Esme POV

After a long few days with all the kids kicking around during the day, it was actually quite relaxing to see an overcast, rainy day and know that I'd get a quiet house today. Even better, Carlisle had the day off and Rosalie had decided to fake being ill in order to go hiking with Bree, so the two of us had the house to ourselves for the first time since the fight with the newborn army. I didn't resent my family or their presence, and especially not Bree, but it was a nice change, all the same.

We sat on the sofa, Carlisle's arms around me as I leant on his chest, barely even speaking. The peace was bliss. The TV was on but neither of us were paying it any attention.

"It's been a while since I've been able to spend quality time with you" Carlisle said, suddenly. "It's been a hectic few weeks." I laughed and sighed simultaneously.

"It has indeed. But good hectic. It's been nice to have a shake up to our normal routine. And I think Bree has settled pretty well; her friendship with Rosalie is surprising, but I love it." I smiled, thinking fondly of my eldest daughter, who was the least affectionate person I knew. "She's been good for Rose I think."

"I don't think it's surprising at all." Carlisle countered. "I think Rose felt a similar connection to her as you did on that very first day in the house. I think the similarities in their pasts have helped them bond." I stiffened slightly, nervous of the topic. Carlisle didn't miss this, and turned to look at me fully.

"Are you doing ok?" he asked. "It's not really something we ever talk about, and I feel this situation may have brought some repressed emotions to the surface...?" he questioned gently, as his index finger traced the pattern of veins on the back of my hand.

I didn't know what to say. I wished I could just transmit what I was feeling to my husband without having to form words. Unfortunately, neither of us possessed Jasper or Edward's gifts (though I was glad they were not present right in this moment). Unable to form the words to express myself, I nuzzled back into Carlisle's chest, wrapping my arms around him. He returned the gesture, understanding my wordless pain.

"I see so much of myself in her." I whispered, pained. "But she's so young. How could anyone do that to her? I wish I knew how to help her, but the abuse is so engrained in her that she was even scared of me. Me! I'd never dream of hurting her Carlisle!"

"She knows that. Deep down, she knows she is safe here. I know she does – you can see it in how comfortable she seems around us all, most of the time. But in those moments where something triggers a flashback, it's like she's not here anymore. She's back there, and everyone around her is a threat. I think you know that feeling well."

I sighed. I hated thinking about that time in my life. If was so confusing, knowing I was safe, and yet sometimes feeling terrified of Edward and Carlisle randomly, for no real reason. Neither of them had ever done anything to harm me, but, like Bree, I was in a state of mind where any man was a threat. It had taken years to unlearn that behaviour, and now, glimpses of it were coming back.

"Every time she gets scared, I feel it. I know exactly how she feels, and a little part of me feels it too. I don't want her to be scared, and I certainly don't want to go back to flinching when you walk into a room." I said, sadly, and Carlisle squeezed me gently.

"Believe me, I did not, and would not, take it personally." He assured me.

"I know you don't. I don't deserve your endless patience, but boy am I thankful for it."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something on the TV screen that made me sit up. Carlisle followed my vision, and then reached for the remote to turn the volume up. We were on some random channel and a local news report had come up. The newsreader was in Port Angeles, and the rolling titles on the screen said something about a man being arrested.

"- Officials in Nevada found the remains, which are believed to belong to his wife, Katie Tanner. When local police arrived to arrest George Tanner, his 16 year-old daughter was nowhere to be found. Since having moved to Washington 4 months ago, Breana was not enrolled in school, nor has there been any trace of her here. A police spokesman said the following:" The screen cut to a clip of the chief of police in Port Angeles.

"It seems apparent that George Tanner killed his wife in Nevada and then moved out of state to Idaho. There has been no sign of his daughter alive since he moved from Idaho to Washington, and it is our working theory that history has repeated itself. Police in Idaho are actively searching for Breana's remains. While we hope to find her alive, there is little evidence to suggest an alternative outcome." The screen cut back to the reporter in the studio, and I turned my eyes away from the screen to look at Carlisle in horror. I noted that he did not look as totally shocked as I felt.

"Did you… know?" I asked, almost accusingly. He sighed.

"I looked at her medical records the other night at work, in order to find his contact details in case we ever wanted to ensure he faced justice – it was Edward's suggestion, from something Bree had thought. She wanted him to be punished, so we had begun gathering information." I looked at Carlisle, slightly disapproving.

"She mentioned before that her mother left when she was 4. From looking at the files, her mother didn't just leave; she disappeared off the face of the Earth. Right up until 12 years ago, there were semi-regular hospital visits in her file, some standard check-ups, and others that were innocently explained away, but painted a picture of domestic abuse. Then, in the last 12 years, nothing. When I saw that, I realised what must have happened."

I sighed. It had bugged me too, that her mother had voluntarily left and not taken Bree with her. For a mother to leave her child in such danger; it was incomprehensible. Then another thought struck me, and I gasped.

"Carlisle. How long did the abuse go on for? How long ago did it start? How long has she been suffering?" I could see from the pain in my husband's eyes that the answer was not good.

"I probably technically can't tell you that, doctor-patient privilege and all. But it's been going on a long time, from what I can see."

I sighed again, crestfallen. That poor, poor child. What horrors had she endured? I was sure we'd only seen the tip of the iceberg. At this point, I could only hope that the abuse had remained entirely physical. A shudder went down my spine at the thought of what could have happened to her. Surely not, though. Surely he wouldn't have…. He was her father! I wanted to believe that he would never assault her in that way, but then again, he'd murdered his wife brutally attacked his only child probably countless times, so I couldn't rule it out. I wanted to cry.

A sob escaped my mouth as Carlisle wrapped his arms around me once more in an attempt to comfort me. "What are we going to do?" I cried. "We have to tell her. But what is it going to do to her to discover her mother is dead?"

"I know. I know." Carlisle whispered, his lips pressed into my hair and arms wrapping me securely to his chest.