A/N: Long time, no see. This chappy didn't come to be without a fight and I very nearly gave up the whole story just because it was so damn hard to write - for several reasons. I'm very happy I didn't though, as I do love this little piece of fanfic despite everything.

Big thank you goes once again to my extremely talented beta Springlily86, who continues being supportive and is always available.

I also want to thank for reviews, again. I am crappy when it comes to answering them, but I do read every single one of them and they mean the world to me. Being not so diligent reviewer myself I don't want to make demands and I appreciate all those too who just come and read and maybe alert me and my story.

There is still more to come in this story - please be patient, as I'm not the quickest updater in the world...I'll do my best anyway.

Please enjoy.

Selfish

The phone call comes at eight-thirty the same evening. Alice has left just an hour ago. I have been trying to occupy myself by washing dishes – to make myself forget the feeling. When our phone finally rings I furiously hope that it's Edward, knowing at the same time that it isn't. I somehow also know that it is about him.

"Mrs. Cullen?" the voice in the other end of the line asks when I pick up the phone.

"Yes?" I ask breathlessly, the cold liquid now completely consuming my body. No, no, no, my heart beats.

The call is from Baghdad. In the haze of my mind I notice that the caller has a nice and soft Irish accent. It figures –his name is Officer Eyre.

"We have some news about your husband." The even, faraway voice is silent for a moment, apparently expecting for me to respond. I don't. I barely manage to hold the receiver in my suddenly sweaty hands. No, no, no, beats my heart.

"Mrs. Cullen – would you please sit down for me?" Officer Eyre says gently to the phone. I follow his request mutely. I'm quite sure he knows I'm listening – my breathing is so loud.

He is silent again for a while and when I have gained almost enough strength to say something, he speaks again.

"I'm afraid the news isn't good. Unfortunately your husband has been wounded severely in a conflict."

"Conflict?" I don't recognize my own voice.

"Yes. He was on duty, working at the ruins of a collapsed building where he and several other men were trying to help out a soldier trapped in. They were ambushed and your husband and the man he was trying to help were shot. I am so very sorry, Mrs. Cullen."

A strangled sob escapes from my lips followed by a silent, wailing noise which I don't recognise. My mind is still trying to comprehend what my body already knows. No, no, no, my heart goes, beating faster and faster by the second.

"Is – is- is," I try to speak. I need to ask something important, but find it physically impossible.

"He has been transferred to a military hospital in Germany last night, to have the best possible care. Mrs. Cullen – he is being well looked after."

Edward's alive.

Edward's alive.

Edward's alive, my heart beats, bumping the warm, familiar fluid through my distressed body. My arms wrap themselves around my stomach and I force myself take a deep breath.

"Thank you for letting me know, Officer." My voice is mine again – firm and calm.

"I am sorry, ma'am, but the situation is still quite critical. His injuries are extremely severe and he has yet to wake up from the medically induced coma."

"Co-coma?"

"The doctors had to anaesthetise him in order to be able to treat him. The wounds-"

"The wounds? There is more than one?!" I screech. I begin to feel light-headed again and I'm suddenly very thankful for the earlier advice to sit down.

"Yes, ma'am," Officer Eyre answers patiently, and his tolerance towards my rather thoughtless interruptions just proves the brilliance of his social skills. "The gun was of the same model US Army uses, so-called M16A4 – it shoots with massive energy and does quite significant damage when the bullet pierces a tissue. The exit wound is remarkably bigger and more severe than the one it has gone in. It also passed very close to his heart. The doctors are no certain of the extent of his injuries. "

I am desperately trying to wrap my mind around all this and the imminent relief of knowing he's alive is slowly transforming into a new feeling - terror. He is alive for now, but what about tomorrow?

"So what are you telling me, sir?" I ask timidly.

I hear him sigh deeply before answering. "What I am saying, Ma'am, is that your husband is alive. But I am also asking you to prepare yourself for the worst. We are doing everything we can here and as soon as it's safe for him we will transfer him back to US to receive appropriate care."

"When?"

"As soon as it's safe, Mrs. Cullen," he repeats gently. "For now it is impossible to give you a timeframe – it may be weeks or it may be months. As I said earlier, the doctors aren't quite sure about the whole extent of his injuries. He is going to have several surgeries done in the next few days and they will gradually give us more information."

Weeks, months maybe? And I am just supposed to sit around here, waiting and praying for the best?

Absolutely not. No way in hell am I agreeing to that.

"So right now my husband is in Germany?" I confirm, trying at the same time calculate how much money we have in our emergency account.

"Yes, Ma'am, in Landstuhl Regional Medical Centre. I can give you phone number where you can call to enquire after your husband. You should also know that as a family member you shall be flown there free of charge."

That's a relief – no need to lend money from our parents, then.

I also begin to feel a little giddy about the fact that I'm going to see him much sooner than I thought. For a short moment I let the sheer happiness of coming reunion consume me without letting the severity of the situation spoil the feeling.

"Mrs. Cullen? Are you still there?"

Officer's unsure voice startles me a little and brings me back to reality. A reality where my husband is seriously injured, and at the moment unconscious at a foreign hospital, and where I don't know if I'm going to see him alive again.

"Yes." My voice is barely a whisper.

"How soon do you think you can travel? Do you have anyone who could accompany you?"

Again, I struggle to think quickly, trying to ignore the paralyzing fear that has taken over me. I need to notify my boss, who is not going to love me after this, that's for sure. I have been on a sick leave for the last for days and have yet to inform her about my impending maternity leave. With a small sigh I realize that I may not have a job to come back to.

Not that any of that matter now. If it comes down to it, I'll rather quit my job than let it keep me from Edward.

I also need someone to look after our house; there has been several burglaries in our neighbourhood in the past years. Forks may be small town, but it has its criminals – a fact that keeps my father from starving to death.

"A couple of days should be enough," I finally decide. "And I think his parents will want to see him as well."

"Wonderful. Someone shall be in touch with about the flight details very soon." Officer Eyre is quiet for a brief moment and adds then: "Someone will also contact you if...if there appears any changes."

I understand the meaning of his words all too well. Two days feels like a lifetime now. Quite literally.

We finish the phone call after I've written down some important phone numbers and thanked the kind officer for his help and compassion. He asks me to take care of myself and to try not to worry too much.

I almost laugh at that.

I have never, ever in my life felt so utterly helpless. It's not only frustrating – it is also scary as hell. For now, there is absolutely nothing I can do to help him, to keep him alive. If I was one to pray, I would be on my knees now, and I would give everything I own for a promise that he will be alive even one more day. I suddenly realize how Edward must have felt when he heard that I was in a hospital two days ago – and he was all alone.

The thought of my poor man over there alone, albeit unconscious and thus unable to actually feel alone, breaks my heart. What if he wakes up before I get there? What if he's in pain? Something close to a voice of reason in my head informs me rather dryly, that there are probably a whole lot of people in the hospital more than able to help him if that is the case, but I find no comfort in that.

I need to tell him that I'm there for him and that he's not alone. Fully understanding the ridiculousness of the gesture I decide to write him a letter. Maybe I'll read it aloud to him, or maybe he can read it himself when he's better so we can laugh at its melodramatics together.

Doing nothing is simply not an option. It is not completely lost to me that I am essentially doing this to myself, to keep my thoughts occupied. I cannot afford to think about all the horrible scenarios and that's exactly what I would do if I didn't find something else to busy my mind with. So I write a letter.

It's the first proper letter I have written since elementary school - I had an Australian pen friend Victoria, whom I would write to once or twice a year. I remember writing on a blue stationary with daisies and puppies on it. This time I have to settle to a plain white sheet of paper and a blue ball point pen.

My first ever love letter is nothing fancy or pretty or special. Just my words to him.

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" Edward asked me abruptly, interrupting our comfortable silence. I was lying on my back on my narrow bed and Edward was sprawled on my rocking chair on the far corner of my dimly lit room.

I raised my eyes from my book and saw him studying my modest CD collection absent-mindedly. I frowned thoughtfully, wondering what could possibly have brought this into his head.

"No." After thinking about it a little bit I decided to elaborate. "I have been on dates, though."

"Really? With who?" In the near darkness of my room it was really hard to tell what kind of expression Edward was currently wearing, but his voice certainly sounded... off. I was even more puzzled than before.

"With Tyler for senior prom and Mike...well, I guess it wasn't really a date. We were supposed to go to movies together but he started to feel sick at the cinema and had to leave before it even started. He hasn't asked me out since."

Edward remained silent after that. I struggled to see his face to find out what he was thinking, but he was still staring at my CD rack on the opposite wall.

I stifled the urge to groan exasperatedly. Moody Edward was something I was soon getting familiar with but not necessarily enjoyed. That side of him made an appearance nearly every night at some point and to my deep satisfaction I was getting pretty good at making it disappear.

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason. Just wondering." He tried to sound nonchalant, I could tell, but he didn't really succeed. I rolled my eyes a little bit to his turned back and considered leaving it at that. But I really wanted to just get past this and get in to the making out part of the evening – that was why he was here, after all.

"They were just dates, Edward. No kissing, no hand-holding, not even attempts. I think I'm better at being just one of the guys. Not really a hot date kind of girl."

Edward stood up suddenly and took two strides towards my bed until his knees hit the edge of it.

"You've never been just "one of the guys", Bella," growled playfully, attacking my sides and tickling me until my giggles turned into screeches.

"Stop you crazy person! You can't just jump on to me like some...I don't know..." Not that I minded, in the least.

The light atmosphere was back just like that and I exhaled happily when Edward crawled next to me, pulling me closer to his side. He dropped a single, feather-like kiss on my forehead and let out a sigh.

"I think it's cute that you're jealous," I confessed, cuddling into him.

Edward harrumphed. "Am not."

"You are totally jealous – although I can't see why. I'm the one who should feel threatened."

"A, I am not jealous and B, why should you feel threatened?"

"A, whatever and B, you are the one with totally hot and amazingly beautiful ex-girl friend, with whom you had a proper long-term relationship."

Edward shrugged. "Emphasis on the word EX. It was only long-term because I was too stupid to end it when it should have ended."

"When was that?" I asked curiously.

"After the first two weeks, I suppose. That was when the novelty had already worn off and we were left with this awkward not-quite- friendship- but- definitely- not- attraction- either -situation."

"Why didn't you end it then? If you knew it wasn't anything more?"

"Like I said, I was stupid and somehow had this crazy idea that we were supposed to be a couple because all our mutual friends were paired up and we were the two odd ones out."

"Did you...I mean...did you have..."I felt the blush burn my face and back tracked quickly, realizing that I really didn't want to know. "Never mind," I whispered finally.

"Did we what?"

"Nothing. It's nothing."

"It's not 'nothing' if it makes you all...weird like that. Ask away, Bella." Edward gave me a little squeeze and lowered his gaze to meet my eyes.

"I – I don't want to. Just forget I said anything," I pleaded my face still red as a tomato.

"Not a chance. Hold on – ." A sudden realization flashed on his face. "Did you mean-? Bella, it wasn't like that. I told you, there was never really love or anything close to that. We kissed and I got to the...ermh...second base, but that's it."

I was really too mortified to talk so I chose to remain silent.

"We didn't have sex, Bella."

"Ok," I squeaked and buried my burning face to his armpit. He smelled musky and honeyish and outdoorsy. It soothed my nerves a little. I felt him press a kiss to the crown of my head and more felt than heard the chuckle that followed.

I knew that he wasn't telling me the whole story, but the most important part was out and that was all that mattered to me at the moment.

It had been less than a week since Edward's first nightly visit. We decided that the likelihood of him getting caught out of his bed in the middle of the night was a little too big and could have ended us both grounded. We decided to meet at seven o'clock instead and Edward would leave before his parents got suspicious. Charlie was blissfully unaware that his only daughter had a visitor every night and we much preferred it that way. I cringed at the thought of the third degree interrogation that surely was waiting for us both if he'd found out. And I was more than certain that he wouldn't allow us alone in my room. Not that we were doing anything he'd have to worry about.

I was working from Monday to Thursday, so evenings were really all we had. My dad wasn't happy for me to stay out late on weekdays when I had to go to work in the morning and to my utter disbelief, he had even attempted to set up a curfew – on the summer leave of his 18-years-old daughter. I had placated his nerves by promising to stay home on weekdays, as long as I was allowed to do whatever I pleased on weekends. He had grudgingly agreed, probably knowing that he didn't really have any other option and that I wasn't going to cause trouble anyway. He, of course wasn't aware that Edward and I...whatever it was that that Edward and I were.

Charlie was doing night shifts this week, so I didn't need to explain my eagerness to get into my room right after work. Needless to say, we were both quite excited about the coming weekend – three days of uninterrupted bliss. I knew that we really needed to talk and I think he knew that too. So far we hadn't really talked anything deeper than some everyday topics and usually we engaged ourselves into a light chatter about books, movies and music we liked about. Still, the growing intensity between us and the emotions below the surface needed to be discussed – no matter how much the mere thought embarrassed me.

I was still fairly sure that the depth of my feeling towards him greatly surpassed his feelings towards me. Getting confirmation to that felt frightening and I already mentally prepared myself to a heart break. I definitely knew that what I was feeling wasn't friendship, but I really didn't know Edward well enough to know what he considered as such. I didn't want to ruin these few happy evenings we had before that inevitable conversation, though, so I simply focused on feeling and not so much on reasoning.

I didn't know why I felt so insecure of him, even after witnessing his obvious jealousy and his eagerness to kiss me and stay close to me. According to my very limited experience with the opposite sex , that could have easily been something that all the boys did with their female friends. Then again, Edward wasn't exactly 'all the boys'. I let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"What is it?" he asked from next to me.

"I wish I could read minds," I blurted out without thinking and then blushed furiously.

Edward laughed, bewildered. "Why?"

"It's just...you might be an expert in reading people and knowing their ulterior motives, but I'm not that gifted."

He touched my nose with his forefinger.

"Whose ulterior motives are you interested in?"

"What do you think, genius?" I brushed his nose with mine.

"Mine?" He asked, looking genuinely confused. I rolled my eyes at him.

"What makes you think I have ulterior motives – and what are we really talking about here?" His tone grew suspicious.

I shrugged. Apparently the discussion was to take place here and now, instead of foreseeable future. Might as well let it all out.

"What are we doing here?"

Edward didn't clearly quite follow me. "Where?"

I stifled an urge to grit my teeth and took a deep breath.

I turned on my back, not quite able to look in to his forest green eyes while receiving his rejection.

"I just...are we still friends?" I really didn't know how to phrase my initial question.

He didn't answer. The silence that followed was long, meaningful and excruciating. I was sure he had heard me, so there was no need to repeat my words, but the fact that he had to think about the answer promised nothing good.

When I was about ready to either curl into a ball and vanish from the face of earth or simply run out of the room, he finally answered. With a question of his own.

"Sure. Why do you ask?" His voice was foreign and detached.

"I...just...nothing. Just checking," I said in a small voice.

Right. Well. At least I had his friendship. And he was a good friend. Never too many of good friends. I was furiously blinking my eyes, to keep my stupid tears at bay. I cleared my throat and started to stand up. Before I had a chance to move Edward grasped my arm.

"Bella." Now his tone was soft, almost tender. When I didn't meet his eyes, he grabbed my chin and turned my face to his. Slowly he bowed his head towards me and swept his lips against mine. Without moving from this position, he whispered:

"I don't know how comfortable I am with the thought of you kissing your other guy friends, though."

Pleasurable shiver run down my spine, and only sound I managed to make was something close to "Oh."

Edward continued, his lips just barely touching mine:

"I think I have to forbid you from kissing anyone else."

"Is that so?"

"I'm afraid so. As your boyfriend I really don't see any other option." And then he pressed his lips completely on mine and kissed me like he meant it.

Edward has always been the one with the words and I just – well, I sure can appreciate beautifully written letter, but have never really known how to put my thoughts into words. I often tease Edward that he speaks like someone from a different era, especially when he talks about his feelings. Truthfully, there is never even a trace of pretence or falseness in his speech. But I have to admit that it took a while before I let myself believe that he means every cheesy word he says, that he is not saying things just because they sound good or sophisticated.

First two or three sheets of paper end up being grumbled to a ball on the kitchen floor and when I finally complete the letter I still feel unsatisfied. I want to say everything without saying literally everything and for once expressing myself beautifully. I want him to know that I am so proud of him and I would be there in a heartbeat if that was in any way possible. I don't want him to feel lonely.

Of course I end up writing just a silly, old fashioned love letter, with lots of "I love you's " and "I miss you's" and some mindless stream of thought. But one can see me and my feelings from between every single line. Maybe he keeps it under his pillow when he wakes up and smells the paper looking for my scent. Maybe he laughs a little for my hopelessly messy handwriting. I don't really mind, as long as he feels a little less lonely while reading it.

Then there is the rest of the day. The writing has taken about an hour and after that I manage to amuse myself with fantasies about how Edward might feel and think and look like when he receives the letter for another hour.

The reality hits me like a ton of bricks.

I sit in our kitchen trying desperately to cling into my happy thoughts when I suddenly find myself wondering: what if I never have a chance to give him this letter? That's all I need to lose my composure. One can only distract oneself so long. I freeze on my seat, grasping the edge of the table so hard it hurts my fingers and my breath comes in short gasps.

A world where Edward doesn't exist is something I have never been forced to imagine – I've planned to live long and happy life with him and then someday, when we're both old, die with him. Without wanting to sound melodramatic, I know for a fact that I simply cannot live without him being alive. I can bear the distance and the fear for him and even not touching him, as long as there is even theoretical possibility of me seeing him again.

What impossibly insane, thoughtless whim made me send the one truly meaningful and irreplaceable thing away from me – and he would have stayed if I'd asked?! He was ready to cancel all the plans just minutes before his departure, just for me. If he now dies there is really only one person to blame. Only one person how could have saved his life, but didn't. Even when he asked.

Me.

The guilt would crush me on the spot if it wasn't for the fact that it really doesn't matter. Sure, it is satisfying to have something to point a finger to, but the truth is that if he doesn't survive this, the guilt is on the bottom of the list of emotions I will surely go through. Grief makes one selfish. I'll only feel the loss of him and that alone overshadows everything else. I know that the horror I feel right now is only a tiny fragment of the one I'll have to face if the worse happens, but I'm already nearing the edge of my sanity.

The room spins around me, first slowly, swaying like a swing and then accelerating and finally I can only see blurry flashes of colours and hear the air whooshing through my ears. I find myself from the kitchen floor, clutching my knees to my chest, rocking my body back and forth, my eyes wide open but seeing nothing.

What finally brings me back, if only temporarily, is some kind of maternal instinct. Somewhere deep in the whirlwind of emotions in mind I find myself thinking: this can't be good for the baby. It's not much but it's enough for me stop hyperventilating and to slowly taking in my surroundings. The tiled floor feels cold and hard under me and makes my sides hurt. The old kitchen clock ticks on loudly as if time hasn't stopped and the world was still there like before. I can hear the refrigerator humming. I can smell soap and cinnamon and lavender in the air. I hear the phone ringing.

The phone is ringing, I realize with delay, and try to sit up in a daze. When I finally find my feet the ringing has stopped. My cell gives a beep indicating a text message, but I am still too deep in my foggy state to react to it. I lean my back on to the foot of the table and pull my knees to my chest like before. The only difference is that I am now sitting up.

After some time I hear someone on the front door. I don't move from my spot and the visitor doesn't ring the bell. The door opens and closes, but I still just sit there. Esme's figure appears in the kitchen doorway. She doesn't say anything, only looks at me. Then she comes to where I sit and sits down next to me.

"Oh Sweetheart," she says quietly and wraps her arms around me. She feels warm and motherly.

"I just heard..." she says quietly. "Officer Eyre called us and said that he had already talked to you."

I nod mutely and lean my head on her shoulder. I feel calmer now when Esme is here and also very thankful that I don't have to explain myself to her. With a pang I realize how selfish I'm being – I'm not the only one in this nightmare. Edward is also a beloved son and brother.

"I'm sorry, Esme..." I wrap my arms around her. "I haven't even thought about you guys...this must be awful..."

"Hey, hey, hey! Bella – we are in this together. And we still have him."

Esme apparent certainty makes me feel a little more confident too. I let her lead me into bed, tuck me in like a child and stroke my hair. I am still waiting for the tears, but for the first time in weeks I don't feel like crying. The tight ball of emotions inside my chest is still too heavy and for now I'm doing everything I can to ignore it. It's the only way not to fall apart.

I put my hand on my slightly swollen abdomen under the blanket and let out a sigh.

"Thank you, Esme," I whisper. I try to fill my voice with appropriate amount of gratitude and hide the numbness that is slowly but surely taking over.

"Don't worry about it, dear. Each of us copes on our own way. I'm sure Edward would want you to concentrate on taking care of yourself and the baby. And I'll do everything in my power to help you with that. It's my way of dealing with this." Esme smiles at me gently.

"And I need to keep my promise." She says it so quietly that I very nearly miss it.

"Promise?"

Esme shakes her head as if to clear it. "I made a promise to him."

"To Edward?"

"Yes. Before he left. "

I feel something chilly creeping up my spine.

"What did he say, Esme?" I ask warily, locking my eyes with Esme's. She looks uncomfortable and to my horror, guilty.

"Bella..."she sighs eventually. "You know what he's like...when it comes to you and your well being, he tends to go to extremes. I don't think you even realize what he is capable of."

"What do you mean?"

"He...he had a bad feeling about leaving you. And not just about leaving you but also...also about going in general. He said that it was his dream and he was very thankful for you for being supportive and all...but at the same time, he had this feeling... that something bad was going to happen. They only way I was able to console him were to promise to look after you, no matter what happens. I said that he could trust us to take care of you so he had only himself to take care of. For some reason it made him feel better."

I don't know what to think. I knew that he had his doubts about going, about being apart and about my coping, but never with one word did he indicate of being actually afraid. For his own life. Suddenly it seems strikingly obvious – of course he has been afraid! It is too easy to forget that he has any concerns about his own well-being when he is so caring and loving and considerate of mine.

I feel like an idiot.

"Of course he was afraid," I say aloud, more to myself than to Esme. "And he would've insane not to feel any apprehension or fear for his own life. You are supposed to be scared when you go to a war." I am so mad at myself that it, fortunately, encompasses every other emotion for a moment.

"Even if his wife was too self engrossed and wrapped in her own feelings to give any notion for his fears, " I say bitterly.

Esme strokes my hair gently, and in any other circumstances the effect would be impossibly calming.

"You didn't see his fears because he didn't want you to. He knew that in many ways, you had the worst end of the bargain and he didn't want to add to your burden."

"My burden?" I exclaim, incredulous. Surely I just misheard her?

"Bella, from his point of view, the sacrifice was all yours. You encouraged him to go because you knew it was what he had dreamed of, despite the fact that doing so you'd have to live in a constant fear of losing him. For him, it was the greatest gift you could have given him, because he also knows how much you need him."

I prop myself up in a sitting position, leaning my back on the headboard. Esme's hand drop off of me in the process, and she sits down on the edge of the bed.

"I feel like I pushed him to do something that I thought he wanted to do, so I wouldn't have to feel guilty of keeping him from doing anything he wanted; and he did it because he thought I wanted him to, even though he was scared for himself. For me, it seems like I was the only selfish one in the equation." I can't meet Esme's eyes, not knowing what I would find in there.

Her voice, however, is nothing but understanding.

"All our deeds are ultimately selfish, Bella."

I let out a half-amused, half frustrated groan.

"True. And now I am making this whole situation about myself. I haven't even asked how you feel about all this!"

I finally meet Esme's gaze just to notice the same pain in her eyes I recognize in myself. I am truly one self –centred brat, no matter what she says.

"I am scared shitless." I startle I little of her blunt statement. I've never heard her using such language; instead I've more than once witnessed her chastising Emmett for his crude vocabulary.

"I've already buried one of my children. That is something I wish not to have to endure ever again."

I let out an involuntary gasp of surprise. "Oh, Esme...I didn't know..."

Esme shakes her head. "No-one else but Carlisle does. The baby was our first, two years before Emmett."

I feel sick. My hands have unconsciously risen to my abdomen, shielding the little life inside. I can't find anything to say and for a couple of minutes we sit in silence. I stare mutely in her face and she has her eyes focused somewhere far away.

"It's been almost thirty years...and I still remember every excruciating detail...what it was to find her in her crib, lifeless...and the realization that there was absolutely nothing I could do to save her. Not that it kept me from trying... Carlisle was at work, so I was home alone. The phone call to him was...I never knew he was capable of such a sound..." A single, strangled sob escapes from Esme, but her face remains expressionless. However emotionally uninhibited she might otherwise seem, clearly there are some things that were locked up so deep that even she herself can't reach them.

Wordlessly I crawl over to her, wrapping my arms around her, and finally, feel something unravel inside me. I cry against my Mother-In-Law's shoulder as she cries against mine.

After a while Esme extracts herself from my arms to look at my eyes.

"Bella, this is different. He is still alive and this time I know that there is something I can do for him. You and your baby are like an extension of him and if you just let me take care of you..."

"Anything," I promise. Esme is right. Every deed we do in life is essentially selfish. What makes the difference is whether it is done out of love.