AN: This has descriptions of abuse and a flashback. They read pretty mild to me, but take care when reading.

Esme

"Esme?" Carlisle asked, worried.

I couldn't stop staring at Sarah's house. We were in the process of buying it from the landlord, giving them more than it was worth to make up for the broken lease and…what happened. It had already been cleaned but I swore I could still smell the blood from that night. We were here to get Sarah and Sydney's belongings. Edward and Rosalie came with me and Carlisle to help, while Emmett, Jasper, and Bella took Sydney out for the day. Now that we were here, I wished I had gone with them instead.

Grief was so exhausting. My grief over Sarah invited all the other things I've grieved to the party – the breakdown of relationships with my parents and Lena, my marriage with Charles, my son – and it had been a long week since the funeral. Sometimes it felt like I was fighting to get through one minute, much less one day. I was angry at myself a lot and not just for not staying with Sarah that night. I found myself wishing I could go back and stop myself from going to that one shop in Seattle that triggered me, stop myself from having to go to that support group in the first place.

But then if that had happened, I would never had met and loved Sarah and Sydney. Sarah might have died anyway and where would Sydney be?

I knew all of it was useless thoughts. My long life had taught me that you could only move forward. Any choice you made had consequences, both sweet and bitter.

I took a deep breath. "Let's just do this."

I had the feeling of being watched as I walked to the front door. I didn't turn around to see how much of it was my concerned family and how much of it was curious neighbors. There was some talk about how unusual it was for us to take care of Sarah's funeral and take in her daughter given that we were not family. But I didn't have any energy to care about managing their gossip. Would it kill us to let them talk for once?

"I've been keeping an eye on it," Edward said.

"Bless you, dear boy," I said wearily. I never did envy his gift. Or Jasper's. They've always seemed like unnecessary extra sensory input.

I held back to let Carlisle unlock the door and go in first. It felt like trespassing. The house smelled stale with nobody living here now. There were various scents of the EMTs from that night and the cleaners that followed covering up Sarah and Sydney's scents.

This was what Sarah was reduced to now – a faint wisp of chamomile and incense, her succulents on their shelf, her clothes and other various items left in her bedroom.

I hated it.

"Rosalie and I will do the kitchen," Edward volunteered.

"Okay, but if there's spoiled food in the fridge, you're taking care of that," Rosalie said.

Edward made a disgusted noise as they started working.

Carlisle touched my elbow. "You don't have to do this."

I pulled away. "I do."

I started in the living room, not ready to go into the bedrooms. Carlisle went back to the car to get the boxes. I picked up a succulent – an Echeveria – and remembered the day we went shopping for them. Sarah nicknamed this one 'Jules' because it had the same vibe as the name. She even wrote it on the pot.

"Are you going to name any of the others?" I'd asked.

Sarah had shrugged. "If it comes to me."

None of the others had names, so I guessed she never got around to it.

"Here," Carlisle said, handing me a box. I gently set the succulents in it. They would go in my art studio.

It was mostly quiet as we worked, with occasional snipes between Edward and Rosalie. The loudest complaint came when Edward had to dispose of some spoiled milk. It did smell awful, so I couldn't entirely blame him. Rosalie opened the kitchen window to help air out the smell.

Too soon, the living room was taken care of – we'd leave the furniture for now – and it was time to do the bedrooms. Carlisle and I did Sydney's room first and I made myself not look at towards the bathroom. The blood may be gone now but I couldn't look at the place where she died.

I noticed Carlisle doing the same.

Sydney's desk was cluttered with school papers and books. Some were overdue library and we'd have to go to Port Angeles to return them. The others were a small stack that Sydney brought with her when she left home. I took down the drawings she taped on the wall. They were ones I'd done during the many times we sketched together. She asked me to draw some of her favorite characters – the Pevensies, Prince Caspian, Belle, Toothless the dragon. Drawing them was something I'd never thought to do before, so it was a fun challenge.

Sydney's room ended up not taking as long as I hoped. Even with the few added knickknacks and clothes she acquired since living here, it still wasn't a fully lived in room.

It couldn't be put off any longer.

"Let me go in alone," I said to Carlisle. He made a noise of assent but it sounded hesitant. I knew I should stop pushing him away but I couldn't make myself stop.

I felt like an interloper in Sarah's room, like I shouldn't be packing away her life. The unmade bed, the clothes in the laundry basket, the cell phone on the bedside table – it seemed as if Sarah would come back at any moment. But her scent was stale and I knew that it wasn't true.

I expected to want to cry but as I sat on her bed, I only felt numb.

Carlisle knocked lightly on the doorframe. "I got another box." I held my hands out for it robotically. "Do you need me in here with you?" I shook my head and he reluctantly backed away.

After a steadying breath, I got to work. First, I grabbed her cell phone. I tried unlocking it but it was dead. It went into the box, along with a jewelry box. Then I opened the drawer on the bedside table and mindlessly took out what was inside until I got to the bottom. There was a notebook. I had never seen it before and hadn't known that Sarah journaled at all. It was worn, the edges of the cover coming apart. It had a deep crease down the middle as if it had been hastily shoved into a hiding spot. There was nothing on the cover indicating exactly what it was – it was a plain composition notebook – but I instinctively knew what I would find when I opened it.

July 2006

A month ago, I found Mark reading my school email. I had been emailing my classmate Dean because he missed class because of a family emergency so he asked to borrow my notes. That was literally the contents of the email but somehow Mark construed it as me secretly cheating on him. I laughed because it was so absurd – how can anyone turn asking for class notes into an affair? – and then he slapped me across the face. In all the years I've known him now, he's never acted violent like this.

I tried to tell Clara about it when we were over for Fourth of July but she didn't believe me and told Mark and he was pissed. He pushed me up against the wall and told me to stop talking about it.

Suddenly I don't think I know who my family is.

I'm writing this down because this is real. This happened to me. I'm afraid of it happening again and I desperately hope it doesn't. I don't want this to be my life.

There were more entries after this one. Mark's abuse tended to be mental most of the time. There was a pattern – he'd say something cutting, aimed perfectly at Sarah's insecurities, and then he'd try to make up for it and things would be fine for a time. Sarah fought with herself, knowing it was wrong but not knowing what the best thing to do would be. She had Sydney to consider so she couldn't exactly leave on her own. She felt so alone.

September 2008

He hit me again. We argued about having more children. I knew he wanted a family like his, he wanted siblings for Sydney. I did too. But now I have a demanding job – a job I like, but one that takes a lot and naturally, the burden of a pregnancy falls on me. Mark said I could quit, we're fine without my income. We never needed it. And there's the problem – he doesn't like that I have a life outside of him. I told him that and that's when he hit me.

I don't know why I said it. I guess that a foolish part of me hoped that if he head it out loud, it would make him realize what he was doing and stop. Maybe he would work on himself to be better.

At what point do I stop fooling myself?

I kept reading, transfixed, desperate for some connection to Sarah, no matter how bleak and painful it was. I was dimly aware of Edward murmuring something to Carlisle.

April 2010

Mark kept Sydney home from school today and took her to see How to Train Your Dragon. I want to believe it's something good he did for her because I know that he loves her. But I can't stop feeling like it was a 'Fuck you, Sarah, I'm the good parent here' gesture.

May 2010

We had a guest priest at mass and his homily was about how divorce was against God's plan and every divorced person was living in sin. There is never a good reason to get divorced. Two become one flesh, what God joins together let no man tear asunder and all that. I had to excuse myself to the bathroom halfway through because I thought I would be sick.

Would God really be so cruel to hate divorce when situations like mine exist? A marriage where I've been demeaned and hit so many times now I can't keep track?

I made it back to take communion, blaming my absence on period cramps, but the wafer and wine tasted like ash.

The next entry, dated June 2010, was accompanied with polaroid photos. My breath caught and a strangled cry broke through my lips. The notebook fell from my hands.

"Esme!" Carlisle reached for me but I snarled at him and bolted out of the room. My only thoughts were that I needed to get away from those photos of Sarah with livid purple bruises around her neck and empty eyes staring into the camera, away from the memory bursting through a locked door in my brain.

Charles's alcohol breath in my face, his hands around my throat like a vice, I can't breathe, I'm going to die

I was outside again, bent over at the waist, loud, choking sobs wracking my body.

"Back off, Edward!" Rosalie's voice snapped behind me. Then she was in front of me but she didn't touch me. "Esme, you are safe. It's not happening now."

"Does she need an ambulance?" an unfamiliar voice asked, probably a concerned neighbor. I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle the sobs.

"Mind your own fucking business," Rosalie hissed. She offered a hand. "Come on, babe."

She led me to Carlisle's car and sat me in the front seat. Then she kneeled in front of me. The sobs were in control but it still felt oddly hard to breathe. Everything in my body was still tightly wound. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Don't you dare apologize for this. Not to me." Her eyes were full of understanding. She has been where I was now many times and I have helped her through it. I squeezed her hand. "It's probably enough for today, huh?"

I nodded weakly and leaned against the headrest. There was no way I could go back in after what I found.

The pictures flashed through my mind again and a whimper escaped me.

"Hey." Rosalie lifted my hand to kiss it. "Focus on me. It's not happening now," she repeated. I took a deep breath and squeezed her hand harder.

I heard Carlisle slide another box in the trunk and close it with a thud. The driver door opened behind me and he got in. "We'll go when you're ready," he said tentatively, like he was afraid of my reaction.

Shame was my ever-constant companion. Despite everything we've been through together, I still hated that he had to see me like this. Rosalie gave me a small nod and went to join Edward in his car. I twisted in my seat and shut the door.

The ride home was quiet. I felt drained after my panic attack and I kept my eyes closed, wishing I could sleep like a human. To have hours to forget the world and not think. Maybe that was partly why it was so hard to move on – being constantly awake with one's thoughts made it hard to let go.

Can we have a moment? I asked Edward when we pulled up to the house. It was a relief to be back and I wanted some time to talk to Carlisle.

Edward nodded his assent as he got out of his car and signaled for Rosalie to come with him. Rosalie eyed me questioningly, unwilling to take Edward's word for it. "Please, Rosalie," I said. They headed for the forest.

Once in the living, I looked Carlisle in the eye for the first time today. "I'm sorry," I said.

"Esme, you don't – " Carlisle started

I held up my hand. "Carlisle, please let me say this." He backed off and nodded, looking slightly abashed. "I know I've been pushing you away today and I shouldn't have. I also shouldn't have snarled at you."

Carlisle sighed. "I'm not mad. I don't expect you to not act triggered when you are. I just hate seeing you in pain."

"You saw what was in the journal, then?"

His eyes darkened. "Yes."

I slumped down on the couch. My hands came up to my neck as if I could still feel the bruises from long ago. "I hate that I'm not over it. It's like I'll never be truly healed, which was the whole point of going to the support group in the first place. I hate feeling weak all the time." Maybe it was always going to be a doomed effort – I was vampire frozen in the state that made me jump off that cliff. This was who I was.

He shook his head. "Esme, you are not weak," he said sharply. "That's the last thing that you are."

I wasn't so sure about that. The recent panic attack seemed evidence to the contrary. "It doesn't feel fair to you that you're always having to hold me up."

Carlisle sat with me and took my hands. "You know you've held me in my weak moments too. We trade off."

Memories flooded my mind. When Edward left us to go hunt humans, it was a really bad time for Carlisle. He regretted the fight they had, especially regretting telling Edward to leave. That was the first time Carlisle cried in front of me. Then there was the time in the 1988 where Carlisle lost a young mother due to an unforeseen reaction to the medication that he gave her. He couldn't stand to be in the hospital after that and we spent the year in the cabin in northern Sweden so he could have a much-needed break from practicing medicine. I was his rock during those times.

"Esme, when I married you, I knew about Charles. I knew that it would be something you're going to carry with you. I entered this relationship with my eyes open. You did not have to be ashamed for struggling then and you do not now. Besides, you are grieving Sarah, someone you love. You don't have to be okay right now."

I smiled wryly. "So, basically, I'm having unreasonable expectations for myself?"

"Well…I wasn't going to say it like that. I was only going to say that I wish you weren't so hard on yourself," Carlisle said, sheepish.

I leaned my head on his shoulder. He was right. I was being too hard on myself. It was a hard habit to break. "I love you."

He kissed my hair and then tipped my face up to kiss me on the lips. "I love you. All of you."

I let him hold me and my mind wandered back to the funeral and seeing Carlisle's tears. Then I remembered the way he avoided looking at the bathroom at Sarah's house. "Carlisle?"

"Hmm?"

I sat up to look him in the eye again. "I never did ask you if it was hard…seeing her that night." He'd also gone into the house and I could only imagine the scene inside.

Carlisle slowly nodded, eyes faraway. "It was like…seeing you in the morgue." His voice became rough with emotion and he cleared his throat. "Sometimes I can't get the image out of my head. It's just there all the time."

My heart ached. "I'm sorry I asked you to change her." It wasn't something he was eager to do again, not after Rosalie. He only changed Emmett because Rosalie had demanded it. Like I had done that night.

"I would have done it," Carlisle admitted. "If she had any life left in her, I would have done it even if you hadn't asked."

I couldn't speak for a moment. "Why?"

"He shouldn't get to win," Carlisle said bitterly. "Sarah deserved to live. Sydney deserves to still have her mother."

I gathered him in a fierce hug. "He isn't winning. We'll keep Sydney and he'll live out his sad, pathetic life alone." Alone and with no one else to hurt. It was more than he deserved. But damn if I didn't want to kill him.

"I'll try to keep that in mind," Carlisle whispered.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I dug it out to see that I got a text from Bella. I opened it to find a picture of Emmett giving Sydney a piggyback ride on the beach. As I looked, another one appeared of them sitting on an enormous piece of driftwood. Actually, it wasn't so much driftwood as it was an entire tree. Emmett's grin was huge in both pictures and while Sydney's was more tentative, I could see she was enjoying herself.

"He's fitting in nicely to the big brother role," Carlisle commented, looking at the pictures over my shoulder.

"He's always been the big brother," I said.

"Not according to Jasper." Emmett and Jasper had the dynamic where each of them considered the other to be the little brother.

"True."

Another text came from Bella: We're on our way back. Are you guys home yet?

I typed out a response and then sent one to Edward and Rosalie telling them they could come back. With a kiss to my forehead, Carlisle went to bring the boxes inside the house. Sarah's things went up to our bedroom, though Carlisle said he was keeping the journal in his office. That was perfectly fine by me. I never wanted to look at it again. While he was in the middle of that, Edward and Rosalie appeared. They must have not been far. Edward pulled me into a hug. He didn't say anything but he didn't have to. Just being near him was enough.

"How are you doing?" Rosalie asked.

I smiled at her intent gaze and reached for her hand again. "I'll survive."

Rosalie nodded. "Yes, you will. You always do."

"As do you."

It wasn't long before Emmett, Jasper, Bella, and Sydney arrived home. I was relaxing on the couch with a mug of tea that Rosalie got me. The warmth on my hands was comforting. I wasn't sure I could ever break the habit now that it was a small link to the time I had with Sarah.

Sydney looked windswept and smelled like the ocean. She made a beeline for me and I welcomed her warmth as she settled in my lap. "Hi." I smoothed some flyaway hair back from her face. "Did you have fun?"

"Yeah. We saw a pod of orcas. They were spy hopping and jumping."

"Well, now I'm jealous." I always loved whale watching.

She pulled something out of her jacket pocket. It was an orca carved out of driftwood. "Jasper made this." I took the carving. It was small, no more than a couple of inches long, but it was a remarkable likeness to the real animal. She dug around in the pocket again and produced a handful of colorful sea glass – white, teal, green, brown. "And I found these."

"You have a good haul," I said, giving her back the driftwood orca. "Did you eat?"

"Bella remembered snacks and got me pizza for lunch." Her face became pensive. "Did you get my things?"

"They're in your room."

"And Mom's?"

"In my room."

Sydney chewed her lip. "Can I look?"

"Of course. You're free to take what you want."

Upstairs, I showed her the boxes. She was drawn to the one that had the stuff from Sarah's bedside table and I was glad that Carlisle had the journal in his office. I didn't want her to stumble on it.

She picked up the small wooden jewelry box. It smelled like cedar and inside, there was a rosary and a few other necklaces.

No wedding ring.

"I want this," Sydney whispered.

"It's yours," I said. She clutched the jewelry box to her chest as she left for her own room.

Sarah's dead cell phone caught my eye. "What the hell," I muttered to myself, grabbing it and the power cord. I didn't know what I expected to find. There was no Sarah to text me from it anymore. But I was struck with the urge to turn it on.

Grief was funny that way.

AN: Thanks for reading! I love hearing from you all :)