Life Is What Happens

by mpg

It took just one appointment, one word, to change everything Bella thought she knew about what her life would hold. As John Lennon once said, life is what happens when you are busy making other plans.

Contest: The Second Season of Our Discontent Anonymous Angst Contest

Title: Life Is What Happens
Picture Prompt Number: 2
Pairing: Bella / Edward
Rating: M
Word Count (minus A/n and header): 7930

Summary (380 characters or less, including spaces and punctuation): It took just one appointment, one word, to change everything Bella thought she knew about what her life would hold. As John Lennon once said, life is what happens when you are busy making other plans.

Warnings and Disclaimer: I own nothing. A huge thank you has to go to Albymangroves for betaing this story for me. This story may contain difficult / sensitive subject matter that may include one or more of the subjects listed in Rule #7 on the Season of Our Discontent profile page. Please refer to the profile page before reading if you are concerned about content.

~ 0 ~

Just because she comes off strong,
Doesn't mean she didn't fall asleep crying.
Even though she acts like nothing's wrong,
Maybe, just maybe, she's good at lying.

(Anon)

~ 0 ~

Life Is What Happens

~ 0 ~

I nodded stoically as the doctor delivered the news. It was precisely what I'd expected her to say, but that didn't make it any easier to hear. Her words—each one carefully selected to soften the blow—said less than the clinical compassion she used when she spoke. Instead of the gentle let-down she'd no doubt intended, her quiet statement pierced my heart even further.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Cullen," she murmured finally, momentarily placing her hand on my arm in what I was sure was meant to be a comforting gesture. Her fingers felt foreign, cold like the surgical objects I was intimately familiar with now. She continued to speak and, while my mind listened, my heart refused to focus on the words. The pain was unbearable.

When her words stopped, I stood. I moved through the routine I was already used to. I smiled and nodded, pretending she hadn't just cut me to the core. That the last of her few simple words—the one she'd almost whispered as if that would somehow remove the devastation—didn't cause my heart to swell with pain until it was almost impossible to swallow. That everything she'd said hadn't caused my eyes to sting.

I knew there was no evidence of my inner turmoil on show to the outside world; I was too practiced in my deceit. I had no idea what the kindly doctor thought of me, smiling and not breaking under the weight of the news she'd doled out so cautiously. I wondered whether she was used to people collapsing under the weight of it, or whether most people took the news like I had. Was her office filled with plastic people—the ones who smiled and looked fine but were broken inside. I began to consider that of everyone in the world, this doctor— who had barely known me six months—might be the one who could see through my lies. I felt itchy and impatient to leave her office at the thought of it. I felt as if my carefully constructed layers of insulation where being stripped away by her gentle eyes and cautious words. I turned away, wanting to be away from her. She watched me intently while I ached to burst out of her office, not able to face her quiet scrutiny for a minute more.

"Thank you," I pushed out with the last of my held breath, cautiously ensuring my words came out smooth and unhindered. I was trying desperately to convey to her that the news I'd just been given didn't matter. It was all a lie; of course it mattered. It was more important than I could ever admit to another person—even my husband—but it was easier to just push down the pain and pretend I felt nothing. Maybe one day I would be able convince myself that it meant nothing. That I hadn't failed.

I didn't wait for her to say anything more. My anxiety was starting to build with every second I was stuck in that tiny office with the woman who so carefully guarded each word. I walked briskly past the reception desk, giving the ladies behind it a small wave and a tight smile. I wondered whether they saw a lot of women leaving the office with their hopes dashed and their dreams shattered, trying to hold themselves together for just one moment more. I figured they saw enough to know what I was,or more specifically what I would never be.

I tried not to consider the fact that I was one of the unlucky ones. Many other women would pass through the same doors and speak to the same doctor and be given news worlds away from my own. They would smile naturally and not have to force themselves to be polite. They might even cry, and no one would look down at them for doing so. I couldn't cry about my news; it would show how weak I was. I ducked my head as a traitorous tear slid down my cheek, and pushed myself toward the exit. I brushed away the tear and re-established my carefully constructed mask. It was essential that I held it firmly in place whenever I was around other people.

Somehow, I held it in. Each step felt like an eternity under the secretaries' steely gazes. I felt like they could see through to my core, to the place where I kept my secrets locked away, which had been wrenched open with gentle words and a pointless apology. I felt like I had been branded with failure; permanently marked somehow.

Rapid steps led me through the front doors and out into yet another blistering hot summer day. A woman holding a small bundle securely to her chest emerged from a different clinic, ironically located beside my specialist's office I wrapped my arms tightly around myself and quickly turned away from the sight, walking just a little faster.

I felt a cool tear slide down my cheek. My mask was slipping. I knew it was happening, and yet I was unable to stop it. My heart was breaking. The pain inside me was new and raw, and yet old and deep rooted at the same time. Every time I thought I'd finally, finally, accepted the inevitable truth, I'd face a new challenge and land squarely back at the beginning—a little more broken and torn each time.

I unlocked my car and slipped inside. The air was even hotter inside the tiny space, burning my eyes and scorching my throat as I struggled with each breath. At some point between opening the car door and sliding the key into the ignition, tears had started to flow in earnest.

In the rear-vision mirror, I caught sight of my red-rimmed eyes, seeing the sadness that I tried so hard to never let anyone else see; even if it meant avoiding eye contact. It was just so much easier to keep it all hidden, so much less to explain. For years I had run a gauntlet, dodging the question which had become unavoidable the moment I had uttered the phrase, 'I do'.

My husband and I had both agreed we wanted to have a big family. We'd planned on starting straight away—we even joked about our honeymoon being the perfect chance to have plenty of uninterrupted time to start trying. We'd had enough we time by the time we'd gotten engaged, and were both more than ready to hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet. We talked about baby names and dreamed about what our kids might look like. He wanted our children to get my features, I wanted them to get his.

Just before our wedding, we'd agreed not to tell anyone we were trying until something happened. We didn't want to jinx it. Imagining the looks of pity I would receive from family and friends, it wasn't a decision I could regret.

At first, no one had really asked us outright; they just assumed we were happy enough in our honeymoon phase. Over time though, people had begun to question when it would happen or tell us how much they wanted it for us.

It started with my own mother. She would drop little hints every so often about how desperately she wanted grandchildren. Over time, the hints grew bigger until she finally just questioned us outright. Soon after, my mother-in-law, Esme, began the same process. Then my sister-in-law, Alice, started.

Slowly, every person in our life seemed fixated on my ovaries.

Each time the question was asked, I would smile and pretend that I wasn't dying on the inside as I gave my answer. Over the years, my answers had evolved in order to delay the next inquisition just that little bit longer.

We're both really keen to start a family as soon as possible.

We're not really sure when we'll start.

It will happen when it happens. We don't want to rush anything.

When the time is right.

We're not sure we're ready for that just yet.

The one thing I had learnt over the years of questions and hiding from the truth was this: life moves on, regardless of whether you want it to.

I learned that lesson one painful, heartbreaking pregnancy after another. The first was Alice. She and Jasper, her husband, boasted about trying to start a family a few months after they were married.

She fell pregnant the first month she came off the pill.

I burned with jealousy and rage for days. Of course I congratulated her and genuinely wanted to feel happy for her, but I just couldn't. My envy that she could so easily have the one thing that I longed for more than anything else was just too great. Babies and bellies began to fill my mind, my days were spent daydreaming about what if… I bought three pregnancy tests and took them home, hoping that for once, just once, I wouldn't get the same disappointing single stripe, underlining my failure. Of course, that was exactly what I saw on every one of them.

Each month was an eternity as I went through the same cycle of hope and denial. If I was even a day late, I would stock up on tests and do one a day until my body showed the evidence of its betrayal.

Each month, I was forced to endure the reality that I was broken. That I'd failed.

It was such an easy, natural thing, and I'dfailed.

So many people seemed to have accidents—a missed pill, an unprotected one night stand or a broken condom—and they had to 'come to terms' with their pregnancy.

I had to come to terms with the truth that I'd failed.

The worst thing for me was the tiny fissures that opened up in my relationship with my husband. When Edward and I married, we were young and starry-eyed, but still realistic. We knew relationships were hard. We knew our marriage would require work and determination to see us through the difficult times. We just never assumed the same thing applied to babies. We thought we would quibble and fight about how we should raise our child, not endure days of awkwardness and silent accusations about not being able to conceive in the first place.

It had taken us the longest time to actually get tested. Neither of us was willing to accept that there was something wrong, and asking for help was the first step to admitting there was a problem. Neither of us knew how to acknowledge the fact that we couldn't get something so natural right.

Finally, though, we had to.

Finally, it was impossible to overlook the obvious; we'd been trying for five years with no success.

We went to the first appointment together, a tiny of bubble of hope in our chests that maybe seeing a doctor would help. Maybe we hadn't really failed after all. Maybe there was just something insignificant causing the problem; something common and easily fixed. Edward had gone into a room with a pile of magazines for his test and I'd endured countless sessions being strapped to a chair or laid out on a table, being poked and prodded until I had tears in my eyes over the humiliation and pain I'd had to endure.

I hated to admit it, but I was jealous of Edward and the ease of his examination. He'd had to do something which wasn't entirely foreign to him, and not wholly un-enjoyable, while I'd been invaded. Test after test had required me to spread my legs like a common whore, and in the end that's how I felt. I felt used and demeaned and I couldn't even handle Edward touching me for days after each appointment. Finally, he demanded I allow him back into my life and I'd broken down in his arms.

I began to question the value of trying anymore. It was driving us apart, and I could no longer see how the end result would be worth it. Then I would be handed a baby to hold, or shown a photo of the newest addition to someone's family and I would know that it was worth it; it was all worth it. I just had to be patient and wait, and the doctors would fix everything. Eventually, I would hold our baby in my arms.

We got Edward's results almost immediately, but mine took longer. Each time I thought the doctors had tested everything they could, they conjured up a new investigation. Months passed by, counted by the new procedures I had to endure. I had to have blood tests every few weeks to monitor my hormone levels. I had iridescent dye injected into my uterus. All the while, we couldn't get a straight answer on Edward's results, only that they weren't optimum and that he had a low count.

It wasn't until the last appointment that I knew, really knew, what our situation was.

The final word of the doctor reverberated through my mind once more.

Infertile.

She may as well have said broken.

Or failure.

I'd failed as a mother, before I even had the chance to hold a precious bundle of my own in my arms. I would never know the joy of hearing, 'It's a boy!' I would never meet the little girl I'd dreamed of having for years; a sweet little girl with rose-red cheeks, chocolate eyes and bronze ringlets.

My eyes dropped away from the mirror. I could no longer stand to see the accusations there. If only we'd gone to see someone sooner, maybe things would have been different. If only I'd eaten this, or avoided that, maybe somehow that would have changed the outcome.

My eyes fell to the clasp of my over-sized handbag. I had begun to accessorize with it when the doctor had started giving me pamphlets and information about tests and options. I hated walking out of her office with the evidence of my malfunctions on display to the world.

Somehow, the latest set of leaflets she'd given me was worse than any before. Instead of being full of hope and information about what to do to give my body the best chance at conception, they covered IVF, donation and adoption. I'd shoved them unceremoniously into my bag, and now my fingers hovered over the clasp as if it was a poisonous snake ready to bite.

I withdrew my hand and placed it back in my lap. My forehead fell to the top of the steering wheel. The sun-baked leather inflamed my skin, but the burn was nothing compared to the pain of my failure. Fat tears dripped onto my hands and darkened the denim of my jeans.

When we'd first started seeking help, Edward attended every appointment with me. He held my hand and told me it would be okay. He offered his support silently while the doctors had their way with me and left me feeling violated. Eventually though, that support had gone from unwavering to strained. Then, after his diagnosis, it disappeared all together. He took it to heart and said it was unnecessary for me to keep seeing the doctor when he was the broken one. I continued my appointments in secret, spurred on by the hope that if at least one of us was fixed, it would make things easier. That maybe if my body worked right, we could investigate alternative options for him.

When the heat of the car grew far too oppressive, I started the car. The air conditioner struggled to cool the space, but I didn't care. Sitting with the car running chewed through the fuel, but I wasn't ready to move. I let my tears have me for as long as I dared. My eyes were dry and my chest heaved by the time I finally wiped my cheeks and put the car into gear.

I needed to get home quickly to clean up by the time Edward got home from work. I wanted to wash away the filth of the word infertile. Even as I drove home I felt as though my diagnosis would somehow be evident for all to see.

~ 0 ~

I heard Edward's car pulling into the drive and jumped into action, trying to look the part of a happy wife. My main concern was convincing Edward I was happy; if only to ensure his worry didn't add to the guilt I felt over my failure. By the time he walked through the door, I had artificial color on my cheeks and a painted-on smile.

"How was your day?" he asked as he kissed me in greeting.

My lips stretched compliantly into the smile he expected. "Good."

"What did you get up to?"

I pressed my eyes closed momentarily as the doctor's words whispered through my mind, 'I'm sorry, Mrs. Cullen.' "Nothing special."

"Dinner smells good," he said after he'd taken a deep breath.

I smiled once more before turning back to the task of preparing the evening meal.

So far, so good, I thought.

If I could get through one evening, the one that followed would be easier. Each day that followed would surely be a less difficult to face. I hoped that eventually, I would be able to move past the diagnosis. Maybe, one day, I would wake up and not feel like my heart was breaking.

I tossed and turned all night as the doctor's words played on repeat through my head. I wanted to talk to Edward about it, but I couldn't. He didn't even know I'd had an appointment.

I thought about the information in my handbag and again knew it was useless talking to Edward about it. When we'd first started trying, he'd made his feelings on adoption, donation and the other alternatives available all too clear. He wanted to raise a child of his own DNA. It was the main reason he thought it was useless continuing to see the specialist.

I rolled away from him so that he wouldn't see the tears that had begun to track down my face. I held myself together so that my silent sobs wouldn't shake the bed. There was nothing more I could say to him, and nothing he could do would make me feel any better, or any less of a failure.

The days and weeks dragged by, a blur of faked smiles and loneliness. The chasm between Edward and I seemed to grow a little wider and a little deeper with each passing hour. I didn't know how to begin explaining how I felt, and he didn't even seem to notice my sorrow. I wasn't sure which hurt more.

Before I could really comprehend how quickly time flew, a year passed. We barely spoke to each other anymore. The tiny fissures that started the day he'd received his diagnosis now felt wider and deeper than the Grand Canyon. To the rest of the world, nothing had changed between us, but to me everything felt different. Where once his smile had warmed me from the inside out, it now left me feeling cold. Not because his smile held less warmth but because he no longer seemed to smile for me.

Where once we'd been unable to contain our desire for each other, months went by without us being intimate. I felt like I was dead inside and there was no way to revive the life that had once resided in me. I had nothing left to give to anyone, particularly Edward.

It wasn't that I didn't love him still, or that that I didn't want to close the yawning gap between us, I just didn't know how. I didn't know what magic words would begin to stitch up the damage we'd inflicted on our relationship. How could I, when I didn't even know how to fix myself?

As time leapt forward in inches and miles, Edward began to withdraw further into himself. I figured it was a reaction to my own depression and withdrawal. I wanted to ask him about it, but I didn't know how to broach the subject.

In the end, I didn't need to.

"We can't go on like this, Bella," he said. His tone was quiet but resolute. He reached out for my hand across the dining table and held it firmly in his own. "I don't know where we went wrong, but I want what we used to have."

His body language screamed desperation. He held onto my hand as if I would disappear the moment he let go. His words were precise and weighty, fired so accurately they hit the target in my heart perfectly.

The same words had circled my own mind for so long.

Of course we couldn't go on as we had been; something needed to change. We had to reconnect, to fall in love again. I wasn't certain how we would go about it. I wasn't even positive we could do it. But I was willing to try anything to get back to what we had.

Infertile.

The word sprang into my mind when I opened my mouth to tell Edward that I wanted to fix things too.

We can't go back, because that word will always be there.

I met and held Edward's eyes for the first time in what felt like months and the pain I saw was palpable. The internal battle waging within him seemed to have ripped out all the joy and happiness that had once resided in him.

I felt my tears spring forward as I thought back to our wedding day. The look of love in his eyes had been so evident, so overwhelming, and now it was gone. There was nothing there but hurt and conflict.

I knew where it went wrong. I knew who had caused his pain.

I failed.

I'd failed as a mother before I had become one, and now I had failed as a wife. Edward deserved to be free of me. I wanted to free him of his pain. I loved him enough to want more for him that what I had to offer.

I knew I would have to hurt him to help him heal.

"I agree," I said, my voice was so hardened that even I didn't recognize it.

His fear-filled eyes stared into mine. "Bella?"

"We can't go on like this. I…" My voice faltered slightly. I swallowed heavily to clear the lump in my throat so I could lie convincingly. "I can't do this anymore. I'm tired of pretending."

He broke off our eye contact and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he looked at me again, I could see his eyes glistening slightly with unshed tears.

Edward left his chair and instantly fell to one knee at my feet, clasping my hand tightly with both of his own. "Please, Bella. Please don't do this. I can change, I'll do whatever I need to do to make you happy again."

I opened my mouth to say that he did make me happy, but I couldn't; there was no truth in the words. He was right, I hadn't been happy in a very long time. I wanted him to be the one who could make me smile, but I wasn't sure I knew how to anymore. I was broken—I'd failed—and by begging him to stay with me, I would be dragging him down with me. A fresh wave of guilt rushed through me. I was a lead weight chained around his neck, pulling him with me as I sank further into the abyss.

You deserve so much more than what I have left to offer you.

He wrung his hands around mine and shook his head in denial. His eyes seemed to implore me to take back what I'd said, to understand what it was that he needed. Unfortunately for both of us, I did understand. I had to let him go.

"Stop," I whispered trying to harden my voice again. I took a deep breath, determined to hide the pain I felt over losing Edward as thoroughly as I'd hidden the pain of my infertility.

He dropped his hands to his knee and looked up at me.

I swallowed heavily. The words I needed to say would be the hardest I'd ever said, but equally the most important. "I don't want this anymore. I need space. I need time to focus on me."

When I opened my eyes, I saw Edward's broken features and knew instantly that the image would be burned into my retinas forever. It hurt to witness his pain, but ultimately I was helping him. I was giving him the freedom he needed and deserved. It was what he wanted but I knew he was hurting that from this moment we would cease to be 'us'. Our lives would become separate. I stared at him for longer than I usually could, inflicting further pain on myself as I tried to memorize every inch of him before he left my life forever.

"Is that what you really want?" he asked.

I sunk my teeth into my lower lip and nodded.

He picked himself up off the ground slowly, as if his whole body had been crushed by an invisible weight. I watched helplessly as he lifted himself limb by limb until he was upright. I focused on the floorboard in front of me as he walked away, unwilling to watch him leave. I concentrated on the sound of my own pounding heart so I didn't have to hear the sound of Edward's barely contained tears and hasty packing.

I knew I could race down the hallway to the bedroom and take it all back. I could fall to my knees and demand that he stop packing. If I shouted long enough and begged hard enough, I was certain he would stay. I was halfway standing as the thought struck me, but I couldn't do it. I had damned him to almost two years of an unhappy marriage. I'd suffocated him and his love under the weight of my failure. I'd drowned out his pain with the sound of my silence. He didn't deserve that.

There was a resounding clunk as he threw keys onto the table.

"I guess we'll talk soon about…" he trailed off when the pitch of his voice wavered. After a moment he started again. "About dividing everything."

I shook my head and shrugged. "Just take whatever you want."

He was already leaving with the most important thing: himself.

He placed his hand on the door and opened it slightly.

"Edward?" I said, specifically looking anywhere but at him.

He didn't say anything, but paused to allow me to continue.

I sighed. "Be safe."

He cleared his throat. "You too."

An instant later, the door clicked shut and he was gone. I didn't look to confirm, I didn't need to; I could feel the absence of him in the room—a great void that nothing could ever fill.

~ 0 ~

After I'd said goodbye to Edward, I withdrew even further into myself and ignored my family and friends. I threw myself into my new job; I was at the office from the time I woke until I finally felt exhausted enough to go home to sleep. I didn't allow my day to have any quiet moments as they left me with too much time to think. My mind would inevitably wander back to the love I'd lost. When I had no other distractions, I wondered what he was doing and who he was with. After our divorce had been made final, I hadn't seen him again. Despite the fact that I'd shattered his heart, his family had tried to make an effort to ensure I was all right, but I froze them out. They were nothing more than a reminder of happier times.

Before I realized how quickly my life was disappearing, five years had passed since the divorce. Despite the passage of time, my outward appearance remained largely unchanged. I had a few grey hairs and a couple of wrinkles, but there was nothing to signify to others the devastating loss I'd suffered years earlier. A loss I'd never recovered from. When I looked in the mirror, I saw the permanent sorrow etched into my eyes.

My dedication to my career had paid off, I had a nice house, a wardrobe full of designer clothes and more shoes than I could count, but that was all I had. My nights were lonely, and although I'd stopped crying myself to sleep long ago it was only because I had no tears left. I couldn't care anymore.. It felt like all of my insides had been scooped out, leaving just an empty husk and shattered dreams.

Each day was the same: go to work and make small talk, come home and sleep.

Rinse. Repeat. Ad nauseam.

The small talk at work inevitably turned to family. Photos would be shared and I would retreat to my office to avoid the questions. I knew what they thought about me, I'd heard the whispers in the corridors: I was the dragon lady, married to my job; I didn't know how to love or what family meant; I cared more for material possessions than any person. I didn't bother to correct them; they could think what they wanted.

I was on the bus heading home from work when I saw her, a cute little girl of no more than five with gorgeous bronze ringlets and big, doe-like brown eyes. I couldn't help but stare at her, the personification of my dream daughter. Long-repressed emotions, ones I was almost certain I'd buried so long ago, bubbled to the surface. I had to cover my mouth to stop myself from crying out, seeing my hopeless dream made real.

The girl noticed me looking at her and her little bow lips quirked into a smile.

"Hi!" she shouted, bouncing over to me.

I nodded to be polite. "Hello.".

"My name's Elizabeth." She grinned wildly at me. "What's yours?"

"Isabella," I responded.

"That's a pretty name." She spun back and forth, holding her dress out as if she wanted me to notice it.

"That's a pretty dress." I smiled in spite of my broken heart.

"My daddy bought it for me."

"Lizzy, leave the lady alone!" A chillingly familiar voice called.

The girl was scooped up by the man I assumed was her daddy. Without even seeing his face, I recognized him. His tall, lean frame topped with a mane of bronze hair—now peppered with the odd grey—was one that was once more familiar to me than my own. The years had obviously been kind.

"What did I tell you about talking to strangers?" he quietly chastised.

"'Sebella's my new best friend," Elizabeth pouted.

I sat frozen as I watched Edward interact with his child. My heart ached for what could have been, what might have been if I wasn't broken. I dreaded the moment he turned to talk to me.

Will he recognize me? Would it be worse if he doesn't?

He turned back to me, picking the sweet girl up and placing her on his hip. "I'm sorry if she was bugging you…" he trailed off as I met his eyes. "Bella?"

He beamed at me as if he was genuinely happy to see me again. I felt like I was being cornered—cruel fate thrusting my deepest desire in front of my face in the most unattainable way.

I smiled politely, uncertain what story my eyes—glued so completely to his—were telling him.

"Hi." It was a completely unacceptable statement after everything that had happened between us, but it was the best I could do with everything else going on in my mind.

"How have you been?"

"Good, work is good. I've just been promoted to CEO."

He gave me an odd look, as if he was worried about something in my statement. He looked like he was about to ask me another question so I preempted him.

"Things have obviously changed for you?" I tried to inflict my voice with a teasing tone, to turn the focus away from me.

He shifted Elizabeth to his other hip. "Yeah."

He smiled fondly at her and I felt a stab of jealousy and relief that he got to experience fatherhood. In his new position, I saw a shiny gold ring on his finger.

"You remarried?" I asked quietly. I had no right to be upset by the news and part of me was happy for him, but part of me wished he was still alone and unhappy.

Just like me.

"Yeah. You should meet Angela. She's a great girl. Very sweet."

I wanted to demand to know whether he loved her. Did he feel the same for her that he once had for me? More? I had no right to feel such a burning desire to know more.

"How about you?" he asked gently. "Is there someone in your life?"

I dropped my gaze, breaking the intense eye contact we'd had, and shook my head. "I've been busy…With work…I just don't have time for someone else."

He nodded knowingly, as if agreeing with my statement.

The bus slowed to a stop. It was miles away from my house, but I had to get away from Edward.

"I'm sorry, it's been lovely seeing you again, but this is my stop."

Edward looked surprised at my abrupt dismissal.

As I was walking away from him, clutching my handbag tightly in a useless attempt to protect my heart, I heard his voice.

"Ang and I have just moved back here, maybe we'll see you around?"

My teeth ground together with a nearly audible sound and the ends of my fingernails scrapped across the leather of my handbag as I clutched it tighter.

"That'll be nice." I forced the words out between my teeth. Seeing Edward happy with his new wife and child would likely be the end of me.

~ 0 ~

Over the years, I saw Edward and Elizabeth with some regularity. It wasn't every week, or even every month, but often enough for them to haunt my thoughts. I wondered how different things might have been if I hadn't got my diagnosis. I never asked Edward whether he struggled to conceive with his second wife, I didn't feel it was my place and I was scared of hearing that he hadn't. They would always sit by me and strike up a conversation, and I always left the meetings feeling that much more alone.

One day, when Elizabeth was about seven, they turned up on the bus with another small bundle. Edward hadn't mentioned his wife was expecting; I wondered whether it was because he knew how much it would hurt me.

"Bella!" Elizabeth had a smile—so much like her daddy's—reserved for me when I saw her. "Do you wanna see my new brother?"

Edward grinned with the proud smile that only new fathers wore. I felt jealous of the woman I'd not met who had been able to put that look on his face. He'd found himself a wife who was successful in the way I would never be. People at work still asked whether I wanted kids and I always answered the same way.

'I'm married to my job.'

Edward took the seat next to me while Elizabeth sat in front of us. She turned around, kneeling on the seat and peering over the top of the back rest.

"Bella, meet E.J." Edward showed me the tiny bundle. The baby was a tiny replica of Edward.

"He's perfect," I said truthfully. Tears pricked my eyes as I stared at the child.

"Why don't you hold him?" Edward asked, not giving me the opportunity to say no when he passed him across to me.

The weight of the baby surprised me and a feeling of overwhelming love spread through my body. The tiny thing was so warm in my arms, I worried he might have had a fever. I could easily imagine this is what it might have been like ten years ago, with Edward handing me our child. But this was now. Edward had moved on and the baby belonged to someone else.

As the baby, E.J., opened his eyes and tried to focus on me, my own vision grew misty. I lifted him closer to me so that I could see him clearer and was inundated with a scent unlike any I'd experienced: sunshine, goodness and fragrance-free soap. Soon, tears were running down my nose and I had to hand him back to Edward.

"He's beautiful," I said. "You're very blessed."

Edward met my eyes with tears shining in his own. "Do you ever wonder if things might have been different for us if we'd had a child?"

I didn't need to wonder. I knew. Things would have been different; better for me, but just different for Edward. I could tell in his face that he felt guilty for wondering what might have been and I needed to give him some peace.

"Who knows, but things happen for a reason, right?"

He turned his attention to the front of the bus, staring at nothing in particular. "Yeah," he said eventually. "I guess they do."

~ 0 ~

After cradling E.J. that afternoon, I knew I couldn't handle seeing Edward again. It broke my heart a little more each time I imagined what could have been, and what I could have done differently.

Maybe if he'd been more willing to talk to me about his issues.

Maybe if I'd told him about mine.

I couldn't face a life where I had to live vicariously through a stranger who was living what should have been my life. I gave my notice at work and listed my house for sale. I packed up my more hard-wearing clothes into a backpack and sold all of my belongings. I already had a passport for work so I used some of my cash to buy a one-way ticket to the first destination I saw on the board at the airport.

~ 0 ~

I travelled.

For almost thirty years, I travelled. I returned home only long enough to renew my visa or my passport, or to mourn the passing of a loved one. I'd gone from living a life filled with luxuries to experiencing the basest poverty first hand. I volunteered in orphanages all over the world, helping kids who didn't have parents, and who in turn helped me in their own way. Although I'd never experienced the dizzying rush of holding my own baby in my arms, I did nurse sick children back to health. I read them stories and played with them. Whenever the time came to leave, I left a piece of myself behind, but took a bigger piece of love with me. The emptiness I'd felt since learning of my infertility slowly began to fill as I found a reason to live.

It was only a health scare—a minor heart attack shortly after my sixty-fifth birthday—which eventually drove me to return home for good. I had almost no worldly possessions left, but I did have a heart full of love. I also had a head full of grey hair and a face full of wrinkles. My skin was leathered from years spent toiling in the sun.

I found my way back to my home town. I had a strange feeling when I climbed onto the bus. As I watched the door, I almost expected to see Edward, Elizabeth and E.J. come aboard. It had been so many years, but I could still picture the last time I'd seen them so clearly.

With no house to my name and worries about my health, I decided the best place for me was in a Retirement Home. After all, I had no one else to look after me. I didn't have a family anymore—both of my parents had passed away and I had no siblings. The emptiness I'd kept at bay with charity work began to build in my chest again. I'd helped children in orphanages, but their memories alone couldn't keep me company.

I'd been in the Home for a little over a month when a new nurse started doing rounds. I was struck by the familiarity of the woman as soon as she walked into the room. The years had matured her almost beyond recognition, except that she had her father's smile. Her bronze hair was slicked back into a neat bun and her brown eyes were darkened with a sheen of make-up, but when she smiled, she was instantly recognizable.

"Bella?" she asked. "Is that really you?"

My eyes welled up knowing that she remembered me.

She pulled me into a quick embrace. "Where have you been?" she asked.

"Travelling."

She smiled, waiting patiently for me to continue. I couldn't stand the quiet scrutiny of her eyes.

"I'm afraid it's not very interesting. Why don't you tell me about you?"

She flinched a little, but then set her smile firmly back in place.

"It's just been me and Dad here for so long. E.J. moved to California about ten years ago."

I didn't ask her whether she had children of her own. I could easily recall the pain of that seemingly simple question.

"What about your mom?" I asked.

"Mom passed away when I was in high school."

I couldn't help but feel for Edward—losing two women that he loved in two very different ways.

"What happened?" I asked, worrying that I was overstepping the boundaries of our unusual friendship.

"Cancer," she said in the tone of someone long resigned to the cruel way life worked. "When she got really sick, Dad quit his job and nursed her through her final days. Seeing the difference he made for her is what made me choose this career."

Her mention of her father made my heart ache once more for the man I'd let go.

"How is he?" I asked.

I regretted my question immediately with the look that crossed Elizabeth's face. It told me everything I needed, to know.

"He's not well." Tears glistened in her eyes. "He had a massive heart attack about two months ago."

"Is he going to be alright?" I whispered.

Elizabeth shook her head sadly. "He could go anytime. I only leave his side when I have to work. E.J. stayed for as long as he could, but after a few weeks he had to go home to his family."

"Do you think it would be okay if I visited him?"

"I think it would be wonderful."

"Are you sure he won't mind?"

"Mind? I can't think of anyone he'd want to see more. To tell you the truth, he went crazy when you disappeared the way you did."

I was surprised at the casual ease with which she made the statement. I shook my head in denial.

"Just wait and see."

Elizabeth made some arrangements for me to visit Edward. As I walked into the hospital room, my heart leapt into my throat. The man I loved was unconscious on the bed, wires and tubes crisscrossed over his body.

The air flew from my body painfully. The agony of seeing Edward so frail and broken almost brought me to my knees, but I refused to falter. I walked unsteadily over to him. His face was gaunt and drawn, his skin chalky and grey. His hair, now completely white, was still crazed and stuck out in all directions.

I went straight to his side and clutched his hand.

Elizabeth moved to Edward's other side and took his hand.

"I did what you asked me to, Daddy," she whispered. "I found her for you."

A lump formed in my throat. I had longed for a child for so many years, but until that moment had never fully comprehended the love between a parent and child. I was glad he had that in his life, it was an uncomplicated love—not the twisted version that mine and his had become.

"Edward," I murmured.

His fingers twitched as if he was trying to hold my hand. His lips curled up into a small smile.

Elizabeth gasped and put her hand over her mouth.

I looked at her questioningly.

"He hasn't responded to anyone in days."

A tear formed in the corner of Edward's eye and his hand twitched in mine again. Almost as if my presence was the one thing he was waiting for, his heart stopped. Instead of the rush of nurses I'd expected, there was a stillness pierced only by the cry of the heart monitor. I brushed his hair away from his face, desperately needing another connection with him. Finally a nurse came in and turned off the sound.

She touched Elizabeth's shoulder in a sympathetic gesture.

I couldn't stop my tears from flowing.

"I should leave," I said quietly.

Elizabeth looked at me with tear-stained cheeks and shook her head. "Please, don't."

I crossed to her side of the bed and wrapped my arms around her.

"Thank you for coming here, Bella," she said between her tears. "It means a lot to me and I know it means a lot to Dad, too. He told me years ago that if anything ever happened to him, I had to find you. I think he held on until I did, but he couldn't hold on forever."

We stood by his bedside for hours, comforting each other.

~ 0 ~

Hours later, the two of us moved to the hospital cafeteria, trying to come to terms with what we'd just witnessed

I placed my hand over hers on the table. "He was a good man."

"He was." She smiled sadly.

"Can I ask you a question, Bella?" she said quietly after a moment. "Can you tell me about you and Dad?"

I stared at her for a moment, uncertain what she already knew. I didn't want to say anything that would contradict what Edward had told her over the years. "What do you want to know?"

"You were married."

I nodded. "A long time ago."

"What happened?"

I fought back tears of regret and anger as I struggled to come up with an answer. Even now, when I was well and truly beyond my child-bearing years it was hard to admit that I'd struggled so much with falling pregnant. "Life."

"Did you love my Dad?" It was almost an accusation.

I nodded. It was the easiest question in life to answer.

"I still do," I whispered.

"Do you think he loved you too?"

Unfortunately, the answer to that question was easy for me too and came with a fresh dose of regret.

"He told me once that he wanted you to be free, that freedom was what you wanted most of all."

Tears fell heavily down my cheek and landed where my hand joined with hers.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I've upset you."

I shook my head. "What I wanted was for him to have the one thing I couldn't give him."

The one thing we both really wanted.

"What was that?"

I smiled at the beautiful young woman he'd raised, single-handedly at times, and knew that despite the heartache in the intervening years, I'd made the right decision in letting Edward go.

"You."

~ 0 ~

A/N: I'm still here, I'm still alive. I'm still working on chapters, albeit slowly. Once great thing is that I've finished my study now and should have a bit more time to write after the madness of Christmas dies down.