Disclaimer: Any Twilight characters that may appear in this story belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder is my original work. No reproduction is allowed without my written consent.

Chapter 10

The ground and air are dry for this time of year, and I can almost feel the chill of the hard soil beneath me through the armor of my indifference. I've spent months fantasizing about you, Bella. Writing to you, talking to you. I've realized that as far back as I can remember my thoughts debuted in conversation with you, unrehearsed. It turns out I know no other way of experiencing the world. Even now, my mind can't wrap itself around the silence on your end.

I've fantasized, but I've held memories at bay. I must have unconsciously understood that memories of you would level me in a way that fantasy could not. I knew I was going to visit this clearing before I left, that I had to seek you here before I chase you down into the next world. I planned it meticulously. Say goodbye to Mom at the doorstep, drive away, and then pull off onto the dirt track that runs into the pine nursery, hidden from the road. I had to first make sure Esme hadn't gone after me. I knew she would be worried.

When I'd waited what seemed like a safe interval, I left my car and plunged into the nursery by the route Esme showed me the very first time I came to this clearing. The narrow parting in the trees that existed then is all but swallowed by swollen branches, and I had to fight off cloying needles with my limbs as I clawed my way through to the clearing. I've brought an avalanche lily and a thistle in a jar that I plan to leave here for you, a homage to the things you made me feel when I brought you here as a child, and the fantasy I had of meeting you here while I was in the hospital. Incredibly maudlin, I know. You'd tease me for that.

It's a humorless gesture, though, and I've lost the ability to laugh, even at myself. As soon as I set foot in the clearing, the memories I've successfully staved off for months started to break over me in relentless waves. This place is booby trapped with sense memories of you. The smell of pine, the crunch of needles underfoot, the air that's only tinged with sun for a few hours a day. This is where I consoled you when you grieved for Charlie. This is where you held my hand when I'd fought with Emmett over nothing worthwhile. This is where I brought you when we'd grown into teenagers and I couldn't explain the urge I had to be alone with you. You've told me since how desperately you had wanted me to kiss you here, in the quiet of the forest. I've spent years regretting my cowardice then. Oh, Bella, I would never be that coward again. If I could find you now I might bind my lips to yours forever. I might never let you utter another word that was not an exclamation of pleasure into my mouth.

The memories crushed me, and I've been lying here in agony, crying uncontrollably, for hours I think. I'm not sure how long I've been here, but I know I'm in danger of losing myself. I'm in danger of giving up. I need to pull myself together and get back to California. I'll go straight to the last place on Earth you knew and join you over the cliff. I'm coming.

The world is murky through swollen eyes as I finally pull myself off the ground in the center of the clearing. It must be very late afternoon, as I no longer see anything more than the palest blue above me and an eerie gray-green around me. It's the color I saw in a halo around you in my fantasy. Without you here, it's a deathly hue.

I rub the tears and snot from my face with the back of my forearm, but I'm still crying and the gesture is like that of a single windshield wiper that can't keep ahead of the rain. I lumber to the edge of the clearing and will myself to take the last step back into the trees. Why is this so much harder than any other minute without you? Why do I feel as though I'm saying goodbye? The loss I've been living with for months suddenly grips me and a furious cry rips from my chest. "Bella! Oh, god, Bella!"

I'm on my knees again, now in the low brush at the edge of the clearing. I need to stand. I need to move. I need to be anywhere but here.

I struggle weakly to my feet, will myself not to glance back over my shoulder, and propel myself into the forest, back in the direction of my car. I must not look back. I must keep moving forward.

As I walk I begin to hear things. Rodents, most likely. They're the only animals that can comfortably move around in this dense overgrowth of pines. I'm not afraid, but the atmosphere has changed and I've gone from feeling utterly alone to surrounded by creatures who can only pity the man making his way toward his own end. I begin to hear echoes in this space that's too close to possibly allow such an effect. I'm going mad, finally. Madder, I suppose. I went around the bend a long time ago, didn't I? I'm distracted and have to stop. As crazy as I know myself to be, I need to understand what I'm hearing.

I still, a broken twig of a man, swallowed whole by the boughs of the enormous pine trees surrounding me. I listen. It's quiet as soon as I stop moving and it occurs to me I've been listening to the rustle of my own clothes. I can barely turn in the small space where I'm standing so I look up, catching a tiny glimpse of the pale sky, to orient myself. I'm about to start moving again and I hear it. The distant crack of wood, the nervous flutter of wings as if a bird's been scared out of low brush. I notice for the first time the buzz of insects at my ear, the call of a crow overhead. I hear my own breath coming rapidly. I feel a magnetic pull backward, back toward the whispers of movement coming from the clearing.

Madman, I tell myself. Perhaps I'm simply afraid to die. You used to say I was chicken-shit. You said it fondly, never cruelly. You were braver than I in so many ways, but not when it came to us. I know you relied on my strength of conviction where we were concerned. I'll never have to feel shame about that, at least. But you were right that I'm a coward in other respects. I've been so set on this path to find you – a path I know to be toward my own destruction – that I haven't questioned for a second that I'd have the courage to follow you into death. Maybe I'm afraid. Maybe that's why I'm rooted here, listening like a madman to the cackling forest as though it's calling to me.

And then it does call.

Sweet, sweet, Bella.

Your voice.

It's honey and gravel and calling to me. I'm instantly high, giddy from the sound. For a moment believing that I haven't pulled the sound out of thin air. For a moment, believing.

"Edward!"

It's coming from behind me, and I'm frozen. I've reconciled myself to the loss of my sanity already, but for some reason I'm desperate not to be undone by my own mind. I cling to my sense of purpose, the one that's driving me out of the pine nursery toward my car. I need to ignore that most beautiful sound in all of the world because it's most surely in my head, don't I?

"Edward, where are you?"

In an instant I'm plowing through pine trees, needles and the sharp edge of branches taking swipes at my clothes and my face as I go. I'm panting and all thoughts of my original purpose, all pretense at sanity are gone. I need to get to that voice. Some tiny part of me is braced for the pain of disappointment awaiting me in the vacant clearing but I will myself to ignore it. You own me. Even in death, you own me.

I break into the clearing and can barely hear above the pounding of my heart. It's empty and it turns out I've made it to the edge of the cliff after all. The sight of the empty space is a precipice and I'm teetering there, just one thought short of freefall into the abyss.

And then I hear it. A quiet sob.

I look in the direction of the sound, and there, at the far side of the clearing, kneeling in low grass with your head in your hands, shrouded under the shade of a tall evergreen…

"Bella?" I call, quietly. What trick of the mind has created this vision? In what fantasy of mine would you be on your knees, in pain? How sick must I be?

The vision of you has heard me and looks up. Your jaw drops. I lose my breath when your eyes meet mine. You see me. You've always seen me.

Before I can breathe past the shock of your beauty, you're scrambling to your feet and coming at me, hurtling toward me.

"Edward! Edward!" you cry as you launch yourself at me. I'm so stunned that I barely have time to react, to catch you as you fly into my chest. As deluded as I am, I can't bear the thought of letting this gorgeous vision of you fall. I grasp you in my arms and pull you tight when the force of your small, warm body hits mine.

"Oh, Bella. My Bella!" I groan into your neck as I lift you into the air. "Sweet, sweet vision."

You're crying, and I'm crying. I understand why I'm crying, but I should be able to imagine you without tears. I want you to be happy, even in my fantasies. Especially in my fantasies.

"Edward, Edward, I've missed you so much!" I feel your lips on my forehead, your thumb running along my hairline down to my jaw, your tears and mine across my face. It's so real. I can feel the heat of your breath and the tiniest scrape of your nail as you run your forefinger along my jaw and under my chin to bring my eyes to meet yours. "Edward, don't cry," you say, and plant a tender kiss on my eyelid. You kiss down my cheek, catching my tears as you go, and then stop at the corner of my mouth.

I groan and turn, unwilling to examine your hesitance. If I've spun you whole out of sheer desire, I don't want to wait. I've dreamed you so I can taste you one more time.

I capture first your top lip, and then your bottom between mine and run my tongue over each. You're soft and sweet, the flavor of vanilla, just as I recall, and I am a man possessed. I harden and feel the dead embers ignite – not smolder but rage, instantly. The control I kept throughout my last fantasy of you in this place is gone. I'm kissing you savagely, my lips devouring yours, my erection straining against your belly.

I've got you off the ground and I need some traction. I don't want to loosen my hold on you for a fraction of a second, so I'm walking you into the clearing, as though I could get us up against a wall, or a tree. It's impossible though – there's no appropriate surface here but the ground and so I hold you to me roughly as I drop to my knees, your legs straddling my waist. Only when I have you supine do I pull away fractionally, my hands cradling the back of your neck and the curve of your ass. I want to be inside you so badly that I can't organize my thoughts.

"Edward," you say, breathlessly, grabbing the fabric of my t-shirt at my chest to pull my lips back to yours. "Edward, I need you."

Tears are still streaming down your face. The ache I feel at the sight of your anguish rivals the ache in my groin, and for a split second I'm wrestling the monster in me that wants to ignore your tears and take you. "Edward, don't stop. Please, don't stop now."

But you're crying and this shouldn't be, not in my fantasy. And I should have more control. This time there's no halo of green about you. All I see is you. Your intelligent, forlorn eyes, your ruby lips already swollen from my assault, your flushed cheeks, pink from your blush, from the scrape of my stubbly jaw, and from the tears that continue to flow.

"Bella, why are you crying? I dream that you're happy. I don't understand." It's all I can do to get the words out with your fingers crawling through my hair. Your touch on my scalp turns a spindle there, unwinding threads of desire through the center of my body to my cock. I groan and kiss at the tears sliding down the corner of your mouth.

"Bella, please, please stop crying…"

Your voice is steady in return, despite the tears. "I can't Edward, I can't. I'm so happy and sad all at once…" and then you're kissing me again, one hand still pulling at my hair while the other searches for my skin under the hem of my shirt. "Touch me, Edward."

I need eight arms to touch you in all the ways and all the places I want to right now, but I reluctantly remove my hand from your ass, not wanting to let go of the back of your head, and press the palm of my free hand against the back of yours at my waist.

"I will, sweetheart, I will," I say into your lips. "Just tell me why you're sad, so I can make it better." If I'm going to entertain one last dream of us together, I can't have it tinged with your sadness.

"Oh, Edward, not now…" and you straddle my hip with your thighs and rub your heat against me, desperate for friction.

"There's only now, Bella," I reason with you, as if there's reason to fantasy.

"No, Edward, no!" you cry, and I'm bewildered by the passion in your voice. All of a sudden the tears are coming faster and you've pulled away from me slightly, shaking your head back and forth. "Please don't say that, Edward. Please, I can't bear it!"

I capture your face in my hands to still you, leaning most of my weight on one elbow, half on top of you, half at your side. I need to understand your sadness, your words, even if they're only the protestations of my own mind. I mentally clear the fog I'm in and peer into your eyes. You are so much more beautiful than any fantasy, and all of a sudden I'm lost. This is a fantasy, isn't it? I am dreaming?

But the reality of you has always been better than any dream and the woman I'm holding, who's gazing at me through wet and matted lashes, is the most beautiful sight I've ever seen. I don't believe my mind could create a vision this perfect, but I can't possibly….

"Edward," you say, softly, caressing my cheek in your palm and smoothing my brow with the other. "Edward, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

You're no longer fighting me but comforting me. My dream girl, my wish.

"Edward, this is real. I'm alive."

How do you know what I'm thinking? Every fiber of my being wants to believe you, wants to have faith, but I've been struggling with my sanity in the name of our love for months and I'm terrified. Your palm at my forehead is rubbing out the turmoil etched there.

"Edward, talk to me. I'm sorry I rushed you. We can talk," and you gently brush your lips against mine, then pull back to look me in the eye again. "I promise you we have time. I'm not going anywhere."

The tenderness of your touch and the plea in your voice are like smelling salts to my wilted soul.

It's you! It's really you!

I don't understand how, but I'm holding you, really holding you.

"Bella, I don't understand? I thought…"

"I know, Edward, I know. But I wasn't. I was hurt but I'm ok now. I thought you'd abandoned me, but I'm ok now, because you didn't." You speak quickly, as though you don't want to linger on your own pain for my sake, and in that moment all doubt is lifted.

This is my Bella. Truly, it is you!

And then I remember the vow I made to bind my lips to yours should I ever find you again. Suddenly, I'm kissing you wildly, through broken words, as the reality of what you must have been through dawns on me through layers of relief, joy, and desire. "Bella...oh…no… I'm… Bella…so…sorry…so….god….how?…Bella…"

You're kissing me fervently, too, and manage to get out the words we need in this moment. "Later…Edward…later…now…I need...," and you drop a hand to my erection pressed into your side, running your fingers along the outline of my cock under the denim. Desire explodes under your touch.

I understand now why this is so different from my fantasies, my dreams of you. I understand why my thoughts are like dust motes flying before the broom. It's you. It's because of you. Even in disbelief, what I feel in the presence of you is more than I can control. My desire and my need to make you smile, inextricably tied to the flesh and bone Bella.

You're rubbing the heat of your sex into my hipbone again and stroking my painfully hard cock while you fumble to undo my jeans buttons with your free hand. "Stop thinking," you command in between kisses.

Fuck, you know me so well.

My hand brushes yours aside and makes quick work of the button fly. I'm frantically pulling my jeans off with one hand while I lay your head on the bed of needles under us. I need to set my other hand free to get to your skin.

Removing your clothes and mine long ago became a jigsaw puzzle we could put together blind. After months without you – worse, months spent reckoning with the impossibility of your death – it's not that I've forgotten where the pieces go, but I'm newly in awe of the simple elegance of their fit. The easy way we use our feet to shuffle out of our own shoes and socks, and the skill you've mastered – freeing my legs and feet from my pants with the use of your own bare feet. The feel of your flesh as I make my way up your stomach to just under your breasts. Your patience with the brief moment I take to wrap my fingers around your rib cage before I slide them under you to unclasp your bra. The way you arch your back as I do and put your hardened nipples at the mercy of my mouth.

I'm naked from the waist down and my erection is pressed into your thigh, reaching for you as greedily as my hands do. You discard your loosened bra and pull your t-shirt over your head while I take one of your nipples between my lips and over my tongue. A low moan from you tells me I'm where you need me. I cup your other breast in my hand and run soft passes with my thumb over the nipple, while I tease the one in my mouth with my teeth and the tickle of my tongue. The taste of you threatens to pull me into conscious contemplation of what has happened and what we nearly lost – did lose. But you're wriggling under me to get some friction again and arch your back further, begging me to press my hand deeper into your flesh.

You reach down between us to clasp a reverent hand around my cock. You're stroking me slowly, but your heart rate and speeding breath belie the even pace of your hand. It's all I can do to split my attention from the sensation of your hand on me and the pleasure growing thick in my gut.

I massage one breast with my hand and the other with my mouth. You're aroused and I'm still fighting with the realization that your groan into my neck is not an echo of the past or the delusion of a fevered mind. It's the live exhale of your pleasure. The vibration of your voice into my skin, and the light touch of your finger drawing figures on the back of the hand I have pressed into your breast, connect you to me in ways too subtle for fantasy. I'm hard as a rock in your hand, burning for you as I always have, and even yet feel capable of losing control.

I lift off you slightly and you whimper an objection, but I need to get into your pants. Without entirely removing my mouth or my hand from your breasts, I get one of my knees between your legs and reach down to unbutton your jeans with my free hand. You reluctantly let go of my cock, which stands between us like the demanding prick that he is. I lose all pretense at elegance of movement. I have never needed to touch you so badly in my life. Your breath catches as I shove my hand into the front of your jeans and grab at your sex. I cup you over your panties, needing to feel all of you in my hand. I press the tip of my middle finger hard into you, so that I'm almost inside you through the thin satin between us.

"Fuuucckk, Edward," you moan as you buck underneath me and grab the hair at the back of my head. You pull my mouth off your breast and I think you're going to bring me up to your lips, but instead you slide your fingers through my hair to the top of my head, and hook three fingers of your other hand into my mouth, over my bottom teeth. Then you simultaneously push and pull, dragging me down your body. The roughness of your fingers on my head and in my mouth excites me and while I descend to the smooth skin just above your pantywaist I push my finger hard up into you, so that the flimsy satin is forced to follow. I'm dying to feel you without that barrier but I am so fucking greedy at this moment that I can't take my hand off you long enough to get rid of your panties.

I get another full-throated moan from you and you writhe a little on my finger and around my hand, which is palming you, stroking you. My thumb is massaging wide circles around your clit, still through your panties.

"Edward, fuck….please…"

I pinch your nipple with the hand still left there, and then rub the pad of my thumb over it while I pull my finger out of you and rip your panties down your legs. You squirm out of them quickly and press your breast into my hand, eager for the sensation to continue. I'm throbbing and desperate to get your hands back on my cock, to get inside you, but too grabby to take care of all things at once.

I put my lips to your bellybutton and run my tongue around the small circle of it, feeling you shiver underneath me. Then I slowly slide my middle finger over your clit and down further, back and forth through your hot, wet skin just over the top of your entrance. I put pressure on the entrance each time but don't penetrate, instead moving up and down to tease your clit. You get wetter with each pass and you're now clawing at my shoulder and grabbing madly at my hair.

I drag my lips and open mouth down your belly and then drop to kiss and lick your inner thigh, just grazing the edge of your labia while I continue to stroke you.

"Edward! Oh, god, please…!" You beg as though I'm torturing you, when you know I'm worshipping you. You must know how I've suffered without you. You must know that as badly as I need to taste you, to feel you around me, I can't risk missing a moment of this.

"I will, Bella," I whisper into you, breathing across your sensitive skin. You're red and engorged with blood flowing to the site of your desire, and I'm going to sink my teeth into you if I don't keep mastery of myself. The smell of you makes my tongue thick in my mouth and I reach out with it to tickle the sensitive skin around your entrance before I lick up, parting you as I make my way to your clit. Your hips buck just as I press the flat of my tongue to your clit, and two of my fingers that were lingering softly against you press back into you, curling up to the nerve endings there.

You wail and stop moving, your muscles tightening around my fingers. I love the way your body climbs. I push you and pull you up and up and up, but your own muscles flex and release and join me in the work. You know how to pull pleasure from your own body, and you bring me with you.

I begin to lick slow circles around your clit, hard and soft, aggressive and teasing, steady, and then stop, and then steady again, all while I slide my fingers back and forth, hard, against the soft mound of flesh inside you. Your hips are now rocking with me and your thighs are squeezing against my shoulders. You chant my name in an uneven string of curse words and affirmations.

I can feel your body rise through layers of pleasure, and I know if I could see your face your brow would be knitted and your eyes shut tightly. I know how you roll your tongue around in your mouth as though you can taste your own climax. I could dance with the sweetness of your sex on my tongue all night, but I can tell you're getting close and I want to bring you there. I slow my ministrations just as I feel you beginning to shake. You gasp, grabbing a handful of hair on my head like it's nothing but sand. You pull hard, unconsciously, while you drive your hips up, so that I take almost your entire sex in my mouth and push one more finger in to press on that spot while you come hard around me.

Your scream is incoherent and says everything I need to hear from you in this moment. It says you're alive. It says you can feel, that you feel me. It says that I've reclaimed your body and that I can still share this with you. I rise up from between your legs to watch you. You're gorgeous. Your eyes are shut and your head turned to the side, chin up, your mouth hanging open in an expression of aggravated ecstasy. Your arms now lie by your sides, fingers digging into the dirt while you ride out the last of your orgasm. I leave my fingers inside of you while your muscles continue to contract around them and put my free hand on your belly to soothe you and be there with you while you ease down from the heights.

After you're still for a long moment, you place your soft, strong fingers over the hand that still rests on your sex and slowly pull me from you. Your eyes open slowly and you look down your body at me. You give me a wanton smile and even though I see through your eyes the dam you've built to hold back months of turmoil, I ignore it. I trust you to talk to me when you're ready. I need to be inside of you as badly as you need me there.

You're uncharacteristically silent, even your breath quiet and still, as I rise up from between your legs, running a hand along the back of one calf and catching you at the knee. You help me bend your knee toward your chest while your other leg wraps around my waist. I position myself at your entrance, keeping my eyes locked on yours. Our silence is reverent. I feel my chest swell with disbelief and gratitude that you're here, that we're together, that I haven't lost you. There aren't words, not even the demands of desire, to do justice to this moment with you. I trail a finger along the inside of your thigh and push up into your deliciously wet sex in case there was any doubt that you're ready. You maintain your silence, grasping your bottom lip between your teeth. I see a tear sliding down your cheek and know that my own face is wet.

I can't wait a second longer. I remove my finger and use that hand to guide the tip of my cock inside you. Your mouth drops open and your fingers dig into my biceps where you're grasping me. I am desperate to bury myself in you but I need to know you're ok. For a split second the reality of what must have happened to you flashes into my consciousness and the swell of joy in my chest turns like the edge of a knife. It's a searing pain. Are you hurt? Dear god, how badly were you hurt? I wince unknowingly and I see my concern reflected in your expression. But yours is concern for me, not pain. I see that. You don't utter a sound, but I see that.

You slide one of your hands down my back and firmly plant it on my ass before you pull me closer with all your strength. As soon as I push deeper inside you the moment of worry is past. One stroke with you around me and a wave of sensation grips my balls and gut. My nerve endings sing, and as I pull out of you slowly and push back in, I feel the pleasure spreading in heat through my abdomen. My eyes have closed. There is nothing but the connection of our bodies. Your low moan as I stroke in and out of you again is the first sound you've made since you came.

With the flimsiest grip on rational thought slipping, I get my arms under you and roll us so that you're on top of me. I need to get you off the cold, needle-covered ground. I force my eyes open in time to see you sinking deeper onto my cock, your delicious ass resting on my thighs as you sit straight up and throw your head back, your hands on your ankles behind you for balance. I bend my knees behind you for support and sit upright so that our bodies form a V. The air is cool, but I notice you're damp with sweat when I press my hand against your sternum and test the heartbeat in your chest.

The forest is utterly still around us and while the sun has fallen well below the tree line, there's enough light to see the intricate lines on the skin of your lips, tiny curls of hair at your temple, and the few, dark freckles at your throat. Details drawn like notes in the margin to tell me this is my book. I am every bit as consumed by you as I have been through a lifetime, aching in my balls from the grip of your muscles around my cock.

You are looking me in the eye now, and bend down to put your lips on mine. You deepen the kiss just as you start to rock up and then slide back down on my cock. The feeling is like nothing I've ever known. We've done this a million times, but I am never less than overwhelmed by the pleasure. Now, the sensation of your wet heat sliding around my throbbing erection is deliverance. I am the luckiest man on the planet and the orgasm just beginning to build with your steady strokes is the only thing that stops me from babbling to you about how much I've missed you and how desperately I love you. This would be over too fast if it weren't for how split my mind is between the physical pleasure and emotional overload.

Your mouth is now lingering close to mine and you've brought your hands to my shoulders, your short nails digging into my biceps. I can see flecks of black in your dark irises as you rock for a long time slowly, but then faster. Finally, your eyes lose focus. I put a hand down in the dirt to get leverage to thrust from underneath you, matching your movements because I know soon you're going to be unable to control your own body. I am buried so deep inside you at this angle and you're moving as if to get even closer. I can feel your muscles contracting around my length and when I spread my legs your soft behind brushes my balls with each bounce. It's getting closer to dark in the clearing and there's almost nothing left but your live body connected to mine and the tension growing in my balls and belly.

We're both sweating in the chill air and you gasp as your movements begin to get frantic and erratic. I know I'm moments away from explosion and reach my free hand down between us to rub roughly at your clit. I feel your thighs begin to tremble. You buck on me and throw your head back, thrusting your chest out as you come undone. The feeling of your muscles pulsing around me and the sound of my name rolling around in your mouth like an ode to ecstasy sends me over the edge. My orgasm shuts down everything but the feeling of explosive pleasure that pushes out from my cock through my limbs.

When I regain my senses I have my arms around you and my face is fast against your neck while we both ride out the high. I feel a small trickle of sweat running in the heat between my forehead and your skin. The skin at the small of your back where my hands are holding you is damp. Your breath and heartbeat are fast but I feel you steadying and centering in my arms.

One of your hands slides over my ear and cradles my jaw while the other is at the back of my neck, your fingers unconsciously caressing me in a way that they have for years. I feel awake. Alive, for the first time since….

"I love you, Bella." I'm surprised by the sob that escapes with these words.

"Shhh, Edward, it's o.k."

And it is. I think it is.

A/N - Sheesh, yes, this has been a long time coming. I'm so sorry to those of you I left hanging for months. I had no idea how hard it was going to be to write this and I didn't want to post more before bringing these two back together. It's just too melodramatic and sad and I figured I'd worn out everyone's patience.

So, the truth is that I'm not sure whether this is the end or not. It could end here. Anything further would simply serve to put your mind at ease further that this is a happy ending. You may have many questions about how Edward and his family could have been so misinformed and how it is that Bella never made contact with anyone else in here life. I tried to explain that through the letters, though they're not the best medium. The truth is, it's a fantasy and although I've worked hard in my own mind to imagine the string of events that would have had to happen to make such a thing possible, the details don't matter much. The first half of this story was written almost 13 years ago, and was very personal. It didn't have a happy ending. It always felt (and is) far too melodramatic and overwrought to share. But then I became a twifan and realized there is a place for overwrought love. And it became imperative to give this one a happy ending, so it became even more fantastic than it started. I'm one of the few who loved New Moon, because the reunion made it all worthwhile to me. So, this is my ode to New Moon. It gave me a chance to write the reunion from Edward's point of view, in a manner. Thanks to all of you who have been reading!