This is kind of the chapter to endure. Sorry it's so incredibly DEPRESSING. I can honestly say that it's sadder than I meant for it to be, but there was only so much I could with the subject matter I was given. Just grab some kleenexes and hold on for Carlisle's return in chapter five!!!!

And BTW...

I just want to make one thing clear about this chapter: it doesn't make much sense. It's not supposed to, since it's being told by somebody who's slowly losing their mind. The baby IS ACTUALLY Charles Evenson's. Esme just lies to herself for awhile here to stave off the impending insanity. But yeah - I don't usually do AU stuff. So Finny is Charles's.


I am very glad I have little Finny to distract me.

Otherwise, I might not be able to cope with the fact that I was so close to Carlisle, and then let him leave me behind again. My senses had been so dulled by the medicine that I laid back and watched him walk out the door with only a few tears and weak protestations. Had I been fully cognizant, I would have gotten up, pleaded with him, made a scene!

Clearly, I am far beyond believing any of that nonsense about it being a dream.

I wondered why I ever thought it was a dream, honestly. Now that I really think about it, it wasn't strange at all!

Dr. Cullen had finally come and acknowledged his son, if only for a moment. Goodness knows he owes me that much, after nine months! Either way, it is quite irritating that I, Esme Cullen, his wife, have been left to raise Finny all by myself. Carlisle would have made an excellent father, too. Our son could have visited him at work and learned everything about the hospital and how it worked. They could have played baseball together on the weekends.

But I cannot dwell on such things. I am a mother now, and I have someone else to live for. My son. The son I had had with the incredible, beautiful Carlisle Cullen.

We have finally been allowed to come back home. Admittedly, home is a bit pathetic, now that I can't live with Carlisle. I have a long-stay hotel room here in Ashland, and I have paid through the end of this week. I'm not entirely certain what I'll do after Sunday comes around, though. I have five dollars in my purse, and that is the extent of my worldly capital. Hopefully, I will be able to work again before we run out.

I shouldn't have gone home so early; all the nurses advised against it. But I simply couldn't pay for another night in the hospital! They wanted Finny to gain a little bit more weight, but I knew that after we left, he would just lose it again. It would be hard for him to remain a decent weight if I wasted all our money on hospital bills and couldn't afford to feed either of us.

I have not slept in about a week now.

Well, not entirely. I slept a few hours off and on in the hospital, but it was hard with the pain.

The pain. I haven't mentioned that yet, have I?

It's an ever-present thing. It began about the time I boarded the train. I initially attributed it to the child, but I did not want to think about the possibility of giving birth at that point, so I denied the presence of any hurting. It got steadily worse, and finally, I passed out in the train station and evidently went into labor. Logically, after I gave birth, I expected it to go away.

It didn't.

The bleeding that went with it hasn't either.

Occasionally I worry that something serious is wrong with me. That I'll faint again – or worse – and no one will be able to take care of Finny. But there's nothing I can do. I can't pay someone to treat me or to check on us, and I don't really know anyone here in Wisconsin. So there's no use wasting the little energy I still have worrying about it.

If only Carlisle were here; I wonder when I can expect him back!

Despite my exhaustion, I am always alerted to Finny's soft little cries. He sleeps on our one bed, and I let him have most all the blankets. I really just need one; the little sleep I manage to get is usually in one of the kitchen chairs, my head rested on our worn table. I'm afraid to take any more of the blankets for myself; Finny's such a little thing; I'm afraid he'll catch cold!

He doesn't cry too often though, which concerns me. Friends of mine talked about being up all night with new babies. I'm up all night anyway because of the pain, but I wish that he would make his presence known a little bit more often. And his wails are hardly substantial enough to deserve that title; he mostly just whimpers when he's hungry or I need to change his diaper.

We have spent two nights together after I left the hospital, and he has cried for me a total of four times. Something tells me that's atypical.

But again – what can I do?

After all, I don't eat too much either.

I admit, I'm taking horrible care of myself, but I take good care of Finny! I'm always there when he cries for me, and very often when he doesn't. Constantly I urge him to eat, but to little avail. It matters if he eats. Not me, really. I can make do. I'm not my main concern right now. Besides, everything will change when I can work again. I'll try and find a job at a restaurant, so I can eat there and not waste our money feeding me. And hopefully waitressing will also mean tips, so I can better afford necessities like baby food and teething rings, when Finny becomes old enough to require them.

See, I do have a plan.

But for now, I am slouched against the wall in a dirty apartment, deserted save me and my near-silent baby, eating stale Grape-Nuts without milk and wondering if I'll be able to buy another box of this awful cereal tomorrow, or if I'll actually have to spend the last of my money on a doctor's bill.

Oh Carlisle, where are you? Your son and I need you!


I sat bolt upright at the kitchen table, wondering what had happened. Evidently, I'd fallen asleep, but I would have thought that impossible! The dingy lace curtains, usually bluish from the outside sunlight trying to make its way through the grime, were now pitch black.

How long had it been?!

I tried to see the old clock from where I sat, but it was difficult to make it out in the darkness of the room, so I turned on the kitchen light. I could finally see the small hand, and my stomach lurched as I realized that it pointed to the nine.

Nine o'clock at night?!

Had I slept for three hours?!

I stood up quickly, ignoring the sharp pain in my gut, and raced over to the bed in the corner.

Finny, my love, why didn't you wake me up?

I picked him up quickly and cradled him to my chest, but something didn't feel right.

In fact, something felt very, very wrong.

There were no cries, no stirring. No hot breath on my cheek. I must say that it took me a moment to fully realize what had happened. Maybe I just couldn't take it in – or didn't want to. However, when I finally did manage to admit to myself what had taken place, I was startlingly calm.

I placed Charles Evenson's cold, silent child back on the carefully-arranged blankets.

I picked my coat up off the back of the door, where it had been hanging on a rusty peg.

I put it on, right arm first, then left.

I opened the door, and felt the wind sting my face.

I stepped out into the cold night air.

And I walked, until there were no steps left for me to take.


I promise Carlisle comes back in ch. 5 - he has to! So don't be too depressed!