A/N: As always, references to Twilight Series belong to Stephanie Meyer.

I thought of this chapter as an outtake but decided it was better here. What better way to explain…(don't wish to give anything away) then to hear it from the horse's mouth. It's a little basic with not much embellishment but I hope you like it anyway.

In honor of Halloween, here's a little treat…this chapter is in Carlisle's point of view.

Chapter 20 Carlisle's POV

"Truth is often not the information received

But rather, how that information was perceived."

- Lady Laina

"I murdered my grandfather."

Edward's revelation, his distorted impression of that day, was devastating.

Esme, broken-hearted, cried to me, "What have we done? Carlisle?"

She looked to me for answers and consolation but I had nothing for her. I reverted into my own mind, wondering, contemplating, debating.

How did this happen?

How did we get here?

It's important to understand, children don't come with instructions. We did the best we could. We were good parents but...except...we are human.

We make mistakes.

We made mistakes.

Obviously.

The sequence of our lives, of Edward's life, flashed in my eyes.

There were signs.

I should have known something was amiss.

I did know.

We both knew.

We tried to help him when he was younger. He didn't want our help and now I know why.

He blamed us.

Blamed himself.

His anger, his hurt, his unbelievable pain prevented him from getting help, from wanting help.

He was punishing himself, closing himself off from the world, devoid of feeling.

He acted and reacted without forming any real connections, without bonds.

I should have tried harder to fix it. I'm a doctor for Christ's sake.

He's my son.

I should have tried harder.

So much truth or atleast the perceptions of truth and yet, neither of us knew the whole story, the real story.

Esme told only the truth she had to remember, her son was hurt, her father was dead.

My dark truth was hidden, covered up, untold.

Neither of us even suspected Edward's version to be so different, so damning.

Worse than the truth, the obscured misperception of an innocent and impressionable nine year old boy.

I could make excuses. Esme was in mourning and I was beyond angry but excuses meant nothing.

They meant nothing in the face of our beautiful son.

The son we damaged.

We damaged him with lies and untold truths, cover ups in the name of protection.

We did this and now we had to undo it.

Amend it.

Esme's cries broke through my internal rant, "Tell him Carlisle! Tell him everything."

I wrung my hands trying to figure out where to start, how to tell my son we ruined his life trying to protect him...

Protect him from the truth.

The room fell silent as Edward and Bella and Esme, watched my methodical pace around the library, waiting for me to begin.

And I did…begin.

Esme had called me at work that morning, stressed and angry. She had been fighting with her father again.

The old man had driven the kids, our kids, to school under the influence of alcohol, whiskey, to be precise.

He'd always had a drinking a problem but it got considerably worse after Esme's mother passed away. There were days, maybe even weeks, where I'm sure he didn't sober up at all.

Unfortunately, his body was accustomed to it and he seemed functional to most everyone, except me. I was a doctor and no matter how "well" he seemed, I knew the effects of his drinking.

I knew the potential disasters waiting to happen, waiting to destroy my family.

Esme did too and it scared her but he was her father and she loved him. The children loved him, too young to understand why grandpa was acting so silly, why he let them do things we disapproved of.

Love him, I did not!

All I saw was his careless carrying-on that could potentially, would eventually, end the life of someone I loved. Someone I cherished.

My boys.

My little girl.

My wife.

I left work early and went home. We were lucky the kids were safe at school, that the old man made it back to the house without incident but I'd be damned he'd pick them up.

Risk their lives again.

Esme couldn't stop him but I would.

No matter what, I always did.

He was a strong man. Naturally stronger than me but I managed to outsmart him and took his keys.

He ran off and I honestly didn't care where. Without his weapon, the truck, he no longer presented a threat to himself or anyone else, as I thought, so he could run back to Washington for all I cared.

He was out of my sight which was the best thing for both of us.

After a while, Esme was able to calm down and we prepared lunch together. We even took the time to sit and watch a movie together, spent some quality time just me and the misses.

We didn't seem to get much of that lately, with three children and an alcoholic in-law.

I had just put on my shoes when the phone rang. It was time to get the children from school but I lingered just a bit to ensure Esme's conversation wasn't about her drunken father stirring up shit for someone else.

It wouldn't have been the first time he'd taken his anger toward me out on others. Nothing overly violent, more in a mischievous fashion.

The alarm in her voice was unnerving, evidence that something was wrong, and I found myself becoming anxious as I tried, unsuccessfully, to decipher Esme's side of the conversation.

Her short, one word answers didn't lend themselves easily to figure out the problem. I waited until she hung up and could explain what was going on.

Irina was on her way over. She was upset and crying to the point where Esme found it difficult to understand her.

About fifteen minutes had passed before we heard Irina's car pull up to the front door. Esme went to greet her while I called our neighbors, the Eleazar's, and asked them to pick up the kids from school.

"Carlisle!" Esme screeched out.

I ran out to the front step to find Esme feebly attempting to help Irina into the house. I quickly scanned the car for signs of damage that would warrant Irina's condition but saw nothing to suggest a car accident had taken place.

"Get the door." I said to Esme, taking her place at Irina's side.

We guided our friend into the den and sat her down on the sofa. Esme grabbed my medical bag then went to make some tea, hoping the warmth would settle down Irina's breathy sobs.

Irina's bloodied face was almost unrecognizable, swollen and bruised surrounded by a mess of disheveled blood stained hair. Her clothes were ripped and torn and the image before me was difficult to comprehend.

As I assessed her oozing wounds and bruises that extended all the way down her torso, her thighs, and even her calves, I tried to comfort her with softly spoken words.

A short time passed, Esme returned with Camomile tea and Irina began, slowly, to open up as she sipped the warm indulgence and held it in her hands.

Our dearest friend recounted a crushing tale of domestic violence that had been occurring, and hidden, for years. Esme and I were beside ourselves with disbelief. How it could be happening under our noses for so long without even the slightest hint, was unbelievable and disturbing.

This particular incident was the worst, Irina confided. Aro had been enraged over a phone call from her son's softball coach. Demetri wouldn't be pitching in the game the following weekend because of his attitude during their last practice.

Irina was the target of Aro's extreme disappointment.

I had no idea Aro was that kind of man and it sickened me to think I'd befriended him. But now that I was privy to this information, it was my responsibility to keep that family safe. Irina wouldn't leave him though we begged her to take refuge here with us, so the only alternative was to make Aro a promise.

No. Not a promise, a threat!

I would ruin him, his career, and any other good thing he valued in his life, if this was to ever happen again.

He knew I could.

Unfortunately, that meant keeping him close to me for the rest of Irina's life or until she was strong enough to leave him, whichever came first.

The front door opened and closed and we knew the kids had arrived home. Irina got up to leave, not wanting anyone else to see her in such disrepair. She made two small steps before collapsing in front of the fireplace. Neither Esme, nor I had an opportunity to reach for her before she fell to the floor.

Immediately, I jumped to her side, checked her vitals and began CPR while Esme called for 911. I was about to breathe, deliberately push air, into Irina's lungs when Edward swung the den door open wide.

I couldn't stop the CPR.

I didn't want Edward to see what was going on, to see Irina beaten and broken and so close to death.

I didn't want to explain to my young son that some men do this, so I screamed for him to leave not thinking about Edward's feelings or the potential for his misconceptions.

Edward left without another word and I continued the CPR until the ambulance arrived.

I hugged Esme close to me as the medical attendants, the paramedics, loaded Irina into the bus and drove away.

"I love you." Esme whispered, reaffirming our commitment and contentment with one another but as she lifted her head to my shoulder, her body stiffened and she squealed into my ear. "Fire!"

Without a second thought, I leaped into action, running toward the guest house. I wasn't even sure if that's where the fire was but I knew Edward would be there and I had to make sure he was safe.

My heart sank as I saw the orange blue flames lick up around the exterior of the old house. I called for Edward but there was no reply.

Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I ventured through the front door, calling to my son, praying he wasn't inside but knowing he was. I finally found him, unconscious, caught underneath a burning ceiling beam.

It wasn't easy to free him but somehow I was able to pull him out and lifted him over my shoulder as I made my way through the burning obstacles to the front door and outside.

I closed my eyes to the haunting screams of the old man that remained inside. The eerie voice that still rang in my ears to this day. We'd had our differences, that was no secret, but I never wanted that.

I never wanted to see him burn to death.

With Edward safe and breathing outside, I attempted to go back in but before I got to the door, the second floor imploded and retrieval of Esme's father was no longer possible.

Things in our house changed then.

Esme grieved for her father, for her son. She slipped into a deep depression, unable to cope with the facts revealed in the Fire Chief's investigation, her father's tragic demise and her son's slow recovery.

The investigation revealed the fire was started by a cigarette burning through a mattress. Whiskey, spilled over the bed, had been the catalyst. In their conclusion, they presumed Esme's father had fallen asleep, or passed out, on the bed, dropped his lit cigarette on the mattress and probably the bottle of whiskey which encouraged the fire like gasoline.

I became riddled with anger.

I was angry for not being able to help my son heal faster, for not being able to fix him myself.

I was angry at Esme for allowing her father to put my child in that position and used her guilt against her.

I was angry for not saving the old man so Esme didn't have to feel all that she felt, to hear the screams that she'd heard from inside the house, the helpless and hopelessness that surrounded both of us.

We started to fight with each other, hate each other, feelings I'd never thought possible between us.

But I blamed her for it all and drove her away.

The truth had finally been revealed as it should have been so many years ago.

Irina was a victim, Aro was a son of a bitch and their beloved grandfather was a selfish alcoholic. The man they loved so much, put their lives in danger on a regular basis.

How could we have told him that at nine years old?

I could only hope, only pray, that Edward would be freed from the prison he'd built around himself and learn to live again.

None of it was his fault. It never was!