"It's going to be all right," I whispered to my sleeping daughter, pulling the blanket back up over her shoulders. "I'm so sorry."

I was sorry for so many fucking things, but nothing more so than failing her. I'd made so many promises to her over the years, starting on the day she was born. It was by far the happiest day of my life — even though I was screamed at for most of it by a very pregnant Tanya.

Sawyer was born a week after her due date, and my wife had been less than pleased, to say the least. She truly loved being pregnant, but was over it by the time Sawyer decided to come. When her contractions had finally become regular and she was truly in labor, I was sure I'd never seen her happier . . . until the pain kept coming and coming and she said fuck it to the no-drugs. Of course, it was too late by that time and it was my fault.

I mean, I had knocked her up after all, as I was constantly reminded through her pushing. Still, none of that had mattered when Sawyer came into this world — to me or her. Her pain seemed to be forgotten the moment Sawyer was placed in her arms, and all the screaming I'd endured meant nothing to me as I laid eyes on my baby girl.

She was beautiful, and loud as could be, showing off her very healthy set of lungs. I couldn't have imagined the magnitude of love I'd felt at that moment, and to this day, it still amazed me that I could love another person so much.

She was mine — all seven pounds and four ounces of her.

After all was said and done and Tanya finally got her well-deserved rest, I got alone time with my Bean. I could still remember how it felt to hold her — how light she was in my arms. Her eyes were just barely open, watching me lazily as I promised her the world.

I'd told her I'd always protect her and that I'd spend my life being the father she deserved — because she deserved so much.

I'd broken both of those promises, which killed me and made me feel like a failure.

When I'd let Tanya take her from me, I'd broken the promise of being the father she needed. She deserved to have parents that loved each other, but I hadn't loved Tanya enough to stay with her — and she hadn't loved me enough, either. That was a broken promise that I couldn't regret, though. Staying with Tanya wouldn't have been fair to Sawyer. We weren't happy and the months leading to our divorce were filled with fighting. Of course Sawyer was so little that she hadn't remembered it, but a time would've come when she would have.

Breaking that promise wasn't how I'd failed — not really. Not protecting her was. I'd made so many different decisions that led to the night of the accident. If I'd moved to Portland, maybe they would never have been in that car. Tanya wouldn't be dead and Sawyer wouldn't be suffering. Although, there was no real way to know that, and maybe it was just guilt I'd put on myself.

But the feeling of not protecting my baby the way I should've been able to left me aching and full of regret.

And now I couldn't make things better for her, which felt like another failure. I felt like I shouldn't have needed to ask for someone's help in taking care of her. I was terrified she wouldn't understand and she'd be upset with me, which was why I was dreading telling her about her upcoming appointment.

Bella was able to fit her in on Monday morning, which was only four days away. I was relieved we wouldn't have to wait weeks, but I was also terrified at how soon it'd be. I held this ridiculous hope that maybe it was unnecessary, but in my heart, I knew it wasn't. I knew it was much more likely that it'd get worse the longer I let it go, and I wasn't about to fail her anymore.

"Daddy," Sawyer whispered sleepily.

My head snapped toward her, watching her sit up and push the blanket off of her as she yawned. "Hey, Bean. How do you feel?"

"Tired. Wha-what time is it?"

I laid my book down, glancing at my watch and raising my brow in surprise as I realized two hours had passed since she had fallen asleep. "A little after four. You, uh . . . you wore yourself out. Do you feel better?"

She shrugged and moved a little closer to me, resting her head against my arm. I didn't know what the hell to say, to be honest. I just put my arm around her, sitting in silence for a few minutes. I didn't want to throw this at her so suddenly, but I knew that if I didn't tell her soon, I'd just regret it.

"You had an anxiety attack."

She looked up at me, cocking her head to the side. "I . . . I'm sorry."

"No, you don't have to apologize." I shook my head. "I never want you to apologize for being upset or scared. I need you to be honest with me, all right? About what you're feeling . . . what you're thinking. Would you tell me what you felt? You know, what happened when you heard the fire truck?"

"I don't know. I-I was scared. It felt like . . . and then Mom-mommy." Tears filled her eyes as she shook her head. "She wouldn't talk to me."

"You remembered, right? The accident?"

I hadn't asked Sawyer much about the accident — what she really remembered. She'd told me she didn't remember much, so I didn't pry. It felt wrong to, for some reason. Making her relive that . . . That was what terrified me most about taking her to Bella. She'd have to, and I didn't want her to go through that again — even in a memory.

"Kinda," she sniffled, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "I-I just remember that I kept asking and asking, and sh-she didn't talk to me. She never said anything. I was s-scared and she d-didn't . . ."

I held her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple as she sobbed. Fuck, this hurt. I wanted so badly to take this pain from her, and I couldn't. I couldn't do shit.

"It's okay, Sawyer Bean. You don't have to tell me anymore."

"My heart hurts. Make it st-stop."

"God, I wish I could," I sighed as tears burned my eyes. "I wish I could make the pain go away — bring Mommy back — but . . . I can't. I'd do anything in the world for you, baby, but there are some things I can't make better."

This was so damn hard. I knew I needed to tell her about the appointment, but I didn't know how. I didn't know how to say it without it sounding like I was giving up and passing her off to someone else — because that was how it felt to me.

"But, there's someone who might be able to help in ways I can't. I will always be here for you — no matter what — but . . . I can't make this better. I don't know how. You remember Ms. Bella, don't you?"

She glanced up at me, her tear-stained face full of questions, nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Well, she does what Auntie does. She talks to kids and helps them . . . understand — helps them get through difficult times. She can't make this go away either, but she might be able to help you process it — what you're feeling and how to handle it. It won't be easy, but I want you to talk to her. If you don't like it, I won't force you."

"Am I in trouble? I'm sorry. I-I promise I won't—"

I quickly cut her off, shaking my head. "Baby, no. No, you're not in trouble. Why would you think that?"

"Doesn't Auntie see bad kids?"

"No, Sawyer. She helps kids who've had issues. Who said she sees bad kids?"

I could easily guess who'd told her this, so I wasn't surprised when she said, "Mommy said that Auntie makes bad kids behave. Like when they get in trouble a lot."

I wanted to throttle Tanya for this, which of course only made me feel like shit. My ex-wife never understood why Alice chose the career she did, and she wasn't silent about her dislike of therapy, either. I didn't exactly understand how talking helped either, but I knew it did. It pissed me off that Tanya couldn't keep her mouth shut and now I was left to deal with it.

"Mommy was wrong," I said, caressing her cheek. "Yes, some of the kids Auntie sees have . . . behavioral issues, but they're not bad. They just need help, but I'm not asking you to see Ms. Bella for that reason — not at all. You went through something awful — something I can't even understand. You're not in trouble."

She sniffled, wiping her cheeks once more. "Is there something wrong with me?"

"No, Bean. You just need some help — everyone does sometimes. I'm sorry Mommy said that, but it's not true."

"What's gonna happen?"

"When you talk to her?"

She nodded. "Yeah, will you be with me?"

"Yes, of course." I smiled softly, holding her a little tighter. "I promise that if you need me there, I won't leave you. Ms. Bella will ask you questions and help you understand what you're feeling — because I'm sure that's confusing to you, isn't it?"

"I know I get scared a lot and I have bad dreams, but I don't know why. I'm afraid it'll happen again and I'll lose you, too."

"I know you are, but it's not going to. So, will you see her? I swear that if you don't like it, you can stop anytime. I just need you to try for me, okay? It hurts me to see you like this, and if this could help . . . Well, we need to try."

"What if it doesn't help?"

I shrugged. "I guess we won't know unless we give it a shot. She can see you Monday morning, all right?"

"Okay," she said softly, burying her head back into my chest. "I wanna get better."

I kissed the top of her head, praying that this would help. I wanted my Sawyer back, and I'd give anything for it. I needed my baby to be able to smile and laugh — to just be happy again — and not just for a moment here and there. The accident took so much from her, but I couldn't let it take who she was.

She deserved to still be a child, but after what she witnessed, would she ever be able to?

"I am so proud of you, Edward," Alice said, rubbing my shoulder as we sat in our parent's kitchen, keeping Mom company as she finished putting dinner together. Sawyer was in the living room with Dad, probably forcing him to watch Animal Planet. "I didn't want to tell you to get her help, but she needs it. I'm glad you realized it on your own — you needed to."

I sighed, nodding. "I'll do anything if it could help her. I mean, I don't want to take her to someone, but I can't make her better. I just don't want to hurt her, you know? I'm afraid that if I put this off, she'll just get worse."

"She will," Mom added as the timer went off. "Will you grab the ham out for me?"

I quickly stood, going to the oven for her as she and Alice talked about Sawyer — about the concerning things they'd witnessed. They brought up things that hadn't even phased me . . . things I'd figured were just normal after what she'd gone through. Then again, none of this was normal. My daughter having nightmares, anxiety attacks, and flashbacks wasn't okay, and she needed more help than I could offer.

Making that call to Bella . . . it was easily one of the hardest things I'd ever done, but I was glad I had.

"What's, uh . . . what's going to happen on Monday?" I asked Alice as Mom playfully pushed me away from the ham — not before I tore off a piece, though.

"Is it good?" Mom asked.

"Delicious." I smiled, licking my fingers before looking back at Alice.

"Not much," Alice said. "I mean, she'll talk to Sawyer and evaluate her needs — like how often she needs to be seen or if medication could be needed. If that's the case, she'll refer her to a psychiatrist, too. I don't see that happening, though."

I nodded. "Good. I don't want to drug her."

"Honestly, the appointment will be mostly making sure Sawyer can be comfortable with Bella. She probably won't get into anything heavy yet. It's just a consultation. Of course, she'll ask about the accident and how Sawyer is dealing with her emotions, but the actual therapy won't start yet."

"Thanks. I just . . . need to know what I'm heading into, you know?"

"Of course." She smiled, standing up from the stool. "What else can I help you with, Mom?"

"Nothing, sweetheart," Mom said. "Will you go get your dad and Sawyer in the dining room, Edward?"

I nodded, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Sure."

I had to pull Sawyer and Dad away from some downright riveting veterinarian show, but neither complained — surely smelling the delicious food that was ready. Family dinners weren't a normal thing for us, but Mom enjoyed them. Now that Sawyer was back, I had a feeling they'd get a little more regular, though. Once we all sat down at the table and dug in, light conversation flowed easily between us.

Sawyer was the center of attention, being asked about the zoo and the things we'd done this weekend so far. There wasn't much, to be honest. I'd stayed home with her yesterday because, for the first time since I'd gone back to work, she'd asked me not to leave her. She was still upset from what had happened after the zoo and our talk, so I agreed. My work was important, but I'd made a promise that Sawyer would come first. She knew full well that my staying with her couldn't be a regular thing, but when she needed me, I'd be there.

Plain and simple.

Thankfully, Dad understood that, too — to a point. He still wanted me to make up for the time off, including taking Monday off, so I'd be working all day on Thursday instead of having it off. I hadn't told Sawyer yet, but I hoped she'd understand. It'd be the longest I'd been away from her since the accident, so I really wasn't looking forward to it.

"Well, since I'm sure Edward didn't help at all with cooking, how about the two of us do the dishes?" Dad asked, reaching over to lay Mom's plate on top of his as we stood from the table.

Mom smiled, nodding. "That'd be great. Thank you."

"To be fair, I did pull the ham out of the oven," I said.

"And ate some," Alice added, smirking as she took Sawyer's hand. "How about we get that bath out of the way, huh? I believe you mentioned that some toenails needed to be painted?"

Sawyer cocked her brow. "I want Nana to do them. You . . . you're not so good."

I laughed, grabbing plates as Alice gave my daughter an overly dramatic version of the stink-eye. My sister was never much for ribbons and ruffles and pink and the pampering girls normally enjoyed, but it meant a lot that for Sawyer, she was willing to try.

Once they'd headed upstairs and Mom joined them, Dad and I finished clearing the table and headed for the kitchen, cleaning the pots and pans and putting the dishes in the dishwasher. We worked in relative silence for the most part, but I knew my father. The only time he voluntarily did housework was when he was sucking up to Mom.

"So, what did you do?" I asked.

He chuckled softly, sighing. "Nothing. Your mom is quite thrilled with me at the moment, I believe. I just figured you needed some time away from her and your sister. I'm sure they drilled you about Sawyer."

"Just the usual — her eating, sleeping, and behavior."

He nodded. "And the appointment? I'm just guessing, but I doubt your well-being was much of a concern. It's not easy — asking for help. At least, it never has been for me."

"I'm doing what's best for her."

"And you?"

"Me? I'm . . . I'm fine."

He sighed, handing me another pot to dry off. "Do you remember when Alice had appendicitis?"

"I was twelve, so yeah, I remember. Why?"

"I was with her when she went under. I wouldn't leave her side, actually. I stayed in that OR, watching as her surgeon cut into her. I couldn't keep my opinions to myself, which ended with me being tossed from the OR."

I couldn't help but let out a short laugh, imagining my father being kicked out of an operating room. "I'm sure that made you happy."

"I believe I told the surgeon to go fuck himself, to be honest." He smirked, shaking his head slowly. "I did apologize, though — after the fact. I was just so . . . scared. You both were always so healthy, and although I worried, I'd never had to rely on someone else to take care of my children like that. She was my little girl, son. I wanted to be the one to care for her — the one who made the decisions. But I couldn't be.

"Fear does something to us. We see things differently, less objectively. I couldn't have made the right judgment calls for Alice at that time. I had to rely on someone else, and though it was difficult, it was right. What I'm getting at is that your judgment right now . . . it's skewed. I know it must hurt to know you can't take care of your child — it hurts me that I can't take care of my granddaughter."

"I'm getting her help."

"Yes," he nodded, "but that's only one small part of this. Bella will say and do things with Sawyer that you might not agree with at the time. If you're anything like me — which I know you are — you're going to try to fight back and push your opinion. This is not your area of expertise and you need to recognize that."

Truthfully, I hadn't given much thought to how I would react to my Bean talking to a therapist, but he was right. "I'll . . . do whatever I have to."

He smiled softly, handing me the last pan. "Good. Just remember what I said, all right? She knows best."

Asking for help was hard enough, but actually letting Bella help was going to be even more difficult. It felt wrong to let someone else take control of my daughter's care, but in this case, I had to. I had no clue how to help Sawyer like this. It was uncharted territory for me, and I was terrified.

"How'd you deal with the fear?" I asked. "I mean, I feel like all I've been since the accident is lost and scared."

"I went out to the waiting room and cried as your mother held me, to be honest. The fear started fading away once I knew Alice would be all right, but . . . I'm quite sure all parents are constantly afraid. The trick is to not let it take hold — to not let it overwhelm you. Sometimes, though, it's all right to let your composure slip — if only for a few tears."

He clasped his hand on my shoulder, squeezing lightly as I nodded. We finished up in the kitchen after that, and then had a great evening. It felt strange, knowing my father felt just as lost as I did once. There was a huge difference, though. Alice had a common illness — caught early and treated without complications.

Sawyer was a level of broken that I couldn't comprehend. It wasn't as simple as taking an infected organ out and stitching her back together. I easily dealt with her physical injuries because I knew them, but her mind . . . it was a mystery to me.

The rest of the weekend passed in a blur and before I knew it, Sawyer and I were standing in the hallway of Bella's building, staring at her practice's door. I could have easily reached out and turned the knob, but I was just as frozen as Sawyer — who held my other hand as tightly as she could.

"What if she can't help me?"

My daughter's soft voice broke my heart as I kneeled down in front of her, trying to smile for her. She trembled as I caressed her cheek, looking as frightened as I felt. "We won't know unless we try, Bean. We're just meeting her today, all right? I'll be with you the whole time."

"Promise?" she asked as her eyes flickered to the door beside us.

I let go of her hand, holding out my pinky. "I pinky promise."

She wrapped her smallest finger around mine, sighing ever so softly. I couldn't believe this day had already arrived. Yesterday passed much too quickly for my liking, though we did have a good day. I took Sawyer to the park, letting her throw bread at some ducks and swing on the swing set as I pushed her softly, careful not to let her go too high. It wasn't much of an excursion, but she had fun.

Now, though, I wished I'd let her stay at the park longer — let her swing as high as she wanted and climb on the monkey bars she'd eyed — because the moment we walked through that door, things would be hard. She'd have to face things that I couldn't imagine — things no eight-year-old should have gone through.

I should've let her be a kid for longer.

No . . . life should've let her be a kid for longer.

"Ready, Sawyer Bean?" I asked and she nodded before I leaned in, kissing her forehead. "Everything's going to be okay."

Her hand found mine again, squeezing just as tightly as before and then I opened the door. I wasn't sure what I expected, to be honest. The knob turned easily and then we stepped into the room, which looked . . . like any other waiting room. For some reason, I felt like it'd be different — that maybe I'd see some sign that this was right or wrong. But there wasn't one.

It was just a room.

"Hello," the young woman behind the counter said, smiling brightly at us. "How can I help you?"

We stepped up to the desk and I read the name plate in front of her, doing my best to smile — or at least not appear terrified. "Hi, Tia, I'm Edward Cullen and this is my daughter, Sawyer. We have an appointment with Bella Swan."

"Of course." She nodded, picking up a clipboard and handing it to me. "Just fill that out for me, please. I'll need a copy of her insurance card and your ID, too."

I pulled out my wallet, passing her the two cards before taking Sawyer's hand and leading her over to a small couch to fill out the paperwork. She nudged up against me, getting as close as she could as I wrote.

"When's your birthday?" I teased as Sawyer's head shot up, glaring at me.

"You don't know my birthday?"

I chuckled, pecking her forehead with a quick kiss. "Of course I do. Best day of my life — December twenty-first."

She nodded. "Good. Don't forget it."

"Like that's possible," I said, smiling as a hint of a giggle escaped her. "Now, let's see what's next. Middle name?"

"You already filled that in, Daddy."

"Ah, yes, Anne. My bad."

As I filled in the rest of the paperwork, I kept teasing here and there, just to get her mind off of where we were. Of course, the distraction couldn't last forever. Once I was done and I got my ID and her insurance card back, the door to the back soon opened.

"Sawyer, Edward," Bella said, standing in the doorway with a bright smile — and a tight skirt, mind you. "It's so good to see you again."

I took Sawyer's hand and we stood, meeting Bella in the doorway. My daughter muttered a soft, "Hi," and then we followed her into the back, down a short hallway.

"Thank you for fitting us in so quickly," I said, walking into the room she led us to.

The room was bright with a large window, painted light blue with clouds on a wall. A desk was against one wall surrounded by bookcases, which held board games, stuffed animals and, of course, a multitude of books — some for children but many large, thick texts as well. She motioned for us to take a seat on the couch against the opposite wall as she took a seat in a brown leather chair to the left of it.

"It was no problem, really," she said, picking up a pad of paper from the table between us.

Once again, Sawyer sat as close to me as possible — arm looped through mine and face against my shoulder. I could feel her trembling against me as she took in the room. For me, it felt . . . comforting, oddly enough. Bella had pictures on the walls, both drawn and photographs. It was far from bare and clinical, which I'd imagined.

"How are you doing today, Sawyer?" she asked, watching my daughter closely. "I imagine you're nervous, huh?"

Sawyer nodded silently, looking up at me.

"You're okay, Bean." I said. "Tell Ms. Bella how you're doing today."

"Okay," she whispered.

"Well, I'd normally start off by introducing myself, but we're past that, aren't we? You know me and I know you, but we can get to know each other a little better. I'll start, all right? I'm here to help you. I want you to feel comfortable in this room, and I promise that if anything ever gets to be too much, you can just say 'stop' and I'll stop. Do you understand?"

"Uh-huh."

Bella smiled, nodding. "Good. Now, is there anything you want to know? About me, about what you're doing here . . . anything at all?"

"You're gonna make me better, right? Make the nightmares stop?"

"I'll certainly try," she said kindly. "But that's going to take both of us — and your dad, too. I can only imagine that you have some pretty scary nightmares, huh?"

"Yeah," Sawyer said softly. "How do you make them stop?"

"It's not going to be easy, I'm afraid, or instant. What we'll do in here is talk. Getting things off of your chest helps a lot, but I won't ask you to do that today. I'd like to ask you some other questions, though, okay?"

"Okay."

Bella clicked her pen, holding the notepad on her knee. "Besides the nightmares, is anything else bothering you? Does anything in particular upset you?"

"Fire trucks and ambulances and cops. They're . . . loud and scary and . . . they make me . . . I don't like 'em." She shook her head, scrunching up her little nose.

"She screams because of the sirens," I said. "And . . . they make her remember, I think."

"Is that right, Sawyer?"

"Yeah," she said.

Bella nodded, writing something down. "When you hear or see them, does it feel like that memory is real? Like it's happening right at that moment?"

"Sometimes. I-I don't . . . know. If I see them, it's worse. They just scare me."

I held her a little closer. "Being in a car upsets her, too."

"But you'll ride in them, won't you?" Bella asked.

"If I hafta," Sawyer said. "I don't like it because someone could hit us."

"Well, that's an understandable fear, sweetheart. When we go through something like what happened to you, our instinct is to make sure it doesn't happen again, so we do everything we can to prevent that. I'm sure there are many precautions your dad takes, right?"

I nodded. "We wear our seatbelts, don't we, Bean? And I always make sure I'm not close to another car or that one doesn't make a turn when they're not supposed to. I drive the speed limit too, don't I?"

"Yeah, and you look everywhere a lot."

"Yeah, I do." I nodded, kissing her temple. "I take those precautions because I don't want that to happen to you again, either."

"But Mommy didn't want it to happen either."

"No, she didn't," Bella said. "I'm sure she took those precautions too, but another person didn't. We do all we can to prevent bad things from happening, but sometimes it's not enough. There's no rhyme or reason, unfortunately. I can't keep bad things from happening, but what I can do is help you understand what you're feeling because of it. You're feeling a lot of confusing things, aren't you?"

Sawyer nodded, and I noticed a tiny bit of relaxation in her. She wasn't clutching on to me for dear life, for starters. Bella's voice was soft and calming in a way I couldn't describe, and I knew Sawyer felt it, too.

"Sometimes I feel things, and I don't know why," Sawyer said.

Bella reached out for Sawyer's hand, and my daughter let go of me to clasp hers in it. "I'd like to help you understand why and show you ways to process those feelings, so they're not as overwhelming. It's going to take both of us, though, okay? And like I said, it won't be instant."

"Will it take a long time?"

"Honestly, I don't know how long it'll take," Bella said, shrugging her shoulders lightly. "But, I know we can do it. We'll take it one step at a time, but you'll really have to work. I know you want to get better, right?"

Sawyer nodded, letting go of her hand. "Uh-huh. I just . . . what if I can't do it?"

"You can, Bean," I said.

"Yes." Bella smiled. "You've been through a lot and it's okay to be afraid. You're going to have bad days and we'll have sessions that you don't like, but in the end, it'll be worth it."

"Okay, I wanna do it," Sawyer said, sounding more confident than I'd ever heard her. "I don't wanna be afraid and sad all the time."

It made me so . . . happy to hear her say that, for some reason. She may have been young, but my daughter was smart. She understood more than I realized. She knew she didn't like what she was feeling and wanted it to be better.

"Then we'll get to work," Bella said. "I'd like to speak with your dad for a few minutes alone, though, okay? Once we're done, we'll figure out how often we should talk."

"We're not gonna talk today?" Sawyer asked, cocking her head.

"We did, sweetheart, and you took a huge step by agreeing to work with me. It may not feel like it, but that was a lot. I don't want to overwhelm you, so we're going to take our time."

My daughter looked somewhat disappointed, but she agreed to go into another room for a few minutes. Bella took her hand, leading her down the hall to a room filled with toys. I watched as she took a seat at a little table and picked up a crayon to draw. After telling her we wouldn't be long, Bella and I headed back to her office. My heart felt heavy as I left my daughter, hating the idea of being away from her while we were here. I knew Bella and I had things to discuss, though, so I pushed the feeling away.

"She's a smart girl," Bella said, picking a file up off of her desk and then settling back into the leather chair across from me.

"She is," I agreed. "Maybe a little too smart."

She laughed softly. "I'm not sure there's such a thing. We're already miles ahead of what I'd thought, so it's a good thing. I didn't want to ask her too many questions today, so I'd like to know some things from you."

I nodded. "Yeah, of course."

"Could you tell me about her behavior? What prompted you to call me?"

I took a deep breath and sighed, telling her everything — from the flashback and anxiety attack to the little things, like not sleeping alone and crying for no apparent reason. It was hard, talking about what was wrong with my baby girl as she wrote in the file.

"I feel like I should be able to help her, you know?" I asked, leaning back against the couch and running a hand over my face.

"You are helping her, Edward," she said, smiling sadly. "Bringing her to me is helping her. You can't be expected to make things better — not after the trauma she's endured. Even adults would have lasting effects after something like that."

"Can you help her? Really? I mean . . . I don't see how it's possible for her to just be better. Her mother died. She's witnessed unspeakable things — things I can't even imagine."

"She has." She nodded, brushing her hair behind her ear. "I can't take that away, but there are ways to process it — things she can do to ease her fears. She doesn't really understand what she's feeling. Kids don't understand emotions like we do, so I'll help her with that. Has she gotten angry with you? Had outbursts?"

I shook my head. "Not angry, but her mood will swing so fast. On Friday, for example, I was getting ready for work and she was just . . . she was a mess. She started sobbing and it was almost another panic attack. She didn't want me to leave her."

"And you didn't?"

"No, I didn't. I-I give into her a lot — too much, really. It's just so damn hard to tell her no and she needed me Friday, so I felt like I had to stay. I know giving into her every whim isn't good, though."

"No, but that's something we will work on. She needs boundaries and routines, but I won't ask you to change anything just yet. We have a lot to work on first. I think I know enough to start with her, but is there anything else you'd like me to know?"

"I just . . . want my daughter back, Bella," I said, looking up and meeting her gaze. "I'll do whatever I need to get her back, but she'll never be the same, will she?"

She reached out, laying her soft hand over mine as her eyes held such sorrow for me — for Sawyer. She knew as well as I did that Sawyer would never be a child again. She'd never be carefree or innocent. She learned the cold hard truth about this world too young.

Bad things happen.

People die.

Nothing is forever.

"She's gone through something that we never want kids to have to go through, but I don't think that means she can't be happy again," she said, squeezing my hand. The small gesture held so much comfort, but of course didn't change the reality. "It won't be instant or easy, but I know I can help her. She wants it, too."

"Thank you, Bella," I said sincerely. "I trust you."

It wasn't simple to put my trust in her, but I did. I had to believe she could do what she said. This was hard, but Sawyer could do it.

I knew she could.

I don't own Twilight.

I'm so sorry for the delay in posting. I needed a little mental health break and then, of course, got sick. There will be another update later this week. Thank you all so much for reading and the kind words you've left in reviews. It means the world to me.