I was ready to strangle them both. For a brief moment, the horror of Jacob's sudden exit was replaced by blind fury.

"You told Billy? How could you?" I snapped. "I told you I didn't want anyone to know!" Dad flinched, but I didn't care how penitent he was.

"I'm sorry. It just slipped out. You had me so worried there for a while and I needed someone to talk to about it."

"That must be nice to have." I was having trouble imagining how this evening could have gotten worse. At least nobody's head was on fire. That's when it all gave way to tears.

"Let me talk to him," Billy said. They both looked miserable, but worse was the glint of pity in Dad's eye. I was so sick of everyone I could scream. No matter how much I tried to do the right thing, everyone seemed completely unable to meet me halfway.

"No thank you," I sniffed irritably. I turned to head upstairs, too overwhelmed this betrayal to stand there another minute. But then I stopped. "In answer to your question Billy, therapy was great. I had a major breakthrough, so that was my last session. Not that any of it matters now."

I wrenched the blankets over my head and hoped for a meteor to land on me while I slept. I should have never let Edward guilt me into this in the first place, especially when I already knew that it was over. I wasn't convinced that the good that came of it was going to be a net positive. His girlfriend dumped him because of me, and now he thought I picked Edward over him for the second time, in spite of all Edward's crimes coming to light. The newly formed trust between us was always going to be fragile, but the fact that he jumped to this conclusion so easily is what really stung. I hoped he had a little more faith in me than that.

Most of the morning was spent in bed, procrastinating with everything except driving myself crazy. The way he looked at me was seared into my brain, overshadowing everything else. When I started peeling back the layers, setting aside the obvious, what I saw etched across his face was hurt. Betrayal. Jake always had a temper, not that you would be able tell just by meeting him. It was always there, buried deep beneath his easy-going manner, but after losing his mother, it began to bubble much closer to the surface. My instinct was to grab hold of him and make him listen. Even now, I knew better than to try when he was in such a state.

Me: Jake it's not what you think

Me: Call me

Me: Jake

Me: Come on

Me: Please talk to me

I didn't know what to say to Charlie, and his attempts at conversation were confined to the basics of our daily life together, mainly work and dinner. I wanted to forgive him, and god knows I couldn't blame him for needing to confide in someone. The ramifications were definitely not proportional to the crime, and yet here we were. Adding insult to injury was the second bouquet that arrived on our doorstep. And another the next day. And another. All accompanied by the same lame overtures as before. His persistence was a mystery to me. A maid and an escort would have suited his needs much better than I ever could, but maybe there was a kernel of truth to it. I nearly called him up to demand an end to the pollen-choked remorse moat that was now encircling the living room. No, it didn't matter. I couldn't bring myself to care about him. Let him waste his money injecting cash into this little hick town he despised so much.

The beginning of summer school came much faster than I anticipated, and as over-prepared as I probably was, I still didn't think I was ready. It wasn't the basic mechanics of the job that had me losing sleep. It was what was riding on it. Everything about my situation was precarious. I was making steps toward cobbling something together that might eventually resemble a life, but I still kept falling back. It was easier to let myself micromanage the day ahead than think about Jacob.

I did not walk into the school that morning with any ideas about becoming the Ms. Frizzle of high school English literature. But I still felt like I had something to prove. The place still smelled the same, like disinfectant, plastic, and musty books. It looked the same, save a newer coat of paint slapped atop the old one, which was possibly the only thing still holding the place together. As I wandered the halls among the summer students, I noticed how much younger high school kids looked than I remembered. They were letting twelve year olds drive now? More unnecessary and borderline mean reminders from the universe that I was old.

Ten weeks to sprint through Shakespeare, The Odyssey, and Mark Twain. The trick was not to let them know I was new, or anxious, or inexperienced. As I stood at the front of my classroom before fifteen deeply disinterested sophomores, I realized this was going to be easier said than done. I introduced myself and went over the syllabus, and that was when it began. I struggled with the projector, spilled tea on myself, and lost my train of thought too many times, stepping on rake after rake until the sweet release of the final bell. If the kids had been as vicious as some in my graduating class, then I might have cried in class. But they were about as mentally present as I was.

Everything was making me think of Jake. I passed by his old locker from the tenth grade and the lunch tables where we used to sit. My window looked out onto the football field and the bleachers, under which he was nearly busted for smoking weed with two lacrosse kids after a pep rally. I couldn't get away from it, even though it was going to make me terrible at my job if I didn't pull myself together.

When I got home, a large cardboard box was waiting for me in the entryway. I hastily sliced through the tape with my key and popped it open. The remainder of my worldly possessions, finally home. There was no note inside, which came as a relief. After nearly a week bombarding me with flowers with over-wrought messages, it appeared that he finally took a hint. Now he had nothing to hold over me. We owed each other nothing. Finally, I was completely free of Edward Cullen.

"Hey." Dad emerged from the other room, peering down at the books and CD's shuffling through my hands as I checked to see that everything was accounted for. "I'm sorry. I meant to take it up to your room before you got home."

"I'm glad you didn't. You'd mess your back up again." He lingered there, silently watching me.

"So...I guess it's really over then, isn't it?" I looked up at him, feeling a tiny lump rising in my throat. Is this what closure felt like? Because if it was, I don't think I would have minded just hating Edward forever. I didn't want to feel tired and sad all the time, to be followed around by one type of grief or another everywhere I went.

"Yeah, I guess it is." I laid everything back in place and closed the box. He waited.

"Bella, I'm sorry."

"I know you didn't mean to." Being mad at Charlie wouldn't fix anything, and I should have let it go already. The truth always has a way of getting out anyways. "And I'm sorry for blowing up. I'll apologize to Billy later, too."

"I know he feels awful about it. Just as you and Jake seemed to be getting close again." I sighed heavily.

"He and Nessie broke up." His mustache twitched, and his eyes flickered guiltily towards the living room. He cleared his throat.

"Did he say why?"

"I think he was about to but…then the DVR…" He covered his face with a groan.

"Wow, I was on a roll, wasn't I?"

"No, I'm pretty sure it's my fault and he was about to tell me as much." Gathering myself and rising to my feet, I pushed the box back against a wall. "I just don't know what to do anymore. I want to explain, but Jake's not answering his phone."

I surveyed the room, my eyes landing on the flowers gathering in the corner. I was initially oozing with pure contempt, wanting to snatch up each vase one by one and hurl them out a second-story window. It would have been a shame, though. They were admittedly quite pretty, and it wasn't their fault that my ex sent them. But then I was seized by inspiration. I passed Charlie and picked up the few I could carry with me to the kitchen. The water and vases went to the sink, and I wrapped the stems of each bouquet in newspaper.

"What's all this for?" he asked as I made my way briskly towards the door.

"I think high it's time I paid my respects."

The cemetery on the reservation was as old as the hills. Rusted metal markers dotted most of it, etched with the names and dates of the deceased, some in the rear of the property dating back to the 1850's. The newer ones were in the front, which is where most of the actual headstones were to be found. Small stone rectangles set neatly flush with the ground, invisible when the grass grew too much. I always liked cemeteries, especially this one. It was almost completely surrounded by forest, private and serene. It came alive in the summer when the wildflowers were in bloom, looking more like a meadow in a Kinkade painting than a graveyard. I couldn't think of a better place to spend eternity.

The Black's plot was different than I remembered it, and for a moment, I thought I had the wrong one. In the dead center, which had once held only a marker, was a headstone of smooth pink granite that came up to my knees. It was immaculately kept. A miniature rosebush was planted there, covered in young buds waiting for the sun to assure them that it was safe to come out. They were always her favorite. I placed all my ill-gotten spoils at its base, and sat down on the damp ground.

Sarah Black

Beloved wife, mother, and friend

1967-2005

"Hey, Ms. Sarah. I wanted to come by and say hello." I let out a long breath.

"Is it weird if I still call you 'Ms. Sarah'? It feels weird to just call you 'Sarah' too, even now that I'm grown up." There was no transition period for that. I clung to her honorific for years after the accident. It was my own way of keeping her frozen in time with me. "I'm back in Forks now, maybe for good. I'm living with Charlie until I can get my shit together. That part has been hit-or-miss. But I've got a car at least, and a temp job that'll go full time, if I'm lucky."

I twirled my fingers around a long blade of grass, pondering my less than stellar life choices. Pulling up my knees, I rested my chin in my hand, reading the inscription over and over again.

"I'm single again," I sighed. "You never got to meet Edward. That's probably for the better. I don't know; Maybe you could have talked some sense into me. Jake tried, but you know how stubborn I am. I always have to learn things the hard way. Oh, Jake and I are friends again. Or we were, at least. I'm not sure where we stand now. I want to make things right, but he doesn't really want to talk to me right now."

"His birthday is coming up soon, isn't it? We'll both be thirty now. I forgot he's a summer baby. Maybe that's why he's so hot." I snorted, a little mortified by my choice of words. "Sorry, not like that. I meant his body temperature. Well, it's true the other way, too." I sighed. "Every day I wonder what could have happened if I never met Edward. We probably would have never had that stupid fight. All this chaos over some terrible boy. Sound familiar?" I suddenly felt a tear sliding down my nose, and a memory came hurling back to the forefront of my mind, something I hadn't thought about in years.

"It's funny; I never told you this, but when Jake and I were kids, he made me a pinkie promise that if we were both single when we turned thirty, we'd get married. Funny, right?" I chuckled in spite of myself. "I thought you'd get a kick out of that. He probably doesn't remember. It was so long ago, after all. Not that it matters. It's too bad though," I added, my voice cracking with every syllable. "I always wished you could have been my mom." The tears were now in free-fall. I tried to dab at them with the sleeve of my shirt, but they were coming in too fast. I hugged my knees around my chest and waited for it to pass. Instead, it got worse.

"I need you. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. You always knew what to do." And what to say. A gentle breeze rolled through, jostling the rosebush, making the buds bob up and down as if to nod at me.

"I know, but that boy of yours has a hard head. And things are more...complicated now." So much more than I could have imagined just a couple months ago. "I'm in love with him, Sarah. It's driving me insane." I sniffed. "Jake and I were always supposed to be together. I know you all thought so. I just wish it didn't take so long for me to figure it out."

There was no way I could keep going like this. All this hopeless want had me on the verge of crashing and burning, and I'd be tempted to let the flames take me. But clouds were gathering on the horizon, purple and heavy and ready to burst. I rose to my feet, slapping the dirt and grass from my pants, though it did nothing to make me look less disheveled. She was right, of course. She always was.

I crept into the old garage through the open door, not knowing why I bothered when he likely heard my truck sputtering to a stop in the driveway. He was rifling through old boxes on the shelf. I knew he could sense my presence, but was choosing not to acknowledge me. Too many years of trying to sneak up on him as children taught me that while I might be built for it, stealth is not my forte. I finally got tired of waiting.

"Freezing each other out has never worked for us, Jake. It's only ever made things worse."

"I'm not freezing you out."

"I'm getting frostbite just standing here."

"I didn't have anything to say," he replied flatly, not looking up from his task. I sighed heavily, gazing up at the weathered roof. Maybe getting straight to the point wasn't the best strategy.

"I went to see your mom today." He stilled a moment before his hands started moving again. He still didn't look at me, but I could see some of the stiffness in his back had subsided. "It looks really beautiful."

"Thanks." A new undercurrent of tension was trying to hold his voice steady. "The twins helped me pick it out."

"She would have liked it." He inhaled sharply, and his fumbling ceased, leaning on his hands against the edge of the workbench in front of him.

"Fifteen years. Half of my entire life. I keep waiting for it to get easier, and it never does." With some hesitation, I journeyed further inside. It looked different in there. Too different. Of all the things that I hoped had changed, Jake's garage was the only place I wanted to have stayed the same. So many memories sanded thin by time, by the absence of simple things like that moulding couch or our bikes leaning against the wall. Faint whispers of conversation hearts on Valentine's and summer camp-outs with pizza, flashlights, and scary stories.

"You're in good company," I replied. "Not a day goes by that I don't think about her."

Or how things could have been. She could have nudged me away from Edward in the sagely, knowing way she had about her. It could have been called manipulation if it was ever put to anything but benevolent use. Or perhaps she could have helped to smooth things over between Jake and I. That contrarian streak might not have led me further into Edward's arms if I had someone to talk to. Someone who had no dog in the fight. Someone to keep me from digging my heels in out of hurt and spite and stupidity.

He peered over his shoulder, gazing up at me for a moment before his eyes dropped again.

"I can't keep losing people, Bells."

"You're not losing anyone."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Unless you're planning to push me away again." He whirled around to face me, eyes blazing.

"Me pushing you away?" he scoffed. "'Again'? As I remember it, you were the one doing the pushing."

"Because you were being an ass! What was I supposed to do? You punched my boyfriend, for Christ's sake."

"And I'd do it again. He was a creep then, and he's a creep now."

"Not the point! You didn't make it easy for me, Jake. Maybe if you had just-" My mouth snapped shut. Now was the absolute wrong time to start dredging up old, petty nonsense. His eyes widened in confusion, looking me dead in the face.

"What?" I shook my head.

"Nothing." My palm slid over my face. "Look, I didn't come here to fight. I wanted to talk. What were you going to tell the other night?"

"It's not important."

"It obviously is. You know, I used to think you were an open book. Now I realize you're only an open book when it's not important." His face hardened, his fingers flexing at his side.

"Just tell me one thing: Are you still with him?"

"No." I didn't want to lay this all out, all my worrying, my bad decisions, my inherently flawed thought processes. The fact that it happened at all was embarrassing enough on its own. "I got talked into going to therapy, but I knew it wasn't going to work, and I was right. He's gone for good now. You would have known that already if you hadn't stormed out without letting me get a word in." His chest fell as he loosed a heavy breath.

"Why did you bother with it, then?"

"Seemed like the right thing to do at the time. The sunk cost fallacy is more persuasive than you'd think. I don't know; maybe I didn't think I could hack it on my own."

"Of course you can. I told you you could."

"I know that now."

"You could have known that then." He pressed his lips together, watching me fidget.

"Go on," I urged. "Say 'I told you so.' I'm sure you've been wanting to say it for years." The corner of his mouth turned in an annoyed frown. "You have my express permission. Consequence-free. I'll sign a waiver if you want."

"I did once. But I wanted it to be before things got that bad. Before he managed to screw with your head so much that you actually believed the things you used to say about yourself. It was so goddamn frustrating to watch. Why didn't you believe me when I told you that you were pretty, or funny, or talented?" A flush swept up my neck to my face. "Why did you immediately believe a couple of assholes who treated you like shit?"

I didn't have an answer for him. The black abyss of his eyes gave away the pain he still carried with him. One answer was that the inside of my skull is a terrible place to be, one that became harder and harder to let him into the older we got. The other was that I never doubted that he was sincere, only that he was correct. I bit my lip.

"I think...It's a bit like when your mother tells you you're smart or beautiful-well, your mother, anyways," I corrected bitterly. "Sometimes it's easier to believe the evidence in front of you than a biased review. And don't try to tell me you aren't biased."

"Maybe I am. But that doesn't mean I'm wrong." After another moment to think on it, I had something better. Or worse.

"Nobody ever looked at me like that. I wasted so much time bending over backwards to get a guy to want me that when one finally did, I was too afraid to let go, even when I knew I needed to. The funny thing is, he never felt the need to say it; I already believed that nobody else would want me."

Jacob shoved away from the bench, rising straight and tall in front of me, and I froze. It wasn't anger, exactly. He worked his jaw in a remarkably similar way, the way he learned to keep his mouth shut when he was itching to mouth off after one too many trips to the principal's office.

"'Nobody nobody nobody,'" he muttered harshly. Even as he towered over me, I couldn't move. What I wanted more than anything was to know what I said to make his face harden so suddenly. And then, when he drew closer, his eyes began to soften, unlike his knuckles. "When did I stop being 'somebody,' Bells? What was wrong with me?" His voice was low, steady, controlled, as if something inside him would slip and fall if he wasn't diligent. He seemed to shrink in front of me, as if the clock was winding back the years until a stricken boy stood in front of me. "Why wasn't I good enough?"

My jaw fell open. I did it again, didn't I? Somehow already so certain that Jacob would be there that I almost discounted his existence completely. But he couldn't have known that things were different now, how badly I wanted him and how much I wished that I could go back and change everything. To never make him feel like an afterthought when he meant so much more to me than even I knew.

"Jake, you know I've never meant it like that-"

"-Then how did you mean it?" I swallowed, searching for the right words and coming up short, as always.

"You've never not been 'good enough.' You've always been amazing. I was just young and not paying attention. I never meant to hurt you, Jake. I don't blame you for hating my guts after how I acted." I caught something in his eye. It was a look of realization that came and went in a fraction of a second. He was close now, so close that I could almost feel the heat emanating from his chest. A ragged inhale carried over the stillness of the garage.

"I've never hated you."

"No?" He shook his head.

"Bells, I have loved you every single day for twenty years. I don't think there's anything that anyone could do to change that."

I choked. Tears began to surge in my eyes. He looked taken aback, his brow writ with confusion as he stepped backwards onto his heel. I felt like an absolute moron. My hand clapped over my eyes to shield me from my own embarrassment, as if anything could. This was wrong. This wasn't how you were supposed to act when a man tells you he loves you, especially not Jacob.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" I hissed out a few more frustrated tears. When I looked at him again, he was no longer so alarmed, but I could see the faintest hint of color in his cheeks.

"Would it have made a difference?" he asked quietly, looking away.

"It would have made a huge difference!" He merely blinked, gawking at me like an idiot. That's what we were; A pair of complete and total idiots. Only further confirmation that we were made for each other. I sniffed and grabbed the hem of this black t-shirt before leaning in to rest my forehead against his chest. He flinched at the sudden contact. When I didn't move, and those stray tears bled into the fabric, he began to coil his arms around me.

"Why are you crying?"

"Because I'm mad!" My fist pounded on his chest.

"At who?"

"At you!" I squeaked, my lips pressed into a hard line. "And me."

"Why?"

"Because I love you, you jerk!"

He carefully lifted my chin to look at me, his eyes furiously searching mine to confirm that he'd heard me correctly. Disbelief, almost suspicion, until I raised my hand to his cheek, softly brushing the dark silk of his skin with the pad of my thumb, and nodded in affirmation. And then, without another word, his mouth was on mine.

It was explosive. So much pent up desire was threatening to go up in flames, the friction of our lips and hands like a match against the box. One hand wound in his shaggy black hair, the other in the belt loop of his faded jeans, a silent demand that he stay put until I was done with him, a time that may never come. Even I was shocked by how needy it made me, how closely my sighs came to crossing the border into something obscene. I wasn't alone. A low moan rumbled in his chest as the kiss grew deeper. My head swam. All sense of control was starting to slip from my fingers, and even I was surprised by the sheer intensity of it.

The world suddenly felt sharper, brighter, clear and focused. The closest I had ever come to this feeling, this sudden surge of lust for being alive that was coursing through my veins, was the day Jacob finally convinced him to dive off the cliffs of La Push. Even as I prepared to plunge downwards into dark waters, praying I would dodge rocks and undertow, knowing he was waiting for me at the bottom was enough. His bright grin, full of mischief and excitement, the sound of his voice calling up to me, spurred me to take a running start off the jagged edge. Whatever came to pass, there was always a safe place for me, and it was by his side. I never felt that way again, until now.

Our lips parted too soon. His forehead rested against mine, the both of us flushed and breathless as if we'd just broken the surface of the water.

"Tell me again," he whispered, his eyes shut in reverent anticipation.

"I love you."

The fingertips that had just been stroking the curve of my jaw took me again, eagerly crashing us back together. Before I knew it, my back was against the edge of the workbench, and I was either going to be crushed against it or melt into him until we fused into a single entity. Tools and unknown junk clattered carelessly to the floor as our passion became frenzied and unstable. I came perilously close to clawing the thin fabric off of him, briefly debating whether my nails could tear it or if I would be forced to yank it over his head. Every nerve in my body was begging me to have him right here, right now, against the dusty backdrop of our shared childhood. I wanted to kiss ever bare inch of his skin and taste my name on his tongue. I didn't know if I could have stopped myself even if I wanted to.

He pulled away for a moment, dragging a muffled whine out of me. His hands shook as they held me tightly against his chest and gulped for air. My own breath seemed to be stolen from my lungs. When he reached up to cup my face, gently tilting my face to look into the faceted obsidian gazing down at me, I was sure that I wouldn't be catching it again any time soon.

"Marry me, Bells." My heart stopped and my jaw dropped. A sound, perhaps a laugh, or a gasp, or maybe just the sound of my delirious state, escaped my throat.

"Jake…are you serious?"

"As a heart attack," he said in a low murmur, his eyes still fixed on mine. "My birthday is next month," he continued, a wry smile creeping onto his lips. "We're about to hit the deadline."

After all this time, he remembered something so sweet and silly as a childhood marriage pact. A gesture made to comfort a gawky, weeping teenage girl, but he meant it from the start. It was true then; Jacob had loved me from the start, long before I believed I deserved it. Before I learned how to love myself.

He was the one. He always had been. The only one I could trust with my whole heart. The one who had my back even when I didn't have my own. Kind. Gorgeous. Patient. Stubborn. Impulsive. Smart-mouthed and hot-headed and absolutely perfect.

I giggled, stroking his hair as the first few trickles of the impending downpour began tapping on the roof.

"A pinky-promise is sacred, Jake. I wouldn't dare break it."

I got married today.

I was woken up at the crack by my two new sisters, who had gleefully commandeered the beautification process after learning that I had no plans to procure professional intervention. As much as I hated feeling their blazing hair instruments so precariously close to my skin and getting poked in the eye with a mascara wand, I was immensely grateful for their help. Rachel and Rebecca knew better than to try to convince me to wear false eyelashes or stilettos, and they accepted my prohibition on sparkles and anything dessert-scented, though not without rolling their eyes at me on more than one occasion.

Charlie, despite being "cool" for a man his age, was still a bit of a traditionalist, and was stuck on the notion that the bride's father should pay for everything, even though he barely had two nickels to rub together. Reluctantly, he finally agreed to only pay for my dress, a simple thing of tulle-wrapped satin with a deep v-neck bodice and a skirt that came to the floor, though short enough that I wasn't at risk of stepping on it.

Most unexpected was how I felt. If my past was anything to go on, I should have been nail-bitingly anxious for days. The planning, the attention, the spectacle, the contingencies. It all should have kept me up at night, but it didn't. The only disturbances to my sleep or my days were excitement, a momentary fluttering in my chest every time I remembered what was happening on Saturday. As we stepped onto the pebbled path, Charlie offered his assurances that he would not let me fall. With a deep breath, he led me forward into the freshly-planted garden of what was about to be my house.

It didn't stop me from turning scarlet as we wound through pink roses and shrubs to the lawn where everyone was seated. It could have been the heat, or it could have been from my first glimpse of Jacob, who was waiting for me at the end, grinning like a fool.

From the kiss onwards, everything was a blur punctuated by cake and dancing and tearful toasts from our fathers. By the time darkness had settled over Forks, it was just the two of us, half dead and ready to collapse from an entire day of celebrating. I was thankful we weren't leaving for New York until tomorrow. There was only one thing left to do.

In the span of half a second, my knees were knocked out from under me and I landed backwards into Jake's arms with a squeak. I was still getting used to being carried.

"Did you think I was going to drop you?"

"No, I just thought you knew better than to startle me."

"Where would the fun be in that?"

"We're not even married a whole day and you're already trying to get yourself in trouble." I clucked my tongue. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I can think of a couple things."

"You'll need to get me inside first." He rolled his eyes.

"Killjoy."

After a few broad steps, we were across the threshold, and he carefully placed me back on my bare feet, but his hands never left my waist. It was astonishing; A glow seemed to emanate from every corner of every room, warm and golden and soft, illuminating everything as I took it all in for the first time. Taking his hand, I padded along the smooth floors to discover my grandmother's antiques tucked seamlessly among new rugs and bookshelves and overstuffed chairs. Smiling photographs of our parents, our first day of school, birthdays, a family picnic, all watching us go by from their home on the walls. It wasn't just the transformation from the ramshackle house he bought, but the way everything fit together, the old and the new. Too beautiful to be real. Like something out of a dream.

"What do you think?" he asked. The anticipation in his voice was barely concealed.

"I think you outdid yourself. And that you've been reading my diary." A hint of relief in his sigh, as if there was a chance I wasn't going to like it.

"I tried, but it was just drawings of ponies and 'Mrs. Orlando Bloom' written over and over again in glitter gel pen." I snorted and he drew me back into his arms.

"So you like it?"

"I love it, Jake. It's absolutely perfect."

"All for you, Bells." He kissed my knuckles, then my cheek, my nose, and finally my lips. The sensation of his long eyelashes tickling my skin like feathers made me giggle.

It was ours. Something beautiful at the end of a long and dusty road littered with bumps and potholes and the occasional roadkill. Finally, I decided to let go of my failings and my regrets, to forgive wherever I could. That was all over now. This was the beginning of a new life and a new chapter for Jake and Bells.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Black."

A/N: Thanks for reading! I didn't mean for this to become the final chapter, but I was overruled.

If you liked it, please validate my existence in the reviews.

Thanks again for reading, and I'll see you all in the next project I decide to torture myself with!