Honestly? So much happens in this chapter, but it somehow flows too well for me to think about splitting it up... I think, anyway!

Chapter 14

Carys had checked out of her hotel and was in the process of leaving Seattle on the last afternoon of her trip when she caught a glimpse of a figure, lurking at the entrance of an alley, and found herself on the double-take. She pulled her car in at the next available parking spot - the one almost opposite the alley - and stared through her window.

At first, she didn't believe her eyes in the waning light and almost took a second double-take. Of all the people who might have come back without announcing their return, she oddly hadn't expected it to be him.

Carys threw the door open and sprung from her seat. It had been months since she had last seen him.

"Hey!" she called, the strength of her excitement at his return catching her by surprise. He did not appear to have heard her, so she raised a hand high above her head and tried one more time, just in case. "Richard?!"

She did not see him move, but a frisson of awareness told her she had his unbridled attention. Carys faltered. Richard's gaze had never frightened her before.

A larger, more commanding figure stepped from the depths of the alley, and the man she had thought was Richard turned to greet him. The street lamp illuminated their features to better advantage.

Fear trickled down Carys' spine, turning her blood to ice.

She had been gravely mistaken.

The second man's blond hair glistened in the artificial light, as opposed to the first, whose dark hair fell glossy against his forehead. Whilst the first was tall, broad, at least six feet, the second was thinner, a couple of inches taller, and no less imposing. Each was dressed for the slowly warming weather, but the taller man's jacket was ripped at the side. It appeared more the result of a fight than a stylistic choice or the result of general wear and tear.

Carys wasn't close enough to see their eyes move, but the weight of their gaze pressed down on her suddenly, rooting her momentarily to the spot.

Her arm dropped to her side, and both men followed the move; her palms tingled, the hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end, her stomach dropped; she obeyed the instinct to flee without thought.

The roof of the car couldn't have impeded her view for more than a second as she dropped back to her seat, but when she glanced quickly through the window, the mouth of the alley was deserted.

Carys slammed her door shut, buckled her seatbelt as quickly as her shaking hands could manage, and tore off down the street. Traffic (the result of an accident half a mile from the outskirts of Seattle) slowed her progress, but as soon as she passed through she sped up again, pushing the speed limit.

Her mind was playing tricks on her. It must be. The similarity to Richard... The... No. It was a mistake. A result of the nightmares that had plagued her before she took her holiday.

No matter what she reasoned as she gripped her steering wheel until her knuckles paled, she couldn't rid herself of the overriding certainty of her terror.

Fear and doubt over what she'd seen twisted her gut through the long drive home. She spent most of the night pacing her bedroom, unable to sleep and, more than once, found herself tearing off to bend over the toilet bowl as she retched and spluttered.

Carys could not quite bring herself to call Carlisle in case she was wrong, any more than she could to alert her friends in case she was right.

What did you say when you caught less than half a minute's sight of someone who looked like a friend - a friend whom you had dreamt about bleeding in an alley more than once - and came away with a gut feeling you had seen a vampire?

Two vampires.

She needed proof. Not necessarily irrefutable proof, but enough to put an end to her doubt at the very least. On the other hand, she might discover she was imagining things: both her paranoia towards the end of the week and the alley that night.

She fought the forceful compulsion to return - to confirm whether or not it was Richard, more so, whether or not there were red-eyed vampires moving in on the Cullens' territory while they were gone.

It was from another foray to that internal battleground that Carys returned, halfway through a conversation with Sarah on Thursday. She couldn't remember finishing work, let alone making it to Sarah's office or drinking half a mug of coffee.

"... and that's why, at this point, I'm pretty sure he's a dick. And you know I don't say that lightly."

"I'm sorry?" Carys chimed in, covering her surprise by adopting an inquiring tone which almost passed for blasé. "Who's a dick?"

"McDreamy!" Sarah said. Her head tipped back, she had raised her elbows above her head and was in the process of shaking out her hair.

While Sarah wrapped her hair back into a bun and secured it with the band on her wrist, Carys quickly connected the dots. McDreamy. Grey's Anatomy. Sarah had only just got around to watching the first season, having missed it when it started on TV the year before.

She still hadn't forgiven Dr Shepherd for hiding his marriage, it seemed.

Sarah raised her eyebrows, which disappeared beneath her new "bangs", as she had called them, or fringe as Carys had grown up knowing it as, and said, "You weren't listening to a word, were you?"

Carys grimaced and hung her head, letting the curls that escaped the confines of her hair clip throughout the day to fall across her face.

"Sorry...," she said uncomfortably. "Think I was away with the-" Vampires. "-fairies."

"It's fine," Sarah dismissed after studying Carys' face. When Carys raised her head and Sarah caught sight of the now confused expression, she chuckled and stretched a hand across the desk to pat her arm. "You've been distracted since the blood drive on Monday, but I picked you up this morning, remember?"

Carys poked her tongue out, to Sarah's amusement. Of course, she remembered that part. She wracked her brain again, and briefly closed her eyes with the realisation. Sarah was referencing the "sold" sign now hanging outside Carys' home.

The sign had been mocking her since it went up on Tuesday. Another loss on its way.

The new owners of her little house were open to discussing a rental agreement, but their requirements were frankly ridiculous. $1666 a month for a six month fixed contract. Carys had laughed when Amy had told her, thinking it was a joke - it was so far above market rate for the area.

"They're serious," her mum had reluctantly informed her, cutting her laughter short.

Carys had taken little from the call save a feeling of dread. Her loneliness had resurfaced as she sat huddled on her sofa long after the room had gone dark. It frustrated her anew that her life had changed so much over the course of a year. That she had become so reliant on another person; so utterly dependent on waiting for him to come back.

If he didn't, she would have spent far too much money to live in a strange monument to their relationship.

Her self derision was not simply a result of Carlisle's extended absence.

Twice that night, she had come close to convincing herself he wasn't coming back at all; that he was stretching out the time between calls so that one day, when it was clear he would never return, she would be used to being alone. It was while debating the third time that she had realised it was her depression talking. Her stress. Her anxiety.

There was a reason Carys had learned to control her compulsions and bury them deep enough to forget their strength. She hated what one could do to her when she fought the strongest demands; her depression, manageable as it normally could be, took over, twisting everything. It felt as if her mind was breaking apart in an effort to convince her she needed something in her life she could control.

Working out whether a quest for knowledge was a symptom of her depression, or if her depression was a result of the compulsions she had long treated as anxiety, was akin to wondering what came first - the chicken or the egg.

Why could it not have been a book to read, or the need to gaze at something beautiful? Something serene? That was what she had expected it would be all those months before when she had promised herself she would follow the next one no matter what it was.

Carys shook her head.

"It's nothing," she said aloud, turning her mug in her hands. She flashed a cheeky if tired smile and glanced up at Sarah from beneath her lashes. Carys' mascara had clumped a little that morning and so she could see it encroaching on her sight. She would loosen what was left of the tube with some argan oil when she got home. Hopefully, it would keep it going until her next trip to a larger town. "Just got me a bad case of the morbs, is all."

Sarah pressed her lips to the back of her wrist, which was lifted by the desk on which she had propped her elbow, and struggled not to laugh.

"Stop calling it that," she complained, following several garbled attempts at speech. "Depression isn't funny."

"Neither's the morbs," Carys agreed with a serious shake of her head, setting Sarah off once and for all. "Stop laughing," she solemnly teased, feigning severity. "You're a doctor. You can't laugh at my anguish."

"What're you going to do about it?" Sarah asked after the worst of her chuckling had abated again, raising her mug to her lips.

"I'll turn you in to Dr Snow," Carys promised.

Sarah, who had taken an ill-advised mouthful of coffee, held her free hand to her lips and struggled not to laugh in case she spit.

"Dear Dr Snow," Carys continued, "It's come to my attention one of your staff is openly mocking me and my affliction. 'Which affliction?'" she asked of herself, adopting a gruff and friendly tone to imitate the most senior doctor on staff. "My morbs! 'She's mocking your morbs!? We can't have that now, can we, Vale? It's very serious, the morbs-'"

Sarah lost control, dribbled her warm coffee back into her mug, and then hastily pushed it as far away as her desk, crowded with files and papers due in part to her pre-lunch focus on tackling her paperwork, allowed.

"I hate you," she said, swearing under her breath as she wiped at her mouth with a spare napkin.

Carys grinned and shrugged her shoulders.

Glaring, Sarah grumbled, "Can't wait to foist you off on Cullen again."

"His daughter's the one who diagnosed me," Carys said, recalling the evening when Rosalie and Carlisle had debated back and forth about the most ridiculous Victorian names for illnesses. "I always thought it was depression. So good to know it's-"

"Say 'the morbs' one more time and I'll murder you."

"You know he was separated, right?" Carys asked, returning to the issue of McDreamy, having swiftly and efficiently moved the conversation out of dangerous territory.

Sarah's glare descended to a glower. "Something he could have told her in the what? Months they knew each other? Then he gives her another chance? And don't think I don't know what you're doing," she said. After quickly piling the now empty wrappers from her lunch on top of each other, she scrunched them into a ball, and threw it lightly at Carys. "You're deflecting."

Carys, having caught the ball, waited a moment and then threw it across the room. She kept her pride at having reached the bin in one shot to herself.

"The same way you do every time the issue of Monica and a certain question comes up?" she asked, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. Her coffee had been almost cold when she had removed her hands from the mug, and she, therefore, had no intention of finishing it.

"That's different," Sarah argued, shifting her shoulders and avoiding Carys' gaze.

"Uh, yeah, of course it is! It's way bigger, and far more exciting," Carys said, noting the slightly over-the-top reaction Sarah had had to her words. Over-the-top for Sarah. As if she was trying to hide the fact she had news.

"You really don't want to talk about how you're doing?" Sarah asked, twisting in her seat again, and Carys was sure about her assessment.

Sarah had an answer to her question. Finally. After months, she had asked Monica, and now knew where they stood on the potentially, Sarah thought, touchy subject.

"Not right now, nope... But you do," Carys told her, looking as much of her friend as the desk allowed up and down.

Sarah, still a touch too dramatically, slumped back in her chair, and all but pouted. A moment later, she flung herself half across the desk, palms flat against the wood veneer. "Okay. So yes, I talked to her."

"Finally!" Carys said loudly, throwing her hands in the air before she mimicked Sarah's pose, pretending she hadn't read her friend immediately and cottoned on to the answer as much as she already had. It was good news. "And...? Come on, I'm on tenterhooks here."

"And...," Sarah sighed, bluffing as she reached into the left pocket of her lab coat. Worn over the top of a structured green dress, the lettered white coat contrasted well with both the dress and her brown hair. She removed a folded sheet of paper with a flourish, and opened it so that an advert for a large house on the outskirts of Forks was displayed, above various lists of its contents. "She's been slipping me these ever since."

Carys just about stopped herself from rounding the desk to give her friend a hug. It was the type of reaction she might have had with Monica. Instead, she looked the house over when Sarah pushed the paper across the desk, clearing a space with her forearm.

The house, if the advert was to be believed, boasted four bedrooms, three baths, and a garden spanning half an acre. The facade, on which the large picture was focused, displayed bay windows on both floors, a garage set against one side of the house, and a dark red door that appeared to have been painted as recently as the house itself. It had been brought up to snuff for the sale and, save for the lack of picket fence, appeared exactly as, growing up, Carys had imagined an American family home would look.

Carys' eyes swam, and she blinked away the happy tears. Looking up at Sarah, she laid her hands over Sarah's forearms and grinned.

"You're gonna be a mum," she said softly.

Sarah scoffed, turned her arms so that she could cradle Carys' arms in her hands, and said, "Unless immaculate conception makes a comeback, it's not gonna be right away,"

"Yeah," Carys agreed, gripping Sarah's arm and pressing closer until Sarah met her eye. "But I'm guessing it was a yes, right? Was it? Monica wouldn't be doing that if it wasn't?"

Sarah's entire being lit up, and whilst her smile could not be described as a grin exactly, it was no less excited.

"Yes," she sighed happily. "I'm gonna be a mom one day. Maybe..." Her voice changed, and she drew away a little but met resistance when Carys tugged her back. "I don't know. We're going to take it easy, but it's on the table now... I mean, we don't even know if she'll-"

"Sarah... Remember your mantra: don't think about what could go wrong before you've had a chance to think about what could go right. Monica wants this too, doesn't she?"

Sarah nodded. "Guess all that baking and fudge paid off," she said with a wink before she adopted a far-away look and pulled away again. This time, Carys let her go. "But honestly? I didn't think she was going to be as receptive as she was. I-I mean immediately; I thought it'd be a long conversation or something, but she just..." Sarah grinned then. "It's a couple of years off, but I can wait 'til she's ready."

Sarah had found herself increasingly in want of children over the years she had spent with Monica. Unfortunately, no matter how much she might have wanted to add to their family, it was not simply the case that she would need Monica to want children. Sarah had, at first, put the conversation off as long as she could, fearing the worst: that Monica might not want children at all. When she had finally geared herself up to ask, she had begun to fear her inability to bear children might somehow alienate her partner; it would be Monica who would carry their children if they had them in the natural way.

"You're gonna be exceptional," Carys said, giving in to temptation and rounding the desk. She hugged Sarah as best she could, who wrapped her arms around Carys' waist rather than stand to return the hug. Following a decent squeeze, Carys released her and returned to her own seat with a caveat of, "So long as you don't end up like the Yorkies."

Sarah wiped her eyes and let out a watery chuckle. "Never," she promised. "I have high hopes we'll be Forks' answer to the Clearwaters one day. When I told Monica that, she spent ten minutes rambling on and on about whether or not we could convince Sue to let us adopt Seth, but what she didn't realise was I was talking about having a Leah."

"Oh my god, get in line - everyone wants to adopt Seth," Carys informed her, slouching a little in her chair. She was perfectly serious. Sue had made two of the greatest humans Carys could remember knowing. "But Leah as a daughter? No. I'm sorry, but as your friend, it is my duty to tell you she would a hundred percent murder you one day, the way you argue with her; and Monica would help cover it up."

"I see arguing, and raise you healthy debate," Sarah protested, stacking a couple of files. She shifted the little pile onto another, larger, one, and then deposited the whole into the relevant tray. "I just can't work out why the hell she's getting so soft these days. It's all since Sue started that family health kick and Leah took up running. All the leaves and fresh air, they're dulling her badass."

"You're really judgemental of healthy people for a doctor, Sarah Martins. I don't think people tell you that enough."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sarah told her, checking her pager when it beeped. She held the screen up as she pushed from her seat. "Duty calls."

Carys watched, grinning, as Sarah rounded the desk. A couple of steps from the door, Sarah stopped in her tracks, turned her head, and bit her lip. Her smile was so bright it could have lit a room ten times the size of her office. Then she turned back and headed once more for the door.

Carys, thinking about how happy she was for her friends, grabbed her mug, bag, and coat from the back of her chair, and wandered through the halls to the staffroom.

After washing her mug, humming to herself, she donned her coat and left the hospital in favour of the walk home. It was uneventful in all. Having spent lunch with Sarah, she had avoided the "crowds". In a town as small as Forks, the formation of the diner's lunchtime queue was deemed as such.

Carys let herself into her house, closed the door behind her, and dropped her coat and bag to the floor. Her face crumbled, and she sobbed as she half-crawled, half-climbed upstairs to her bedroom. The uncontrollable sobbing continued as she changed clothes, got a bag together, grabbed her laptop and chargers, and switched out her clip for a scrunchie to tie her hair up more securely. Returning downstairs, she pulled herself together, whispering to herself to do so, and wiped the evidence of her tears away as best she could.

She was happy for Sarah and Monica. Ecstatic. That was without a doubt. But she could be sad for herself that she might never have that at the same time. That was what she told herself as she spent an hour searching through her bookcase, and later on the drive to La Push, which included a brief stop at the diner.

Leah met her as she pulled up to the Clearwater house, searched Carys' eyes, and then grabbed her hand and pulled her into a tight hug.

"D'you wanna talk about it?" she asked, her tone showing her concern as Carys returned the embrace.

Carys shook her head and took a deep breath. "We should run," she said, reluctantly drawing away. It was both a request and a solution. While she could not say she wanted to run (she never did, and frankly much preferred walking), Carys knew it would likely help her as it did Leah to excise excess feelings by channelling them into exercise.

Leah stared at her for a second or two longer before she nodded, reached into Carys' car, grabbed the paper bag sat on the passenger's seat, and then led the way.

Carys, familiar with the various routes Leah favoured, let her mind wander to daydreams which shifted and changed based on the songs blasting through her headphones. On the whole, the combination of action and music called forth more exciting or less depressing, at the very least, daydreams. They stopped her mind wandering back to Seattle.

The one interruption to their run, which Carys for once kept pace for and pushed both of their speeds to the limit, came when they slowed down halfway along First Beach and encountered Seth.

"You've grown again," Carys breathlessly accused him, pulling her headphones from her ears. She bounced from foot to foot to keep her heart rate up, not quite jogging on the spot as Leah was beside her, and tightened the arms on her hoodie, which was tied around her waist. "He's grown again," she told Leah needlessly, tapping the back of her hand to her friend's arm.

Seth, who had been fit to bursting with pride since she'd first spoken, opened the bag Leah gave him, removed one of the three burgers inside, and nigh on inhaled half of it.

"I'm a growing boy," he chirped in the brief window in which his mouth emptied once again, in between bites. "Dad says I'm gonna be as tall as Jacob one day!"

Carys shared an affectionate, knowing glance with Leah. Seth continued to, as Leah had once mentioned, hero-worship Jacob Black. Carys wouldn't have put it past him to have somehow found the fountain of growth purely so that he could catch up to his hero's height.

She couldn't remember ever having looked up to someone in the way Seth looked up to Jacob. Perhaps she had, at one time or another, felt something akin to that. If she had, seeing Seth made her almost disappointed that she had lost or forgotten the feeling.

There was a purity and innocence in the way he spoke about his hero; life had not yet got in the way and showed the world to be a darker place, or heroes to be fallible.

Maybe for Seth, who had dispelled the notion he might be adorable by stuffing the rest of the burger in his mouth at once, the world would be as kind and optimistic as he was. She hoped so.

"In your dreams!" Leah said, thumping her little brother on the back when he looked as if he was about to choke. When he whined, still chewing, and looked at her with wide eyes that could only be likened to a wounded puppy, she relented. "Fine. But no taller. And I swear on your life, Seth, if you go doing what he's done, I will slap you silly."

"Umh-kay," Seth agreed, nodding dutifully as he swallowed hard. Removing a second burger from the bag, he kept a mildly hopeful, partially wary, eye on Leah. He unwrapped the burger. Returned the wrapping to the bag. And then took by far his biggest bite yet. When Leah shuddered, he grinned, and then blushed, darting glances in Carys' direction to see if she had noticed the little bits of food that escaped his mouth. He earned back the title of adorable when, around the food, he said, "'Orr-ph-y."

"I think that means "sorry"," Leah translated.

Seth nodded enthusiastically.

"I thought so," Carys said, more captured by what Leah had mentioned about Jacob than disgusted at Seth's eating. All the same, she reached a hand out and snatched the bag from him just as Seth was going for the third burger. He whined and looked at Leah as if he were begging for her help. Carys held the bag against her midriff, a bare strip of which was exposed between the bottom of her sports bra and the top of her running leggings. "Swallow. Then, when I know you're not gonna choke, I can let you have it."

Seth tried to speak, but gave up when his mouthful of burger prevented him. He nodded, all but hanging his head. If he had been a puppy, Carys doubted she would have been able to resist returning his food to him.

Luckily for Carys, he was neither a puppy nor the young teenager she had first met over a year before. Over the course of a few months following Sue's health kick in aide of Harry's heart and cholesterol levels, Leah had hardly changed, but Seth had.

Okay, so Leah had become far more toned than she had been before, and her face had firmed whilst she lost the last traces of teenagehood, but those were small changes in the grand scheme of Leah Clearwater being an overall goddess.

Seth, on the other hand, had shot up at least five or six inches so that he was now on eye level with his sister and Carys, and begun to fill out. His face no longer belonged to a young teenager who was small for his age, but a teen nearing adulthood with a bone structure matched only by his sister's.

He reached for the bag once he had swallowed enough that he wouldn't die, and fell upon the last burger as if it was his first.

"Oh god, I can't," Carys said, her nose wrinkling. She held a hand up to shield the side of her face, and turned to Leah. "Tell me when he's finished?"

"Sure," Leah said, smirking.

Trying to keep her face and tone neutral, Carys acted as if she was grasping something to distract them, and asked, "What the heck's happened with Jacob? Thought we were supposed to like that one?"

"'e go' 'ono f'm 'ella 'on," Seth supplied around the handful of fries he was now in the midst of consuming.

"Helpful," Carys told him, chuckling when he puffed out his chest and tried not to laugh.

Seth swallowed when Leah failed to translate for him again. "He got mono from Bella Swan," he told her, as if she had asked about the weather and he was advising she took a coat. "At least, that's what I guess? He got mono from a girl in Forks, and the only girl in Forks he knows-"

"That you know he knows," Leah interrupted.

"Yeah, well..." Seth looked between them as if he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, such was his shameful expression.

"Bella doesn't have mono, and I doubt she would have given it to him if she had," Carys said, drawing the siblings' full attention. Seth appeared as if he might jump for joy at the news. "Are you sure it's mono?"

"Mom checked him out when he got sick," Leah told her. "Definitely mono. He's been out of school for a week, and not expected back in a while. Maybe-I dunno."

"What?" Carys asked.

"Mono's what Embry got before he ditched Quil and Jacob for Sam's gang," Seth said, more than happy to add to what he had already told her. He did not count it as gossiping if he held his opinions on matters to himself. Then, in his mind, it could only constitute the sharing of news. Neither Leah, Harry, Sue, or now Carys, were quite ready to tell him he was wrong. "I dunno what happened with Jared, but didn't Paul get it too?" He directed the question to his sister.

"Yeah. Paul, I think Jared? And Jacob. All mono. Probably sharing a cup at cult initiation parties or something. Anyway. Seth. Hide that so you don't get caught, and tell Dad I'll be home in an hour."

"Okay!" Seth promised, so quickly and earnestly that he reminded Carys of the time she had first met him. Leah punched him lightly in the arm, and he called after them when they started back on their run, "Love you!"

"Love you too," Leah shouted back, waving her hand to acknowledge him, though she didn't look back.

Carys turned just in time to see Seth's reaction to the rare response. Fists curled, he bounced onto his tiptoes and looked fit to burst with happiness.

"And that's why I say "yeah yeah, you too," most of the time," Leah deadpanned when Carys reached her side.


Just over an hour later, Carys extricated herself from Leah's parting hug (which was both far tighter, and far longer than usual, most likely owing to her mood when she had arrived), and waved her goodbye. When she had lost sight of her in the descending darkness, Carys turned to check her list, and circled one point.

Driving back from La Push, Carys joined the few cars on their way towards Forks. It was a couple of miles outside town that she pulled off the road to make a call.

"Hello?" Bella answered, breathless with excitement.

"Hey, sorry to disappoint," Carys replied, not at all sarcastically. In not being the person Bella would likely be that excited to hear from, she was naturally going to disappoint.

"Hi Carys," Bella said, her tone suggesting she was far more embarrassed than excited now. "Charlie's here if you wanted to speak to him?"

"No," Carys replied quickly before Bella could hand the phone over. "I just wanted to say I spoke to Leah, and Jacob's got mono, so he probably is too sick to talk."

"Oh, ye-yeah, I know - Harry told Charlie," Bella announced hesitantly. "Sorry, I didn't think you'd still check."

"No, it's okay," Carys said, lying through her back teeth. She would really have preferred not to speak to Bella for the time being, but she felt she had to take the more mature route. "I'm on m'mobile-cell, sorry. I'm on my cell phone, so I've gotta go, but speak soon?"

"Oh? Oh, yeah, speak soon," Bella said, with a hint of false cheer. "I'll call you."

Carys said her goodbyes again and hung up the phone, dropping it to the seat beside her. She highly doubted the promise at the end of the call, and she wondered whether Bella knew just how little she would want to pick up the phone to her if she did phone her.

Instead of mulling it over, Carys restarted the engine, checked her mirrors, and pulled out for the start of a long drive.

A/N: Carys really said safety first and buckled her seatbelt before fleeing vampires. God, I love her priorities!

Thank you, as always, to you all! Notable thanks to: GuestMG, chellekathrynnn, castleiris, mariaanininha, souverian, Adela (they're so lovely), Ella (I laugh every time I see your review, because you're so right), Ghostwriter71, Guest (sorry! BUT I hope to have the next chapter with you sooner), Love. Fiction. 2020, and Guest (Eee! Thank you! I love her too to be honest, and the last of the embedded flashforwards (Emmett's scene) should be upon us fairly soon!)

With regards to the flashforwards, I was originally going to have one with each of the Cullen kids, but the story ended up changing so much as I wrote it, this isn't the story I originally planned, and it didn't quite fit.