Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns. No copyright infringement is meant.

Never Give It Up

"Remember when . . .

The sound of little feet was the music,

We danced to week to week,

Brought back the love, we found trust,

Vowed we'd never give it up,

Remember when . . ."—Alan Jackson

. . .

Edward's POV

.

I've often heard life is what happens between planning the next big event. I've also heard said before that life is the opposite of death. And to an extent I can understand both of these saying.

Yet while I live my life and face the challenges unique to me and my family, I can't help but come to a different conclusion.

Of course, larger events stick out in my memory quite clearly, but so do the smaller moments: my wife reading in her window seat, twirling her long golden strands of hair; holding my wife at night before falling asleep; taking a relaxing hike with my wife on the weekend; steamy showers filled with more heated loving than water; and so many more.

Life being the opposite of death is a wildly beheld belief, but I can't help wonder if people really think about life in relation to death. To me, it is all one continuous round; however, when examined, birth is the opposite of death. Life . . . well, life is the filling in between. Perhaps I'm over analytical, but with tragic events shaping one's life, it's understandable.

I can't argue that my life has been richly blessed and credit goes to my parents, but most especially my wife. She is my shining light on a hill. The brightest star in my clichéd sky.

But even with all our happiness, terrible heartbreak has also come. The fallout with my parents –over my wanting to get married– was difficult; I won't lie about that. Major arguments with my wife about when to start our family also led to much anguish. Stress with my undergraduate, and trying to get into medical school put strain on me. Trying to find enough time in the day to do everything necessary and still maintain my marriage was awful.

Yet, even with these burdens pressing down on me, nothing prepared me for facing what death really was – how it actually felt to feel such hollowness, such bereavement in something joyous turned tragic.

After an ordinary night of dinner, studying and taking time to cuddle with my wife, she went to bed early, feeling overly tired and rundown. I became worried at her pronouncement, but she assured me she was fine . . .

.

"I'm just feeling more tired than usual."

"I'll come up with you, honey. I can do with some more sleep." With my second year of residency upon me, I still hardly got any sleep. Though I knew wanting to be a doctor wasn't easy, it was worth it to me. It required time, effort and much sacrifice; but I never wanted to do anything else with my life – besides marry my Rose.

"No, love. You've been waiting to see this movie for a while. You can finish watching it and then come up. I'll still be there to cuddle later." Leaning down, she gives me a sultry lingering kiss that is felt all the way to my feet. I get up to follow her anyway, but she smiles beautifully while pushing me back down. "You stay here. Mama needs her sleep. And from that look in your eyes, I wouldn't be getting any if you came along."

I feel a twitch in my lounge pants from her insinuation, but stay seated. I know my wife needs her rest. So I remove her hand lovingly cupping my cheek and press several kisses into the palm before she leaves.

As I hear her upstairs getting ready for bed and finally settling in, I can't help but think how much she adds to my dreary world. She adds the color to an otherwise grey world. A slightly goofy smile lingers on my lips for the rest of the movie.

Once the credits start to roll, I turn everything off and get a quick drink of water. I'm sure to bring up a bottle of water for my girl who sometimes gets really thirsty during the night.

As I turn the lights off along the way – the lights she's lovingly left on for me so I don't have to fumble in the dark – I can hear soft sounds coming from our master suite at the end of the hall.

Curiosity sparks my interest as I make my way towards the partially closed door. The coos get louder as I approach, and a grin overtakes my lips as I wonder if my wife is doing something naughty in my absence. It wouldn't be the first time I've caught her. Though I think she wanted me to catch her, if being honest.

The grin is quick to leave my lips as I see my girl on the floor beside the bed, bent on all fours, holding a hand to the underside of her stomach. That sight is shocking enough, combined with the noises (of what I now know to be pain) she's making. The thing which sends my heart into an uncontrollable rate, enough to almost cause me to faint, is the puddle of blood pooled around her knees and the wet dark-red stains on her sleeping pants.

Something clicks me out of my stupor as I run and drop next to my pregnant wife.

True to her word, we waited until after I graduated Med school and began my residency with our local hospital. The excitement of knowing we could begin to try and expand our family had sent my wife into sex-mode. They say trying to get pregnant is half the fun, but damn were they wrong. It was all the fun. And the positions we tried – even though some of them wouldn't get her pregnant – were indescribable.

The moment we learned she was finally realizing her ultimate goal of becoming a mother – expanding our family – was filled with slow love-making. It was a celebration of the life lying between us, safe in her warm body. It had transcended all.

But now as I try and assess the situation and watch as my Rose cries for me to save the baby, all the happiness flees, leaving me feeling cold, empty and scared shitless. Medical school and the endless amount of patients I treat everyday could never prepare me for this.

"Edward . . . the ba-baby," my wife wails. "Hurry please." Another cramp overtakes her as back bows, her arms trying to cradle the helpless life inside her.

Not really realizing what I'm doing, I immediately call for an ambulance. Thankfully, I know it won't be more than a couple of minutes; my need to live close to the hospital for work is a blessing.

Running into the bathroom, I soak a towel in cold water and hurry back to my wife. I know it won't make much difference, but I situate the towel between her legs, using it as a cold compress to try and stop the bleeding and help alleviate some of her pain. Sadly, the pain of the heart and knowing something tragic is about to happen cannot be stopped.

I don't want to be away from her for even a moment, but I run down the stairs again, switching all lights on (haphazardly) and leaving the front door open so the approaching sirens can immediately come into the house.

Once I'm by my wife's side again, I tenderly pull her into my arms, leaning her back against my chest. My arms and hands join hers in wrapping around her stomach, trying to stop the baby from coming out too soon, essentially dying.

I know we both must look a sight, covered in her now cooling blood and holding onto her small protruding stomach, but I could care less. Numerous prayers for my unborn child, but more for the safety of my wife (sad, but true), leave my lips and thoughts. I don't know where they travel or if they're heard, but I can only pray that they are.

"Up here," I yell as loudly as I dare –not wanting to frighten my wife any more– to the EMT. I place several desperate kisses along my girl's shoulder, knowing we are going to be physically separated soon.

As the EMT come in and immediately start taking over, I mourn as Rose is removed from my arms. I can see the looks of recognition on their faces. As a doctor, we often work together in transferring a patient from their care to mine. So they know me, it doesn't matter that I'm covered in my wife's blood and my face pale beyond belief.

Sadly, they also recognize Rose. Out of wanting to just do something nice, she's backed cookies for them and even hot meals. My girl's cooking is a treat well known around the hospital staff.

I wonder if it will make them try even harder to save her life. I know it shouldn't matter who the patient is, but I can't help but hope since they personally know her it will push them even harder to save the life of my bleeding wife and struggling child.

"We're ready to transport her, Edward," they efficiently tell me, but I can hear the strain under their calm words.

I snap out of my head and grab the hand of my wife as they began to take her down the stairs and to the waiting flashing lights.

The only thing I remember to do is grab a discarded sweater laying on the bench by the door from our earlier outing and shutting said door as I listlessly and warily climb into the back of the ambulance.

"You hang in there, my love," I quietly command my wife as the ambulance pulls away and start for the hospital. "You better be well, Rosalie. My life d-doesn't work without you. I don't know h-how to be without you, love."

As an afterthought, because sadly it is, I place my hand on my unborn child and say, "I love you, too, little one. Be safe and take care of mama. I love your mama so very much."

My lips find their way to my wife's clammy temple as I place kiss after kiss to her wet hair. Words of love are mumbled between kisses.

Before I even realize, we are at the hospital and the love of my life is being wheeled away from me and into a well-equipped room. My being a doctor doesn't allow me unfettered access and like any father, I have to wait for news.

I see pitying looks from the staff that recognize me, but thankfully they don't approach with platitudes. I know they would be genuine, but I can't hear any of that now. I only want to hear good news about my wife and her well-being.

After what feels like an eternity, an Emergency Obstetrician approaches me. I can see the stain and fatigue on Dr. Kate Garret's face.

Words loose meaning to me after I hear her say, "I'm sorry, Edward."

I shake my head in denial. This is the most horrid nightmare I'll soon wake up from. Rose will call me a worrywart and I'll place my hand on her small baby bump knowing our child is fine.

"Edward, we tried to save them both, but we lost . . ."

Everything looses meaning as I find it difficult to breathe. My last conscious thought is I would gladly trade places. I would do anything to trade places with my wife.

And then, everything goes blank.

.

.

Several weeks pass and it still seems unreal, like some made up movie playing continuously through my waking hours. Even having to go back to work today hasn't shaken the numbness from me.

I shut the garage door and place my lab coat in the laundry room on my way up to the master suite.

The curtains are drawn over the windows and the blackout shades I need for sleeping during the day makes it quite dark in my bedroom–turned cave.

A tiny lump is centered on the king size bed and covered with numerous sheets. I wonder if she's sleeping or still avoiding me as usual.

After Rose miscarrying and finally being discharged from the hospital, we came home to our empty house.

I had already cleaned up the bloodstains and replaced our bedding. I didn't want my girl to have physical reminders of such a tragedy.

But once we got home and I tried helping Rose up the stair (her resisting and resenting my help most of the way) I soon found out it didn't matter.

She stood in the doorway for several moments, gazing at the spot she had started to lose our child. A little girl . . .

Rose didn't move for quite a while, but tears were constant as they fell from her eyes to the floor. As I went to place my hands on her shoulders, trying to take some of her pain away, she started to scream.

I helplessly watched as she ran towards our bed and started tearing the blanket, sheets, pillows and anything else nearby from the bed and nightstand.

Anguish yells tore from her throat as she all but trashed our room. And I didn't try to stop her . . . what was the point? My wife needed to grieve, and this was the outlet she found. Of course I foolishly wished my arms and love were enough to take away her agonizing pain, but it wasn't. Not even close.

Several more weeks passed with her resembling a zombie. She barely ate, barely slept, barely bathed, barely acknowledged me, barely lived . . . barely breathed. Her grief had trumped everything, including her will to live.

In the rare times she spoke, accusations were heralded at me, "This is your fault, EDWARD! You didn't WANT our child! I heard YOU in the ambulance! You didn't want our bab . . ." her voice would break before endless sobs took over.

I could do nothing but take what she wanted to give me. I could yell back and say it was all untrue, which it was, but I didn't. What was the point?

.

.

It wasn't until five months of horror, pain and endless torment passed before something vital broke in my wife.

After answering a surprised knock at the door, I stared in awe at Rosalie's mom, seemingly sober, standing at our front door. I wordlessly ushered her in, not really knowing what to say.

"Hey, Edward. I take it my daughter didn't let you know I'd be coming?" Her question didn't require an answer. My shock at seeing her said it all. However, with that shock also came great hurt. Time and time again, I had tried begging my wife to talk to me, to go to consoling with me, but she refused. And to know she called her mom, the woman she didn't really get along with, was quite telling.

My wife didn't love me anymore . . . she hated me . . .

I showed Lillian where her daughter was resting before grabbing a coat and leaving the house. I needed to be alone with my crushing feelings and moral.

Taking several passes along a jogging trail, I had several realizations: firstly, if Rosalie asked me for a divorce, I didn't know if I could ever grant it to her. My life couldn't work without her; secondly, if my wife didn't love me anymore, what was the point in still trying; thirdly, none of those things mattered, because somehow I would push beyond all this heartbreak and get my wife back.

I didn't feel any better after my time alone, but my head and heart were clearer.

When I got home and started my way up toward our (thankfully) shared bedroom, soft voices washed over me.

I should have turned around and left them to their privacy, but it had been entirely too long since I heard my wife's sweet, soft voice. I was a thirsty man that had to take a drink.

So guiltily, I listened, and what I heard floored me.

"You have to stop this, Rosalie," her mom was saying. "You are beyond lucky to have such a man. He'd do anything for you."

"You only like his money and family name," Rosalie said harshly. And whether that was true or not – it was uncalled for.

I could hear Lillian swallowing the hurt as she admitted, "That may have been true at first, baby, but after seeing your love for each other . . . hell, just seeing his love for you has changed me. You can't be near you two for one minute without seeing how much that boy loves you."

It was silent and I wondered if Lillian was sitting by my wife, tenderly pushing strands of hair from her eyes, or awkwardly standing near her daughter. I so wanted to see, but kept my distance, allowing them a modicum of privacy.

"I know, mom," I finally heard my wife squeak. Several deep breathes left my chest in a rush . . . Rose still realized how much I loved her . . . adored her, really.

"Then why are you treating him like someone's dirty trash? Why are you blaming him instead of sharing your pain?" Something I wondered myself.

"I-I . . . It isn't that easy –"

"To hell with that, girl!" I wanted to rush in and yell at Lillian for upsetting my wife, but I stood my ground. Rosalie didn't want my help. "That boy has been your punching bag for months, and still he stays here and loves you."

I didn't know about the punching bag part, but I still did love my wife . . . more than myself.

"Your daddy wouldn't have put up with that for one day yet alone five months. His leaving us was proof of that, baby."

Deep, sad sobs could be heard and I know they were my wife's.

Listlessly, I slid down the wall and buried my head between my bent knees. I wondered if this pain would ever pass, if things would ever be close to normal again. All I knew for the last half year was pain, regret and lack of sleep. The only saving grace –sadly– was my work and helping my patients to heal and progress in their recoveries.

My mother-in-law's voice broke through my sadness as I tuned back in, helplessly listening to what she said, "I know it hurts, baby. Mama knows. But you have to let it go. YOU have to let it go."

"H-how?" Rose feebly asked through her gasping breaths.

"By starting to let your man in. Let your husband be a part of your pain, Rose. Like he wants to. Stop pushing him away! Stop blaming him! Stop punishing him, baby. Mourn for your child together. He lost her . . . just as much as you, Rose. Start by letting him in and everything else will follow. Everything else will follow, baby."

My silent sobs joined my wife's as I took in what her mom said. Sadly I didn't know about my mother-in-law and the fact that she had been sober for a couple of years. I sent money to her every now and then, despite Rose's objections, but I hadn't known she was sober. I simply wanted to help her out, with what little I could offer. Lillian had at least supported us wanting to get married, unlike my parents.

But as her words of wisdom washed over me, I could feel a warm love for her starting to blossom. It was wonderful to feel something positive for my family, and I clung to it.

Even long after my wife's sobs had quieted and Lillian joined me in the hallway, gently patting my head, I still clung to that small bulb of hope. An unknown Calvary had come, and it was in the wisdom of my wife's mother. Who knew mother-in-laws weren't evil, after all.

.

.

It only took several days to pass before Rose approached me on my next night off. Being a second year resident, I was allotted a little more (little being the operative word) time off, and it was on such a night that my wife approached me.

The house was settling in for the night, and I could still hear Lillian cleaning up the kitchen after a very delicious meal, humming terribly off-tune. I now knew where Rose's wonderful cooking talents came from – and not so wonderful singing ability.

"Edward?" I heard hesitantly spoken behind me. Without haste, I dropped my case files and turned toward my girl. Even with losing too much weight and her hair unwashed, she was breathtaking.

I turned my dining chair around so I could drink in this moment. I couldn't remember the last time she had spoken so kindly towards me.

"Yes, Rosie?" I replied, using her precious pet name so she wouldn't think I was mad at her.

Perhaps I had a right to be, but I couldn't find it buried anywhere inside me. I only wanted and craved her love and affection. We could weather anything else thrown at us if I had her love.

"Do you mind terribly if I talked to you?"

I didn't mind in the damned least.

"Of course not, Rose. You can talk to me whenever. It's the yelling I can't take," I tell her honestly. Though I try to be gentle, I can't sugarcoat everything for her – advice given to me by mother-in-law dearest.

"I know, and for that I'm sorry. More than you'll ever know." My heart told me she spoke the truth.

I wanted to reach out and take her into my arms, but she had to make the move. I couldn't do it for her.

"I know, love."

She looked up at my tender words, giving me a half-smile. I wondered if it hurt her cheeks, seeing as she hadn't smiled in quite some time.

"Um, well . . . the thing is." She played restlessly with her fingers, probably not knowing what else to do. It hurt to see my quiet girl fumbling so badly, and it wasn't in me to see her struggling helplessly. I wasn't built to see her falter.

"What do you want to tell me the most, Rose?" I asked very softly. "Just tell me what's in your heart."

"Um . . . well, it was so unfair of me, Edward. EVERYTHING. The way I hurt you . . . shut you out . . . blamed you for the death of our child. It was so unfair of me. And I'm sorry. I am so very, very sorry and if you never forgive me I'd understand. But I love you. Please . . . I hope you know that."

And with those words, I was off my chair and pulling her, my everything, into my empty arms. To hell with making her do everything! She had taken enough steps by herself. It was time for us to grieve the loss of our child, our relationship and all the sadness together.

Heavily Rose fell into my arms while encircling hers around my neck. Her hold was tight and even hurt me a little, but I didn't care. I would hurt ten thousand times more if it meant having this woman in my arms. She was my life and I couldn't live it without her.

As we sank to the ground and cried together, I could feel some of it starting to slide away. I knew our grief wouldn't magically be repaired and it would take time for all the sadness, bitterness and forgiveness to work its way through our family, but we were starting again.

We were holding each other and allowing our pain to be felt together.

I don't know how long we sat there that night, or remember all the words we said in love, but I would never forget the tender smile Lillian gave to me as she slipped out the kitchen and then the front door. I knew she would soon be back, but she was giving us the night to be together and grieve in private.

It was through this experience that I learned birth was the opposite of death. Yes, we had lost our unborn little girl (who we later named Lillium), and she never got to live life, but she lived in the heart of her mommy and daddy. And not a day passed that I don't think about her or wonder where she was.

It was another small moment in my life – thinking about her and where she might have been – that stuck in the forethought of said life.

The big moments were often beautiful, but I cherished the time in between even more. The thing called life.

Hardships and all wove the tapestry of my life.

.


.

Five years later

As my eyes blink open I spy a sliver of sun on the hardwood floor. It brings a smile to my face. I can't help feeling awfully happy, and yes, disgustingly sappy – even over something as "mundane" as a sliver of sunlight.

My muscles groan as I start to move and stretch them. For some reason, I'm feeling sore and heavy. And perhaps some of it can be attributed to the long session of sex that my wife and I got up to most of the night, but that's nothing new.

Moving as much as I can, I start to realize why my movement is limited and my back feels extra hot. Last night (or more like the wee hours of the morning after being totally sate and drained) I had fallen asleep on my back, with Rose already gone.

But lying on my stomach, face pressed into my pillow, and only a small portion of the bed holding my body, I grin.

Lying on my back, totally splayed out is my three-and-a-half-year-old son, Nicholas. The light of our life.

Though he's reserved and quiet-spoken, Nick sleeps quite the opposite. He loves to spread out and fling his limbs every which way, taking up as much room as possible.

And now with him weighting heavily on my back, overheating me, and taking up most of the room, I smile even wider.

My life could be utterly different and could have gone another way, but it hasn't. And for that I smile.

Slight whimpers leave his lips as I turn over and lay my son on my chest, marveling at the healthy beat of his heart and his flushed cheeks. Like her son, Rose is spread out over the remaining amount of bed, which is most of it to begin with. Her tangled hair is spilled into her eyes and over her pillow. Parted, swollen lips allow her slight snores to be heard. My girl really only snores when we've been quite active and she's beyond wiped out.

My fingers move through my son's thick hair, smoothing out the baby-fine strands. Nick's hair is neither blond nor copper like mine. It is a strange mix of the two. But when light hits it, he looks like a new shiny penny. He often smiles softly when his mother calls him her lucky penny, knowing where the nickname comes from.

The last five years of my life have been the best. Again, my family has had its challenges, but we've persevered.

I've even reconciled some with my parents. After Nicholas Anthony Cullen was born, Rose took it upon herself to try and bridge the gap. The fact that she did it behind my back made me truly angry.

It took me several weeks to forgive her, but eventually I did, knowing she only thought of our life having more room to love and wanting to forgive my parents.

It took over a year before the anger and resent I felt towards them start to melt. They were totally enamored with their grandson and saddened about the news of their granddaughter Lillium. But I knew they loved her just as much.

Their ready and available love towards my children caused me real pain. I couldn't understand why they were so openly accepting yet had turned their back on me – their only son.

It took me time, but eventually I was able to push away most of my anger towards them. That didn't mean there wasn't a stiffness between us. At times, when I saw how much they showered Nick with love, I would feel the old wound throb, but I'd push it away. I didn't want that hatred in my life, weighting me down any longer.

Unsurprisingly, it had been Lillian who really helped me to see beyond my anger. "Edward, baby," she said, "the world is a crazy ass place. And no matter how much you learned in your fancy doctor college, it won't help you with this."

I couldn't help but laugh at her brusque voice and no-holds-barred wisdom. "The heart is something we'll never understand and often overrules our brains. As it should be. But I think mostly what we'll never understand is the emotions our heart produces. Your fancy college says it hormonal chemicals or whatever that produces our feelings. But I say bullshit! It may be scientific mumbo-jumbo, but we are living, breathing creatures and allowed to feel what we feel, baby. But as I told my Rosalie, don't let the anger and bitterness overwhelm you."

"If it were only that easy, Lillian." A smack to the back of my head caused me to cry out in surprise. "What was that for?" I asked, rubbing the thumping in my head.

"It isn't that easy, boy. And never will it be. But you have to push, constantly always pushing. Do you think I don't want a drink every day of my life? You don't think I crave alcohol like the damn air?"

I was speechless, unable to answer. But I knew she was correct.

"But I push, Edward. And I push, until I go another moment with overcoming the longing. My life, my family and my sobriety are worth it. Not to mention my new little grandbaby." She cracks a pretty smile.

"It's the same with your parents. I know you're angry and want to punish them, but don't, baby. Be different then they were. Be the bigger person, and keep pushing until one day the anger will be nothing but a memory."

"You're quite wise, Lillian," I say laughing, this time dodging her hand trying to smack my head again. "I know where my wife may get it from."

She laughs at me, this time clipping me by my ear, but it is hardly felt.

"And don't you forget it, boy. But my Rosalie is smarter and so much wiser than her mama." She looks sadly wistful before it all falls away for a shining proud smile. "So much wiser, Edward."

My face is pushed into her hair as Lillian's arms wrap around my waist. I can all but feel her love flowing into me, and I understand what she means by her daughter being smarter. The words, "she chose you, after all" are left unspoken between us, but makes me happy.

"'Pease no 'ore, daddy," I hear sleepily mumbled, pulling me from my memory. "You hurt m'hair." Chuckles leave my mouth and rumbles in my chest. Even sleeping my Nick is sweetly and softly spoken.

"Daddy is sorry, buddy." I let my fingers sweep once more through his hair before pulling them away. I wouldn't want to hurt his hair anymore.

Several kisses are dropped to his head as I turn over and unabashedly stare at my wife. Sometime in the night, she must have put my shirt on because all I can see are her creamy thighs sticking out. My tongue begs me to start licking, but with Nick lying on my chest, I can't fulfill its wish. Not that I didn't last night – several times.

I push the delicious thoughts from my mind and look down once more to my son, silently thinking about how blessed I am.

Large violet eyes are staring at me, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. I can tell he is still tired, but he's happy to be snuggling with daddy.

"Mommy said I could, daddy," Nick explains why he's in our bed; though he knows I won't get mad. He's just thoughtful and likes to explain his actions. "I wanted cuddles."

A loving grin splits my lips as I stare down at my light, one of my reasons for living.

"I know, buddy. And it's fine. Daddy likes cuddles, too. But mommy takes up all the room and pushes me away." Soft laughter leaves his mouth at my conspiratorial whispers.

"She sleeps crazy, daddy," he explains thoughtfully. "And we give mommy room. She 'serves it after putting up with us men. Nana says so." Oh, his beloved Nana's words of wisdom.

I bite my tongue so I don't laugh at his quiet explanation. Because he is quite serious in his explanation.

"Yes, mommy does work hard for our family and we love her because of it. We are blessed, my Nick. And even more so to have you in our life."

I pull him closer to my body and kiss his baby-plump cheek. He'll soon lose his baby-fat and for that I'm sad. Rose and I may have to start working on child number three. Thinking of my baby girl causes my heart to clinch, but it is in love. I hope she is well and waiting for mommy and daddy wherever she is.

Nicholas buries his face in my neck while winding his arms around me. My sweet, shy boy.

"Love you, daddy," he whispers, sending my heart overflowing.

As I cling to him, I can't help but think of where Rose and I have been and where we'll go in the future.

But for now, our son's footsteps is the music we will dance our life to.

.


.

Author's Notes: Sorry for the long wait! I hope you liked the chapter – even though it had its hard moments. Thanks to those who reviewed last chapter. It really means a lot! Until next time . . . hugs.