted it still to be in good shape so that she would not have to work so hard to sprout the herbs all over again. He had also mentioned that Rachel had stopped doing laundry all together. Paul also took over this task.

All of a sudden, there were chores that were being placed on Paul's shoulders, on top of taking care of a newborn baby. He was overwhelmed, to say the least, but refused to ask Rachel for help. He was surprisingly patient with her, Billy mused.

Even he would be a little short with his eldest daughter, if all of a sudden she had dropped everything and left him to take over the tasks she had responsibility over.

It was three months now. Billy had read up on this. Usually, cases like Rachel only last three to four weeks. It was spring now, the baby being born in late fall. This was becoming a growing concern to both Billy, Jacob, and the rest of the pack. It was painful, and a little unnerving to see Rachel Lahote so sluggish.

So, with newfound confidence and hope to bring his daughter back to who she once was, Billy climbed into the passenger seat of his son's truck as it pulled away, veering into the trail to Rialto Beach.

Rachel's motions were almost robotic as she shuffled about her old room, Billy, Jacob, and Paul all peering in through the crack of the door. She showed no apparent sign of emotion- just neutrality.

Jacob shook his head when she even threw her deer plushie in the box labelled Donate, stepping away from the door and muttering.

"She's lost." he said, eyes downcast in sadness. "She didn't even give Doeye a second glance."

Jacob stepped away from the door and jogged to the back door of the house, flinging it open and slamming it shut as he left in the direction of the forest.

Paul faintly heard him call the number of his own wife, complaints and concerns of his older sister the topic of the phone call.

"Let's leave her." Billy suggested with a sigh, wrinkled hands running themselves over his aging face. Before rolling away into the living room, he patted Paul on the shoulder.

"Hopefully something in there makes some progress with her."

Paul nodded, sending one last, sad glance to the love of his life shuffling about her childhood room and stepping away from the door to join Billy in the living room. The laughter of a child and an old man was heard by Paul, which brought a tired smile to his face. At the very least, he thought, at least one of his girls was happy.

Just down the hallway, Rachel was just about done with clearing out her old closet when a small, glass bottle fell to the carpeted floor. She picked it up with a heavy sigh, as if the action of bending down and picking up the small object took all of her strength.

She had almost tossed the unassuming item into the Trash box when her fingers ran over the patterns of the glass. So familiar, she thought.

Looking down, Rachel's eyes widened in recognition. She knew what this was.

When she had first found it, just four years after the accident, it had still smelled faintly of the perfume that it held. She knew the smell perfectly- it was demure- a grown-up, floral scent that clung to the golden skin of Sarah Black.

When she had found it, she kept it perched on her windowsill. Every morning, when the sun peeked its head over the horizon of the Pacific ocean, its golden rays would stream through the cracks of Rachel's blinds and hit the dainty crystal bottle. She would wake one morning, once a year, to see that Spring had arrived- brilliant colors would streak her ceiling and golden sunlight bathed her room.

Rachel was silent. Blinking once, her fingers dropped the bottle into the Keep box, turning away when it hit the box with a dull thud.