It was so hard for me to keep up any sense or normalcy for the rest of the afternoon. I'm not even sure how I managed to make the decision to get us the rest of the way home, but suddenly I was pulling back onto the highway. Then, I was watching Chris as he bounded up the front walk. He shot me a puzzled expression as I all but zombie-walked to the front door to unlock it for him.

"Turtle passed ya," he teased, referring to my pace as he dropped his backpack not even two steps in the door before racing for the chocolate chip cookies that have become an after school tradition.

I took some comfort in the routine of our afternoon together while I proceeded to emotionally unravel inside.

It was only a few minutes before I noticed Chris scoot a chair closer to the kitchen table, proudly waving a piece of lined paper with little blue houses at the beginning of each line. Apparently, it was time to practice his "Letters of the Day."

"Five times each, baby," I mumbled, glancing at the school newsletter hanging from the refrigerator door with detailed homework instructions for every night of the week. I went and sat next to him, chiding myself for glancing out the back slider door as my eyes searched the perimeter of our yard.

What did I expect to see?

Or, who...I couldn't go there. It was too painful, too incredible.

"Got it," he replied happily as his little fingers gripped the pencil. He started humming something about starting in the attic and not dropping into the basement as he wrote.

A million thoughts raced through my mind simultaneously. Yes, I was only living about thirty minutes east of Forks, in a nice town that Josh and I enjoyed house-hunting in until we settled on our first home, but even if he and his family ventured back to Forks for some reason, why would he come here?

I wondered if Edward...God, I lost my breath just thinking his name, had been around before? I mean, I know time to them is a completely different matter altogether, and nine years probably wasn't much of a fleck on their radars, but why would he bother to drop in on me now?

Has he been watching Chris grow up?

Does he know about Josh?

Did he see me marry?

Is he happy?

No, is he okay?

But one question seemed the most pressing, "Why?"

I snapped my attention back to my son and felt guilty as I noticed he was already on the third line.

"Don't press so hard, sweetie. You'll tear the paper," I offered, noticing the little smudges from his fingers where he'd tried to smooth out the little ripples from the pencil's sharp edge.

"Ugh," he sighed, his way of acknowledging that I was right, and he'd heard it before.

"I hated R's too," I whispered, smiling despite everything when I saw him bite his lower lip - something both he and his father do when they are really concentrating.

As I watched him continue to work, I made a decision. I had to get through this evening intact, but once I put Chris to bed, I could really dissect what was going on. I would allow myself to feel it all. Later. But not now.

I had hot dogs to barbecue and a bath to give. There were bedtime stories to read and a lunch to pack. My son didn't need to witness my teenage heartbreak rear its ugly head and proudly take me under for the millionth time.

I took a deep breath and helped Chris draw lower-case "r's" all over the rest of his paper. We only tore the paper six times.

"These are better than the real baseball stadium ones!" Chris exclaimed sweetly as mustard fell from his mouth to his white polo shirt.

We were sitting in the family room, spread out on a big blanket in front of the TV as I'd promised. I reached my hand out for a high-five, and he didn't miss a beat in slapping his against mine with a hoot.

"I'm glad you like 'em."

"Oh, yeah!"

I smiled as he continued studying the game. I couldn't keep my mind from wandering. I pictured Edward's piercing eyes and his unbelievably intense expressions. One thing I always truly loved about him was his crooked grin, smirk, smile...Heaven. I imagined him sitting there with us, explaining the game to my son and smiling until it reached his eyes. I tried to picture what Chris would like in his arms.

Why hasn't he come to see me if he decided to check on Chris? Is he scared?

"Okay, buddy. How about a bath during the seventh inning stretch?" I asked, needing to stop my pondering before it took over.

"Noo."

"It's almost bedtime, and we're running late," I continued as I noticed his eyelids start to droop as he lay on his stomach, his chin perched in his hands.

"What if I miss a homer?"

I laughed lightly despite myself.

"We'll check the score before we turn in for the night."

"Okay," he sighed, not exactly thrilled to leave our cozy camp-out, but also too tired to put up much of a fight.

After he was bathed and dressed for bed in some warm sweats and a long sleeved thermal, I set him loose to check the game and grab a cup of water. In the meantime, I changed into some sweats of my own and pulled on my favorite Uggs before donning a black sweatshirt. I found myself preparing for my night time chores even though cleaning and organizing was the last thing on my mind.

Just as I exited my bedroom, Chris nearly sleepwalked through his doorway, cup in hand, heading straight for his bed. That's my boy. When he decides he's beat, nothing can stop the kid from sleeping. He's been known to get his blanket, lay it down in the middle of a crowded room, and go to bed. Christmas Eve didn't even stand a chance when he decided he'd had enough.

I followed him in, stopping to turn off his bedroom lamp.

"Night-light, right?" He mumbled from under his blankets.

"Of course," I replied a second before my fingers flipped the little switch, casting a warm blue haze through the room.

"Thanks, Momma." That time, the words were barely audible as I made my way to his bed.

I sat down at his side and leaned over to kiss his forehead. Putting him to bed was always a favorite for me. The smell of his shampoo and skin made my heart contract with love and devotion. It was always a very peaceful and intimate moment.

His eyelids opened with much effort, and he smiled.

"Night. Baseball dreams," he whispered.

I laughed.

"Night, buddy. Sweet dreams to you, too. I love you."

With that, he was pretty much out. I left quietly, closing the door only partially before heading down the hallway, intent on cleaning up the mess from our hot-dogs waiting for me in the kitchen.

I made it exactly two steps passed the front door on my way to the sink before I absolutely lost it. I guess I'd been on autopilot all afternoon, because before I realized I'd made the decision to go outside, I'd thrown the front door open and was jogging down the pathway, my boot-clad feet virtually silent as I made my way toward the street.

Where was I going? What was I going to do? I had no idea. Clearly, I was acting before even processing a thought.

I stopped as I reached the curb, my eyes adjusting to the near pitch black night, with a new moon not helping my plight at all.

Some part of me just knew he was out there. I refused to believe he'd do something which would undoubtedly result in me knowing he was around only to leave again. It would torture me. He wouldn't do that.

"Please," I heard myself beg in a whisper, my voice sounding broken but strong at the same time.

I whipped around as a cat ran from under my neighbor's truck.

I heard someone rolling their trash cans out for pick-up the next day.

Mrs. Hausman was yelling for the family dog to stop barking.

Sprinklers.

"I know you're out here," I spoke, barely louder than my previous plea.

Nothing.

"Please."

Crickets...wind.

"I'm begging you."

Nothing.

"I'll do anything," I was so desperate.

I could feel my heart threatening to break free of my chest. I glanced back at the house, making sure the front door was still wide open. It wouldn't be good if I locked myself out and had to wake Chris up to let me back in.

"Are you still here?" I continued talking to myself, driven by some deep rooted need to address him, thank him, scream at him for so much. I had so much to say. So much to feel.

"Just let me look at you!" I started to become hysterical. I briefly wondered what any of my neighbors might think if they witnessed any of my behavior.

"You don't have to talk to me. Just please let me see your face."

So I can remember what love looks like, I silently added.

Leaves rustling.

A car alarm beeping.

Silence.

"Thank you," I cried quietly, surprised to feel hot tears roll down my cheeks only because I hadn't even felt them welling up. I twisted my hands in front of me before running them over my face.

"Edward, thank you," I repeated.

Thank you for keeping him safe for me. Thank you for protecting him. He's everything to me.

Nothing.

"It never got easier," I offered, not sure exactly what I was referring to. Maybe the pain of losing him. Maybe accepting that he didn't love me enough to stay after all.

A breeze made me shiver. I sighed pitifully.

I wrapped my arms tightly around myself and dropped my head in resignation. Devastated, I turned to make my way back inside.

But then, I saw it. A flash of porcelain white caught my eye, screaming out like a beacon as he took a tiny step out from behind a tree almost fifty yards away stole my breath.

Oh my God.

Through the distance, I found his eyes immediately, and I gasped.

Perfection.

Fire shot through my body. Electricity unlike anything I've ever experienced in my life catapulted my body, and before I could take a breath, I (clumsy and awkward Bella Swan) was sprinting toward him without a stumble or misstep. It seemed as though even God Himself wasn't willing to keep us apart one second longer.

I was almost sure he'd disappear, run from me, but I was wrong. So wrong. He stood there, looking scared to death for a second before he was walking toward me.

I felt a sob rip through me at the impact just as his arms grabbed me, wrapping so tenderly around me so tightly that I struggled to gasp in his embrace. His cold face buried itself in my neck, and I felt my legs give out, his arms flawlessly catching me and pulling me closer.

I heard him moan. I heard him groan in complete and utter surrender.

I clutched every bit of him I could get my hands on.

And then, he spoke.

"He's perfect," he whispered in my ear, and I desperately clung to him. My hands automatically slid into his hair as I pulled back to look into his eyes. He winced at the contact, his eyes shutting reflexively for a moment, and I marveled as his head tilted to the side, craving more caresses.

His eyes shot open and bore into mine. I stopped, my breath caught in my throat as I started speechlessly at him.

"Just like his mom," he cried, tears nowhere to be seen because they're impossible for him, but that didn't mean I couldn't hear them.

"Edward," I breathed, and even though it was only his name, his legs - the strongest legs anyone could imagine - gave out, and he gracefully sank to the ground with me protectively in his lap.