On what would have been my mother's 32nd birthday, Dad took me to the cemetery to see her grave. He'd always laid flowers down every year, and again on mine and Izzy's birthday. He'd never told me, so I thought he'd just deserted me every birthday. I placed some lilies, Mom's favourite flowers, by the headstone.
Mary Alice Brandon Cullen, Passed away aged just eighteen in 1998. Beloved wife and mother.
"I love you, Mom," I whispered almost silently, wiping away a few tears. Next to Mom's grave was Izzy's, and I stopped and read the engraving.
Isabelle Rosalie Cullen Whitlock, Passed away shortly after birth, 1998.
"I love you, Izzy," I sniffled, laying a small pink rose by her headstone. I couldn't stop myself crying, wishing I could remember them.
"Look after each other," I mumbled, "Sweet dreams."
With tears streaming down my cheeks, I went to stand by Dad again. He held me close for a few minutes, soothing me softly as if I was a baby. He took my hand and knelt by the graves, placing a small photo of all four of us together. It was his tradition to place that photo there for a few days around Mom and Izzy's birthdays. He kissed two fingers, placing them gently on Izzy and Mom on the photo.
"Rest in peace, my angels," he wavered softly, pulling me close. I let out more tears, the memories of Dad telling me about how he lost them coming back to me.
Once we had composed ourselves, we stood up, our hands still joined, and we slowly walked away, back home to build on our new relationship.