Hi guys! I'm so so so so so so sorry it took me this long to update! I had this part written a while ago, but didn't have any internet service, so I couldn't upload it:(

Anyway, I didn't get that many comments last chapter . . . but that's ok. cuz I know you are ALL going to comment for this one, right? Right?

So this one's really short. only 1,088 words. Oh, you don't like that? Well, deal with it! Lol:)

No, I just have REALLY BAD writers block . . . in my mind, I know exactly—sort of—what I want to happen, but I have no clue how to put it into words.

Which sucks.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Twilight, therefore i am NOT Stephenie Meyer. But I do own my plotline/characters.

MPOV (Maybelle—rewind a bit, to when cassie started to cry—so like 3 minutes?)

The minute I hear the sobs from down the hall, I know something bad must have happened, but I cant bring myself to get out of bed. My muscles are aching so badly, and my mind flashes to the previous day. The feeling of the last of my air burning away in my lungs as my legs and arms grew numb from the cold after mere moments. Feeling like, even if water was my element, I had no control whatsoever over what was happening to me. And then, the amazing feeling I had when I found myself standing in my warm bedroom.

By the time I refocus on the present, the sobs have stopped. A knock comes at my door, and Emerson pokes his head in.

"You decent?" he says, and when his eyes lay on me, they immediately soften. I swear, him and Leo are more like boyfriends then brothers, minus the attraction that would entail.

Emerson opens the door wide and closes it quietly behind him. I roll over on the bed, and feel my iPod headphones tangle around my neck—I must have fallen asleep listening to music. Emerson sits down on the bed—and on my feet.

"Feet," I say, and he gets up for a moment so I can pull my feet out from under him. "Thanks."

"Something happened," says Emerson. I give him my best 'no duh' look. He sends a warning look back. "Cassie was upset, really upset. She wouldn't even look at me. And I didn't notice this earlier—but when I was leaving, I saw her rain boots and raincoat. They were all muddy."

"Em, we live in Alaska."

He sends me the look again. "No, really? But that's not what I mean. I'm thinking she went somewhere."

I raise my eyebrows. "Last night? Without telling us?"

"Belle, there're a lot of things she doesn't tell us." I shake my head, and he knows I mean to stop. "That's not what I meant—okay, fine that is what I meant, but that's not my point. Point is, you don't think she went to see that Carlisle guy, do you?"

I roll my eyes. "I honestly don't think she would go, in the middle of the night, without telling us, and look for some guy we hardly know—"

"—but that you were thinking was our father," Emerson interrupts, and I can't argue with that.

"But she didn't think he was our dad," I point out.

He nods his head, like this was something he had already thought about—and knowing him, he probably had. "Exactly. So she would have gone to get some sort of confirmation that it wasn't him." When I open my mouth to comment, he starts talking again. "Don't argue with me. Even if she doesn't talk that much, we know Cassie."

Once again: I can't argue with that. Even when she's silent, and tries to keep as withdrawn as she can, she's not that difficult to read, especially because I've lived with her since we were born, and seen her in almost every situation—seen how she reacts when we bring up our father. She literally longs to do—well, I don't know if she just wants to see him, yell at him . . . that's when the silence and withdrawal cuts in, making it difficult to truly know exactly what is going through her mind.

"You're right," is what I say in reply. "We do—most of the time. But not always." He nods in agreement, and then falls silent, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.

God, I love him. I know that must seem weird, 'cause most siblings our age are out to kill each other (a/n: trust me, my siblings and I are) but Emerson has been my rock for—well, for forever. It's the same with Leo and Cass—we've all got these weird connections, sort of like this feeling that I get in the pit of my stomach that Emerson will always be there for me, and will always be the one person I can always trust to put a smile on my face.

I tap the back of Emerson's hand, and his eyes snap open. He looks at me for a moment, searching for something, then hops of the bed and gently slides me closer to the wall, giving him just enough space to get in next to me. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me to his side, and I bury my nose into his cotton t-shirt (a/n: its white, if ur wondering), just the fact that hes there making me forget about the way that my throat burns when I breathe and that my head is pounding. Making me forget that just down the hall, my sister might be in need of comfort.

See what I mean?

APOV (Alice)

I am so so so so so so so so so so so confused. Carlisle locked himself in his office all night, and still hasn't come out. And then that girl—bella's daughter?! She must have been lying. There is no way Bella is dead. I mean, I would have seen it. Wouldn't I?

I've been sitting on the same spot on the couch all night, just thinking. I stopped dry sobbing after a few hours, and Jasper left the house, mumbling something about "the emotions in this house driving him insane." Esme hasn't come downstairs either, so I can only assume that she's still in her and Carlisle's room. Emmett continued playing video games and watching TV for a while, but then even he seemed to notice the depressing feeling that was flooding through the house, and went with Rose to the garage to do who-knows-what.

Question: If Edward shows up and hears mine, Esme, and Carlisle's thoughts, will he even consider walking through that door?

Edward's coming home today. And if he hears this . . . I cannot even let my mind drift there. But these thoughts push me to get up off the couch and head upstairs towards Carlisle's office, where I knock on the door. No response.

"Carlisle?" I say, and knock again. "Dad?" I repeat the same action, once again to receive no response.

Question: If we don't tell Edward about Bella's death, but he ends up finding out some other way, what will happen to this family?

I know. It's a crappety-crap chapter ending. But MAYBE this will get you to review more, huh??

Lol:) no, but thanks so much to all of my readers/reviewers/favoriters/alerters! I have yet to get a seriously snarky review, so lets assume I'm an all right writer?

love,

Leah:)