"They look icky." Sawyer pouted as she watched me lay new bandages over the incisions on her chest and abdomen while her nurse, Lauren, documented how they were progressing. My baby girl had made a special request that I do this, and all of her nurses had agreed. "Will you take the stitches out? I don't like them."

I sighed as I pulled my gloves off and laid them on the tray. "I know you don't, Bean, but they need to stay in until you heal. That takes more than a few days. Do they hurt?"

"No, but they kinda itch."

"That means you're healing." I smiled, lowering her hospital gown before I sat down beside her. I put my arm around her and she rested her head against my chest, snuggling into me as best she could. "Right, Lauren?"

Her nurse nodded, smiling brightly as she cleaned up the old bandages. "Yep. They might look icky to you, sweetheart, but to us, they look great."

Sawyer scrunched up her nose in disgust. "Nah-uh."

"They'll look a lot better once they heal," I said, kissing her temple and lifting the television remote. "Now, let's see what we've got to watch."

In the five days since the accident, I'd almost lost my daughter again twice. Just hours after she'd woken up, we found out she was once again bleeding from her liver. She was taken back to the operating room for a second surgery, and though it went well and the bleeding was repaired, she'd deteriorated and couldn't breathe on her own afterwards. Her body had just been through too much in too short a time period.

I sat by my daughter's side for thirty-eight tortuous hours as a ventilator kept her alive. Waiting for her to wake up after the first surgery was hard, but waiting for her to wake up and breathe on her own? That was excruciating. I could handle anything that was thrown my way, except for the unknown. I could plan for complications such as infections or more bleeding — those could be treated — but I couldn't make her breathe.

So, I waited — fearfully and beside myself while I prayed to God that he would spare my Bean.

Thankfully, she did come back to me and had since been doing incredible. She'd been awake for almost two days now, and I was feeling cautiously hopeful. Her labs looked good, her scans showed no more bleeding, and her vitals were getting better. She was getting stronger — even if it was a slow process.

"When can I see Mommy?"

My eyes tore away from the Disney channel show and grew wide as I looked down and met Sawyer's inquisitive ones. "Baby, Mommy passed away, remember?" I asked cautiously.

She'd known this, even after waking up from being on the ventilator. Forgetting something so . . . so devastating would mean brain damage, but she'd been cleared of that — or so we were told.

"I know, but . . . can I say goodbye?"

"Y-you want to see her?" I hadn't even gone down to the morgue to see Tanya yet, though I'd planned on it. The police identified her, so there had been no rush. I figured I'd go once Sawyer was out of the PICU. "Bean . . . I don't know about that."

"When my friend Cassie's grandma died, she got to see her before the funeral. She said she looked like she was asleep. Why can't I see Mommy?"

Her little head was cocked to the side, a confused expression on her face as I tried to figure out what the hell I was supposed to say to that. Tanya's will stated she was to be cremated and have her ashes spread. She didn't want a viewing or elaborate funeral, but a simple memorial. She'd planned her death as meticulously as she'd planned her life — which, if it hadn't been for a broken condom and shotgun wedding, would have been entirely different. Her life plan had been messed up by five years because of said broken condom, but . . . she made a new plan. She'd always made a new plan each time life threw something unexpected at her.

Her resilience was one of the things I'd admired most about her.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," I said. "Why don't you let me think about it, okay? No matter what, you'll get a chance to say goodbye to her. Seeing her, though . . . I don't know yet."

Her lips pulled down into a frown as she sighed, clearly unhappy with my answer. "Uh-huh. I think . . . I'm sleepy again."

"Okay, baby." I forced a smile, pulling the blanket higher over her chest. "Get some rest."

Around one in the afternoon, my parents came back from the hotel to stay with Sawyer, so I could shower and get something to eat. I'd barely left her side, fearful that the moment I did, she'd be gone. Now that she was out of the woods, though, Mom figured it was time for me to actually take care of myself, so I didn't have much of a choice but to leave.

"I won't be gone long," I said, sliding off of the bed and tucking the blankets tighter around Sawyer's sleeping form. "Maybe an hour or so, I guess. I need to update Garrett and check on things."

"Get something good to eat, too," Mom said, taking a seat beside the bed. "We won't leave her side. I promise."

Dad nodded. "And we'll call if anything happens, but I'm sure she'll be fine."

"She's been waking up crying," I said, throwing the bag Alice had brought down with her a few days ago over my shoulder. "I've just been holding her until she calms down, so you might have to do that."

"We'll take care of her, sweetheart," Mom said as I kissed her cheek.

With a sigh and one final kiss on my sleeping daughter's forehead, I finally left the room and headed out of the hospital. They'd gotten a hotel room just a few miles away, but still . . . it felt too far. I felt awful for leaving my daughter, even if I did leave her in the wonderful care of her grandparents — both well-trained medical professionals.

When I got to the hotel, I quickly hopped in the shower as my mind raced. Sawyer would probably be in the PICU for another day, maybe two, and then she'd be on the step down unit for a few days after that . . . Then I'd take her home — to my home, not Tanya's. I hadn't gotten to talk to her about that, and she hadn't asked yet. After the earlier conversation about seeing Tanya, I wasn't looking forward to this one. While I had always wanted her to live with me permanently, this was never how I'd envisioned it happening.

Her entire life had changed the moment a drunk driver decided to get in his car. He'd taken her mother, her home, and everything she'd known from her with his decision, and now I was left to put the pieces back together. I had to make her start over, and I knew it wouldn't be easy.

But, we'd handle it . . . somehow.

After changing into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, I sat down on one of the beds and looked at my phone. Garrett and I needed to talk about my patients and Alice wanted me to call her. She'd come down after the accident, bringing some things for Mom, Dad, and me, but had to leave yesterday because of work. Sawyer was stable, so it wasn't like she needed to be here, but I knew she wanted to be.

"Hey," she answered after the first ring. "What's up?"

I leaned against the headboard, sighing into the phone. "I'm at the hotel. You busy?"

"Eh, working on charts, but I have a patient in about twenty minutes. So, how's Sawyer today?"

I told my sister everything that had happened last night after she left and today. The fact was that she understood what my daughter was going through better than I ever could, and though it killed me to admit that, her insight was a lifesaver.

"She cries, Alice," I said, shaking my head as I pinched my nose, remembering the gut wrenching sobsthat had come from my little girl. "And not just normal crying. She wakes up sobbing, crying out for Tanya and I don't know what to do. How can I make this better for her?"

"You can't. You're doing everything you need to do, which is just being there for her. She's going to have nightmares, she's going to be sad, and she's going to be angry, too. Right now she's still taking it in and absorbing what's happened. I'm sorry, but it won't just be . . . better."

"She wants to see Tanya."

"Her body?" she asked in surprise. "When did she ask this?"

"Today."

"Oh . . . well, would she be able to?"

I cocked my head, creasing my brow. "You think she should see her? Alice, God only knows what Tanya looks like — if she even looks like herself! How can that be healthy for Sawyer to see?"

I didn't even know if I could get Sawyer into the morgue, and I didn't see how this would be a good idea. Sawyer would get to say goodbye during the memorial, so why would seeing her mother's broken and battered body change anything?

"She might need the closure. I don't know, Edward, but . . . I'd try. She's eight years old, so she knows more than you think."

I groaned, laying my head back. "I'll . . . see what I can do, I guess."

Unsurprisingly, I wasn't allowed to take Sawyer to the morgue. So, I made another call. Tanya's mother was handling the memorial and planned to follow her daughter's wishes, but I was able to convince her to have a viewing arranged — if only for Sawyer. After we hung up, Carolyn made her own calls and then texted me to let me know a funeral home would be picking up Tanya's body tomorrow and we could have the viewing once Sawyer was discharged from the hospital.

This made me feel better about Sawyer seeing Tanya. She'd be cleaned up and would look like what I believe Sawyer imagined when she asked — sleeping. It still concerned me, but I had to give my daughter what she asked. If this was what she needed for closure to begin healing, I'd make it happen.

It wasn't until almost three that I headed back to the hospital. Mom and Dad never called, so I hoped that meant Sawyer was still asleep . . . but she wasn't. When I walked into her room, I found her awake and sitting up in bed, holding a large teddy bear with a pink bow in her lap. She was . . . smiling. It wasn't bright and didn't reach her eyes, but it was a smile — the first I'd seen on her since this happened.

"What do you have there, Sawyer Bean?" I asked, leaning down to kiss her temple.

She held the bear out to me and I took it, reading the tag on its ear. "It's a teddy bear. The bow's pink. Isn't that cool? Nana said Ms. Bella is your friend, but I don't know her."

"Yeah, you two haven't met." I smiled, sitting down beside her and laying the bear back in her lap. "I guess we'll have to tell Ms. Bella thank you, huh?"

The small gesture made my daughter smile, so Bella deserved a hell of a lot more than a simple thank you. Sure, we'd all brought Sawyer things here and there to try and cheer her up, but this bear was the only thing that had worked. Why? I wasn't sure, but I wasn't about to question it.

"This is my favorite color pink," she said, fingering the bow. "It's not really light and not too dark. It's perfect."

I nodded. "I'll have to remember that, then. How do you feel?"

Her tiny shoulders shrugged lightly. "Still tired and it hurts when I move a lot. My arm itches, too."

I reached across her, lifting her little fingers that poked from the large splint off of the pillow. Her capillary refill was still good, and the orthopedic surgeon said he'd replace the splint with an actual cast once the swelling went down. He'd had to put plates and screws in to keep the bones she'd broken in place, so they could heal properly. To be honest, this injury would probably take the longest to heal and very possibly require another surgery if the bones didn't heal just right.

"I'm sorry, baby," I said, moving my arm over her shoulder. "I wish I could make it better for you."

I wished I could make all of this better for her. She wasn't supposed to know so much pain so young.

"S'okay," she mumbled. "When, um . . . when I'm better, I'm gonna live with you in Seattle, aren't I?"

I nodded, smiling sadly. "Yeah, you are. I know it'll be a big change, but I'll do whatever I can to make it easier. You can still talk to all of your friends and come visit, too."

"Okay."

And just like that, she turned her attention back to whatever Disney channel show was on. Silently, my eyes met my parents as they watched her with sympathetic expressions. Okay? I thought. I'd expected so many more questions about when or why. Hell, I'd even prepared myself for her to tell me she didn't want to move, but okay?

That worried me.

My daughter had so much spirit — so much fight. She was inquisitive and vocal, and she never just resigned. Was this how she'd be now? It felt like . . . giving up — like the life in her had disappeared. How the hell was I supposed to bring her back?

Would I even be able to?

The next few days passed slowly, but brought good news. On her sixth day in the hospital, Dr. Forester decided it was time to remove Sawyer's chest tube and get her out of the PICU. I held my daughter's hand tightly, comforting her as she cried while the tube was being removed — jostling her already fractured and sore ribs. Once it was over, though, Sawyer stood and walked more than just a foot for the first time since the accident.

She was in more pain than I could imagine, but she was up on her feet and moving — a huge step in her recovery. It was a beautifully heartbreaking scene. Walking shouldn't have been such an incredible thing, but she was lucky to be able to. Her injuries could have been so much worse, and I couldn't let myself forget that.

My daughter was alive and recovering. It was, in fact, a miracle.

I didn't realize exactly how much of a miracle until I saw photos from the accident scene. Tanya's car was unrecognizable — smashed on every side and pried open. Sergeant Peters had brought the photos to me and explained what all had happened that night, causing tears to form in my eyes as I began to understand exactly what my daughter had witnessed — as I thought about the fear she endured.

She'd been awake and fairly alert as Tanya was pulled from the car — the rescue team still trying to free her. Sergeant Peters said she was brave, and it broke my heart that she'd had to be. She shouldn't have had to be that strong. She should have never witnessed any of that. She should still have been the carefree, happy girl I knew.

I was also contacted by the prosecutor in the case against the drunk driver. The man who had killed Tanya, and almost my daughter, had pled not guilty at his arraignment. He was charged with first degree manslaughter, along with multiple other charges, and I learned this wasn't the first time he'd gotten behind the wheel intoxicated.

I saw red, wanting nothing more than to search out this man and kill him myself. The prosecutor said she'd be in contact as things progressed, but there wasn't anything else to know right now and it could be a while until this went to trial.

She told me we needed to live our lives and try to heal from this, but how could we heal without closure?

"I can stay, Edward," Dad said as I sat on the hotel room bed, going over the plan for the practice until I'd return to work. Mom was with Sawyer at the hospital, keeping her occupied until I returned. "I'm sure Eleazar and Garrett will be fine until Sawyer can come back to Seattle."

I shook my head, sighing. "No, you should go for now. What's there to do anyway? The memorial isn't until Tuesday and the practice needs you."

Since Sawyer was being released tomorrow, Carolyn went ahead and scheduled Tanya's memorial. We had four days, but even after that, I wasn't sure when I'd be bringing Sawyer home. The thought of putting her in a car or on a plane right away seemed like more anxiety than she needed, but I planned on leaving that up to her.

"The practice has been fine," Dad said, zipping up his bag. "I just don't want to leave you here, son."

"I'm keeping Mom," I joked, offering a half smile.

"Even so, there's comfort in being surrounded by loved ones. It might be better for Sawyer if I stayed."

Sawyer had been extremely attached to all three of us, needing at least one of us with her at all times. It would honestly be nice to have my dad stay, but I knew life was still going on and he had responsibilities. Mom said she'd stay and come home with us, but that hadn't made my daughter any less upset when she'd said goodbye to her Papa earlier.

"You'll be back in four days," I said. "We'll be okay."

I wasn't sure I was very convincing, but the plans had already been made and he stuck with them. After dropping me off at the hospital, he began the drive back to Seattle. Sawyer's new room was filled with flowers, balloons, stuffed animals, and cards galore because of her family and classmates. Still, the only stuffed animal she kept on the bed with her was on the teddy bear from Bella.

And for some reason, that made me immensely happy.

"There we go," Mom said, brushing the tangles from Sawyer's wet hair. "Does this feel better?"

Sawyer nodded as I sat down in the chair beside her. "Nana washed my hair, Daddy. It feels really good."

A small smiled played on her lips, making me grin as I took her hand. "I can see that. You look so pretty, Bean."

She was out of the hospital gown and wore a pair of pink pajamas that Mom had gotten from Tanya's house. Even with the bruises and splint on her arm, she looked . . . good. She was starting to look more like herself again.

"How about braids, sweetheart?" Mom asked, running her fingers through Sawyer's long hair. "We can show Daddy. I promise it's not too hard, Edward."

I smirked. "I'm sure it's harder than you'll make it look."

"It's really hard. Mommy always has to do it twice because it's . . . loose the first time," Sawyer said, whispering the last words. "She had to do it twice."

"I know, baby. I know," I said, caressing her hand as tears filled her eyes.

"I keep forgetting she's gone."

Mom dropped the hairbrush, wrapping her arms around Sawyer from behind. She held her tightly, crying along with my daughter. "It's okay to cry, sweetie," she said, kissing her crown. "It's okay to be sad."

Sawyer took in a shuddering breath as she nodded. "It's n-not fair."

"No, it isn't," I said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed in front of her. I laid my hands on her cheeks, caressing softly with my thumbs as she looked up at me with devastated eyes. "We can always talk about her, all right? All those memories . . . anytime you want to share them, I'm here to listen. She's not here with us anymore, but she'll always be in here." I laid my hand over her heart, smiling sadly. "It's not the same, but you'll always have her and I'll always be here to listen."

"I miss how she smelled," she sniffled. "I miss her hugs and kisses. I just wanna hear her voice again."

I pulled my phone from my pocket, suddenly being hit with an idea. I didn't know if it'd make it worse, but . . . I figured I'd try. I hit Tanya's name in my contact list and put it on speaker as it went straight to voicemail.

"Hi, you've reached Tanya Cullen." My heart ached at the normality of the message. "I can't answer the phone right now, but please leave a detailed message with your name and number and I'll get back to you as soon as possible . . . Have a good day."

The last four words stung. How many times had I listened to this message? How many times had I been pissed to get it? She'd always been so fucking busy and there had been more times than I could count that I hung up in anger as the message played.

"Do it again," Sawyer cried, grabbing the phone from my hand. "Make it do it again."

I nodded, quickly hanging up the phone and dialing it again. Sawyer listened to the message seven times as she cried. After the last time, she dropped the phone and I quickly pulled her into my arms, knowing this would just get harder before it got better.

My heart broke for my daughter — for the loss I wasn't sure how she could ever overcome. It ached for the loss of my ex-wife, too — a woman I'd always love for giving me the most precious gift in the world.

A precious gift that was now broken beyond what I could repair.

I don't own Twilight.

Hiya! Ya'll have been so incredibly kind! Thursday will probably my main update day. So far I haven't made a ton of changes, but the next few chapters will have more content than the last time this was posted. I really cannot thank you all for the kind words! I'm going to start posting teasers on my Facebook if you want to add me. The name is Ashley Hanninen-DaPonte.