It isn't hard to find my Dad. Ansel Whitlock isn't a very common name. I find a website that had our old address, some news articles about four different drunk driving incidences, two drug raids and one retail theft with his name in them. I know he's committed more theft than that, and in a weird way, it makes me smile. I got my Dad's hands.

"Go upstairs." Carlisle says firmly. All three of us on the couch look over into the kitchen.

"But-" Emmett starts to protest.

"No buts. Go upstairs." Carlisle repeats. Emmett doesn't move. He stared at Carlisle. "Emmett, go upstairs or you're going to be grounded for two more weeks."

Emmett let's put an agitated huff, stands from the table and storms upstairs.

"You know, you really should be nicer to the boy." Garth says in his raspy voice.

"I need to be nicer?" Carlisle scoffs. "I've been part of his life since the day he was born. He's treated like one of my own. Hell, he is one of my own. You're the one who needs to be nicer."

"I am nice to him. You never got him a car." Garth shrugs. Even though I'm a room away, Carlisle tense body and clenched fists and agitated voice.

"But I gave him a home. He's never had to worry about CPS or police showing up at my house. He's been clothed, fed, educated, entertained, loved," Carlisle counts out on his fingers. "Supported, encouraged and everything else that you refused to give him. So don't tell me I'm not nice to him. I've given him the life he deserves while you were putting your life ahead of his."

Garth shrugs and gets a wicked grin. He looks just like Emmett when he does this. That is, if Emmett put on weight and started to refuse basic hygiene habits.

"I let you give him that life. Technically, I gave him that life when I signed my rights to you."

"Get the hell out of my house!" Carlisle yells and points to the door leading to the garage. His arm shakes and his words seem to echo through the house and bring everything to a stop. Rosalie, Edward and I stay completely still.

And Garth chuckles before lazily making his way towards the door.

"I'm getting my boy back, Carl. We'll see what the courts say this time."

Garth leaves and Carlisle comes to the living room. I quickly shut my laptop so he can't see my Dad's name on the screen. He collapses into the couch next to Edward. His face is bright red and he must be cracking his teeth with how tightly he's clenching his jaw. He pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand.

"You okay, Dad?" Edward asks.

"It'll be fine," Carlisle murmurs. He must not of heard Edward correctly.

"What is going on?" Esme asks as she comes from the master bedroom, her hair still wet from the bath. "I heard screaming."

"Garth was over." Edward says quietly. "I text you about it."

"I didn't take my phone into the bathroom. What happened?" She sighs.

"Garth is going to fight for Emmett. And he's not just trying to win Emmett over anymore. He's going to fight it in court." Carlisle says with a heavy sigh.

No one says anything for a moment. The air is tense and stressful. I sink down a little lower in my seat, but them jump when Carlisle yells for Emmett.

"Come downstairs, Emmett!" He calls. "Let's go to the batting cages!"

"You're letting me go?" Emmett calls back over the pounding of his footsteps. He charges down the steps, yanking on his varsity jacket as he goes. Carlisle stands from the couch and meets Emmett at end of the steps. Emmett looks around Carlisle for Garth. "Where's my dad?"

"C'mon. Let's go." Carlisle speaks softly. Emmett pierces his lips but when Carlisle heads to the door to the garage, Emmett follows.

"What did Garth say?" Ends asks us once we hear the car start.

Rosalie and Edward fill her in on every detail and every word said. While they're distracted, I open my laptop again and look at all the pages with Ansel Whitlock's name on them.

My gut tells me to just close the pages and never think of my father again. After all he did to me, what he put me and Rosalie through, why would I want to speak to him? He use to beat me from one end of the house to the other. He thought it was funny to play horrible mind games with me. He called me useless, pathetic, stupid, and tons of other things on the daily. I could never please him. Even after we were taken away from him the first time, he never once acted like he was going to try to change how he treated me. Did it even bother him when they took us for good?

But then again, we were so much younger when the social worker took us from our Dad. It's been years. He could have changed since then.

And is there really any harm in just looking him up?


I keep sipping tea from the tall thermal cup Esme got for me. My bedroom wrecks of lavender. Esme bought me a lot for my room. There's a small light that plugs into the wall and heats up wax in the little dish above it. Of course, the wax is lavender. She sprayed lavender air freshener right before I went to bed. She bought a special bottle of lavender laundry detergent and washed my sheets in it. There's a bottle of gummy melatonin on my nightstand. A small silver box is under by bed that is suppose to be playing white noise or thunderstorm sounds or rain or a fire burning, but I turned it off. Esme had it set to white noise. It's suppose to be relaxing but it's not.

All this crap might be helping, though. I woke up screaming again, but I wasn't so loud that I woke up Esme. Carlisle got called to the hospital shortly after he left with Emmett for the batting cages, so it's just her in their room tonight.

I reach under my nightstand and pull out my laptop. Now that I'm in the privacy of my own room, it's easy to look up what I want to look up. I type "Ansel Whitlock" into Google again. His name, mugshot, and a few public criminal records come up. I scroll down until I find a new link that I haven't explored yet.

"Ansel Whitlock's Facebook Page"

I can't see much on his page, but I know it's him. His profile picture is a close-up of his scorpion tattoo. It says his single and has his birthday displayed, but it says that I need to make a profile of my own to view more of his.

I click the "sign up" button at the top of the page.


I've spent two hours on this stupid website. I filled in as little information as I could but just enough that Ansel would be able to trust that it's really me. My eyes burn as I stare at the computer screen and his scorpion tattoo.

Emmett wants to know his real dad. Do I want to know mine? The question rolls around my empty mind. I can't think straight. I need to get some more sleep.

Before powering off my laptop for good for the night , I hit the friend request button.