Esme POV

Bree had been with us for about a week now, and we were beginning to settle into a routine. Carlisle was back at work, and the other 5 kids went to school as usual during the day time, but as this was impossible for Bree with her newborn thirst, she stayed home with me. I'd been working on designs to change a spare room on the top floor into a room for Bree, and last night we'd emptied the various books, clothes and other random items various members of the family had been storing in there ready for some redecorating.

I looked over to the small girl across the room who was surveying a range of sample paints to decide which colour to go for. She was so much smaller than my other kids – we'd learned she was almost 16 when she was turned, but she looked much, much younger. She could easily pass as a 13-year-old, I decided. Something about her, so small and so vulnerable, drew me to her, and I was so glad she'd accepted our offer to become part of the family.

"Any ideas on which colour you like?" I asked her as I finished taping a dust sheet over the floor.

"I quite like this dusky purple" she said, holding up the colour sheet for it. "But I don't think I want it on all the walls, maybe just one or two." She mused.

I joined her looking at the paints, and had to agree. It was a lovely colour, but would make the room a bit dark if it covered the whole room. "Perhaps this cream colour for the other walls?" I suggested, handing her the tester. She held it next to the purple and considered for a moment.

"Yes! They look good together." She looked up at me and smiled, and I felt as though I was going to melt with adoration. I grabbed the nearest paint roller and tray, and began pouring the cream paint into it. Bree grinned at me again, and shot over to the other side of the room to grab another tray for the purple. We spent several happy hours mindlessly painting and chatting, and I felt so at ease in the company of my youngest child. I'd never thought my family was missing anything, but having Bree here filled a gap I never knew I had.

A loud clatter brought me back from my happy musings, and I looked up to see Bree, horrified, looking at a can of paint she'd knocked over.

"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, cowering back to the far corner of the room, pure terror on her face, tears of venom streaming down her cheeks. "I didn't mean to spill it! I'll clean…. It's….. I'll tidy…." She stumbled over her words, and my heart broke. She was scared of me. She was scared I'd be angry, or even hurt her, for spilling paint?!

"Bree, it's ok!" I said earnestly, as gently as I could. I wanted to run over and wrap her in a hug, but I didn't want to scare her more, so by sheer will-power alone, I kept myself rooted to the spot. "I'm not angry. Accidents happen, that's what the dust sheets are for." I added, willing her to trust me, as I stared into her wide, tearful eyes.

She surveyed me for a moment, and then relaxed. She leant back into the unpainted wall behind her and slid down so she was sat on the floor, curled in a little ball. I took this as my cue to join her, and crossed the short distance between us to join her on the floor. I wrapped my arms around her, and to my horror, found she was trembling with fear while shaking with sobs. I hugged her tighter, and she relaxed her body, nuzzling further into my shoulder.

After what seemed like an eternity, Bree looked up at me. "Sorry." She said again.

"You don't need to apologise." I whispered, my lips pressed into her hair. "But I need you to trust me when I say that nobody here will ever hurt you. There is nothing you could do that will anger us in that way. Please believe me that we will never hurt you like that." I continued, pain colouring my tone as I tried not to picture the scene Bree had expected.

"I know that." Bree whispered back. "I know you won't hurt me. You guys saved my life twice on the first day we met. You've been nothing but kind to me. I don't know why I reacted like that, I'm sorry."

I sighed. This poor girl. "Oh honey, you can't go through years of abuse and expect everything to be fine as soon as it's over." I said, rubbing my hand over her back in circles. She stiffened slightly at my words, but relaxed again quickly, and looked up at me again, this time inquisitively. She rubbed the tears from her eyes.

"You- you sound like you're speaking… from- from experience?" she asked hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper. I sighed, I hated talking about my past, but I'd known this conversation was coming from the moment she told us about her abuse, so best get on with it and get it over with.

"I am. In my human life, I married young, only 22, to please my parents. The man – " I paused, hesitant to say his name. A shiver went up my spine, but my resolve held firm. "Charles – he turned out to be abusive. At first I did nothing, and then eventually I tried to tell my parents, but they just told me to deal with it." Bree gasped and a look of fury passed over her delicate little face.

"It was a different time – this was the early 1900s, and things worked quite differently." I explained quickly. "Anyway, after that, I endured it for a while, but eventually, I'd had enough and tried to run away. Charles found me, but I managed to run away again, better hidden that time." I debated how much further into the story to go. It was painful to think about, but in the name of full disclosure, it only seemed fair to tell Bree the whole story. She'd find out some day, it might as well be now.

"The thing was, by this point, I was pregnant. I'd always wanted to be a mother, and though the circumstances were somewhat bittersweet, the knowledge of having a little child growing in me gave me something to live for in some of my darkest months, all alone, in a new place, fearing every day for my safety, constantly checking over my shoulder and trusting no-one." I paused and glanced at Bree. She looked simultaneously captivated, saddened and furious.

"My son died 2 days after he was born, and it was the final straw. I had nothing left. I threw myself of a cliff, and was presumed dead when I was found. Carlisle found me in the hospital morgue, barely alive, and saved me." I spoke quickly, getting these painful details out of the way as fast as possible. Bree wrapped her arms around my waist more tightly, and once again I felt as though my heart could burst. I didn't think it was possible for a person to experience love more than I already had in my mis-fit family, but seeing this young girl's empathetic reactions to my past touched me.

"I'm so sorry." Bree gasped when I finished talking. "That's awful. I- I can't even imagine…" she trailed off. "How… how do you even… I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm trying to ask…." She took a deep breath. "How do you come back from that? Until you said, I'd never have known. Does- does it get better?" Bree looked up at me as she finished, pain evident in her face.

"It was a very long time ago, and since then I have been shown true, unconditional, caring love from my husband and my children." I said, warmly thinking of my beloved family. "In some ways, time really does heal. But it does take time, and a lot of ups and downs, and it never truly goes away. It still hurts to think about that time of my life." I said, sadly.

"I'm sorry." Bree said again, sadly. "You didn't have to tell me all that… thank you."

I squeezed her arm as I answered. "It hurts, but talking about it does help. And if it helps you, I'd talk about it every day for the rest of our future." I looked down at her sad face, and saw a glimmer of pained hope flit across her features. We stayed in our embrace on the floor for a few more minutes before Bree stirred.

"Right, these walls aren't going to paint themselves." She announced, standing up and reaching for her paint roller again. I smiled as I extracted myself from the floor and took up my post painting the far wall round the window-seat.