It would have been so easy to let what happened destroy me.

But I didn't.

Of course it hurt. I thought about Alec, and how sure I had been about him...until I wasn't. This was different. I didn't feel like ending our relationship was right, and I hadn't wanted to do it. But it had to be done, and I was facing the consequences of leaving a man I still desperately wanted. This was nothing like the ambivalence that had surrounded the end of Alec and me. This was raw and painful, something I had never experienced before.

But I turned it into something. I let it give me drive and move me in the right direction.

Kate and Garrett had been devastated when I told them Edward couldn't be there to shoot their wedding, thinking that they'd have to go without a professional photographer on their big day. Well, they were right about the professional part, but they had me. And I was determined to capture their day perfectly. Emmett's younger sister was a budding photographer as well, and offered me her much needed help. It was my first real job, and it had been terrifying, but when all was said and done, I walked away realizing that I could do this. I was no Edward Cullen, but I finally accepted that I did have talent. Garret and Kate were head over heels for the photos, and so were their families and friends. Suddenly, I had never been so sure of myself, and it was incredibly empowering.

It made me want to keep moving forward with this, and so I did.

The decision to move to Seattle to pursue this career was scary, but I had the best feeling about it. I was excited, and the difference between my feelings with this and my feelings that had surrounded law school was incredibly striking. It told me that I was finally headed in the right direction. This time, leaving Forks didn't feel so awful. I was looking forward to Seattle so much in a way I had never looked forward to Chicago.

By the time I moved into the small house I had managed to find in a decent neighborhood for a decent price, I had no reservations and moved forward full force. I got a job waiting tables at a popular neighborhood restaurant, and enrolled in photography classes at the nearby community college. My parents had to help me out a little with some of the costs, but I was already setting up a plan to pay them back.

It was definitely a whirlwind. But it was mine, and mine alone.

... ...

The first postcard came on a rare sunny afternoon. It was blank except for my address, and even if I hadn't recognized the handwriting, I would have known it was from him. It was from a town in California that I'd never heard of, but instantly wished I could see in person based on the beautiful landscape shown on the front of the postcard. I debated with myself, wondering what I should do with this unexpected token, and wondering what it meant. Was he sorry? Did he miss me? Was he okay?

Troubled, I ran my fingers over the glossy picture. Finally, I opened one of my desk drawers and dropped the postcard inside. I didn't know what it meant, but to me, it was something.

... ...

More postcards came over the following weeks and months. Always beautiful, always detailing a new place, and always blank save for my address scrawled out in Edward's handwriting. Sometimes there would be a pen stroke where the message was supposed to be written, like maybe he wanted to put something there but changed his mind.

Sometimes they made me angry. What right did he have, sending these without explanation or apology? Did he think I was pining for him, desperate to still be a part of his life? Maybe I was, but he had no way of knowing that for sure. And if I was assuming, I was insulted. I wished he would just write something, anything, so I could have some insight, and I was frustrated that he never did.

But mostly, I was happy to have them. They started to fill the little void he had left behind, and I was relieved that he seemed to be okay. I had started to look up each place that the postcards came from, and noticed a trend- he was finally hitting some of the last states left on his list with postcards from South Dakota, North Dakota, Nebraska, and Iowa. He only had a few left until he had hit all fifty, and a huge part of me wished that I could be there. But he had made his choice, and I'd made mine.

... ...

I skimmed through the newsletter I had received, trying to read but entirely distracted by the accompanying photos. I had subscribed to the newsletter for the International League of Conservation Photographers months ago, and the novelty hadn't worn off. I couldn't believe the work they were doing, the attention they were bringing to such important issues that had become close to my heart since growing up in the beauty that was Washington State.

I always devoured the newsletter, but this issue was different.

His name had caught my eye immediately- photos courtesy of Edward Cullen. And I recognized the landmarks before I read about them. He was in Olympic National Park. Or he had been, I realized. Had he been so close and not reached out? But then I wondered, would I have wanted him to?

I knew the answer- yes. I wish he would have.

Three days later, a postcard came. And it was from Forks.

... ...

Part of me expected it; part of me was shocked.

Carmen, one of the other waitresses at the restaurant I had been working at, was still smiling hugely. "He's really cute, Bella."

"I...I have other tables," I stuttered, wringing my hands. I didn't know what to do, or how to feel. I was facing this head on, and everything I thought I'd say or do had flown out of my mind.

"He asked for you," Carmen repeated. "Come on, I'll trade you. And seriously, you owe me because he's gorgeous."

Relenting, I clutched my book to my chest as I walked towards the table in the corner, where he was seated with his back towards me. Each step was a struggle as my feet couldn't decide if they should run towards him or get away.

He turned slightly as I approached, and I was surprised at how different he looked. His hair was longer, and his beard grown out more than I'd ever seen it. But he looked good. Of course he did. Meanwhile, I had a wine stain on my shirt and I was sure my hair was a frizzy mess piled on top of my head.

"Wow." His voice almost startled me, but I couldn't help but smile. "Bella."

"Edward."

"Can you talk?"

I looked around at the busy restaurant, remembering I had forgotten to bring a glass of Chablis to table 6, and that I needed to let the cooks know about the peanut allergy at table 9. "Not really."

"I should have known you'd be busy," he said, his eyes sharp and focused on mine.

He looked sober.

"It's the dinner rush," I replied lamely. "So yeah."

"I don't want to bother you. Is this okay?"

"How'd you find me?" I blurted out. "How'd you know where I live?"

Edward blushed a little, and I tried not to swoon. "Your mom might be Team Edward."

I rolled my eyes playfully, but couldn't hold back my smile. "Of course."

"Is that okay?"

"Yeah," I said lamely. "Yeah. I mean...she loved you."

"You didn't..."

"I just said we had broken up."

"I see. Thank you."

I nodded. "I wouldn't dream of...of spreading that around. I know it's a private thing."

"Well, I'm sober," he said quietly. "For good."

"Edward..." I shook my head, knowing how that could go wrong. "Don't you remember what you told me? What you threw in my face?"

"I was wrong to say that. I know that. I knew it then, I just..."

"Was high."

He winced slightly, probably hating the reminder. "Yeah."

I stood there uncomfortably, still holding my book tightly against my chest. "Did you want to order?"

"No, I...I can order from the other waitress if you want. I just wanted to talk and I, well, I didn't think about how bad the timing was."

He looked defeated, and that was the last thing I wanted. "I'm supposed to get cut tonight at 9," I said quietly. "And I don't live far."

"Can I walk you home?"

Maybe I shouldn't have said yes. Maybe I should have just left it here, with this brief reunion, and moved on. But I didn't.

I couldn't.

... ...

He was waiting outside when I stepped out into the cool air, folding my apron as I walked. "Hi."

Edward stood up. "Hi. Thanks for letting me do this."

"I wasn't sure," I admitted.

"I don't blame you."

He kept his distance as we walked, never getting too close. I remembered when we couldn't get close enough, when it was all about arms around my shoulders and holding hands. And I missed it even more than I had thought I did.

"I saw your pictures in the ILCP newsletter."

"So you knew I was around."

"Your postcards gave that away anyway," I pointed out. "But I didn't expect you to go to Forks. Or to come here."

He was quiet for a moment. "I had to work up the courage," he finally admitted. "It wasn't easy."

I noticed he was fiddling with something in his hand, and I held mine out.

"90 days sober," Edward explained as I examined the medallion. "And this time I really mean it."

I knew what a slippery slope it was. I remembered the words he had thrown in my face, that this would never change for him. I thought about how easy it was to fall back into old routines, almost like what we were doing right now. The past is familiar; comfortable. Old vices die hard. But despite all of this, I couldn't help but believe him.

"You never meant it before?"

"I thought I did. But this is different. It's not the man I want to be anymore. Sure, I'll always be an addict. I still believe that. And not in the way I said it before. It's hard to explain, honestly. But I want that to be my past and stop telling myself that it's okay to relapse just because it'll always be a part of me. I'll always be an addict because I have to be vigilant, from now on. No drinking, so smoking. No addictions."

"I think that might be impossible."

"Okay, but some addictions are safer than others," he relented, reminding me of something he had told me years ago, when we had first met, about smoking. "Being addicted to Game of Thrones, you know, that's okay. Or to pie."

"Pie is always okay," I teased.

We reached my house, tiny and tucked into the trees. "This is me."

He nodded, his hands back in his pockets. "Thanks for letting me walk you home. I'm staying in the city for a while…maybe we can talk again. No pressure."

I didn't even have to think about my response, or whether it was right or wrong. I just…spoke. Said what I really felt, non-apologetically.

"Come inside. Please."

... ...