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They're in Kraków the first time Edward hears it — the dreaded teenager whine.

"Do I have to help you set up the tree?"

It takes a moment to collect himself to realize that Eleanor Marie Masen Cullen is thirteen years old now. It's a horrifying thought.

He comes back to himself, puts on his best stern, fatherly voice. "Yes, you have to. It's a Christmas family tradition."

Eleanor waves a hand back and forth between them. "Is this a family?"

It's a slap in the face and a low blow. The coven had decided to go their separate ways back in March and to reconvene in a few years. He breathes deeply and reminds himself that she's a teenager. She doesn't mean it when she lashes out like that. And his daughter — his sweet, sweet girl who has been his whole world for thirteen years — is immediately contrite. "Daddy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

"It's okay, Eleanor," he answers, trying to hold it together when she throws herself into his arms. Soon enough he's going to have to let her go, and the thought devastates him.

They go through their normal Christmas routine of decorating the tree and lighting candles for wishes as Eleanor used to say when she was little. "What was your wish, sweetheart?" Edward asks his daughter.

She smiles slyly. "That leather jacket we saw at that little boutique."

"Oh, right...that leather jacket," Edward grins. "We're just going to have to wait and see if Santa brings it for you."

"Dad, you're such a dork," she laughs. She leans her head on his shoulder. "What about you? Did you make a wish?"

Edward is quiet for a moment, images of a beautiful eighteen-year-old Bella. Forever eighteen, forever perfect, forever loved. "I don't wish anymore, sweetheart."

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