Hello!

So after reading Midnight Sun, I kept on coming back to the chapter where Edward spoke about managing his thirst as a newborn and his memories of staying at a small inn near New Brunswick with Carlisle. I really enjoyed learning more about Edward's past and could honestly read an entire book of him being kind of awkward as Carlisle shows him the ropes while he's still a newborn. Since Smeyer will likely not be writing more EPOV stories any time soon, I ended up writing this story that I've been thinking about for some time now. I'm trying to be as accurate to the actual Twilight timelines, but since there's some gaps between major events, some of the dates & events will be approximations/filling in gaps that fit with the flow of the story.

NOTE: This is my first fanfic and English is not my first language, so please be gentle. If you catch any spelling/grammar mistakes, let me know and I'll fix them as soon as I can. Hope you enjoy the story and let me know what you think!

All characters and events from the Twilight Saga belong to Stephanie Meyer.

**UPDATES**

Hello again! My apologies for the long period of inactivity– school got in the way when I posted back in April and I went through a writing slump during these past few months. With that being said, I started working on this story again and I intend to update it more frequently.

I revisited what I had previously written and made some changes/restructured things so that the story flows better and is less wordy.

If you had previously followed this story, just give these first few chapters a reread so that the rest of the story makes sense.

Alright, that's it! Enjoy :)


I looked up at the sky, grimacing at the grey clouds looming over the streets. There were still several errands left to do, but it would be pointless to complete them if I were to arrive home wet. More importantly, the throbbing inside my head was not getting any better. The trip back home was no more than 10 minutes— if I walked fast enough, surely I could make it before the rain got heavy.

I was terribly wrong about that.

Other passerby started to take cover in nearby shops when the first droplets started falling. I picked up my pace, thinking I could outrun the storm, but the torrential downpour quickly caught up to me. By the time I made it out of the downtown area, I was drenched.

My messenger bag hadn't fared any better. I frowned thinking about the state of the contents inside. They were probably soaked by now, but there was a small part of me that hoped they would make the trip back home dry. With that thought in mind, I clasped the bag close to my chest and ran the last few blocks to my house as fast as I could.

I skipped the steps of the stairs leading up to the porch of the greystone and fumbled for my keys inside my coat pocket. Though I had stopped running, my head still pounded in unison with my heart. The pulsing made its way to my hands, only complicating my struggle to unlock the deadbolt. After a few shaky twists, the keyway finally gave in and I burst inside the warm entryway of the house.

"I'm back," I yelled out breathlessly. My shoes squeaked as I stepped inside and locked the door behind me. "It's pouring outside. And I know— I will make sure to dry off before I get anything else dirty," I said preemptively. My mother somehow always had a way of knowing things and I was somehow always stubborn enough not to believe her.

She had told me to bring an umbrella before I left earlier today, but I insisted that I would not need it. I scoffed at my comment, turning my attention to my still-dripping messenger ba— my messenger bag!

I quickly unfastened the leather straps that secured the bag and opened the main flap to reveal several pieces of sheet music wetly stuck to one another. I grimaced at the damp papers, but noticed the ink had not fully bled out of most of the pages. If I was careful, perhaps I could salvage them. "Mother, could you bring me a towel? I don't want to get the floors wet and the sheet music I purchased got quite soggy on the way back home. I do believe there's a good chance I could save them if—mother?"

I stopped shuffling the papers and waited for an answer.

Nothing.

An odd wave of silence washed through me. There was never a moment where my mother wasn't humming a melody to a song in her head or rearranging things around the house. If I didn't hear any of that, I would usually assume she was not home. But she hadn't told me she had plans to leave today… was I forgetting something?

Unsure, I dropped my bag and ran over to the parlor room. "Mother?"

I only took a couple steps before I noticing her. She was lying on the floor, motionless.

A knot twisted in the pit of my stomach when I rushed to her side and she remained unresponsive. I turned her face toward me. "Can you hear me?" It felt like I was looking at a ghost— the warm blush that usually colored her face was absent. I brushed a few moist strands of hair out of her face to feel her forehead. She was burning.

"Please. Please talk to me." I should have done something to help, but her blanched expression froze me in shock.

Terrified, I caressed her face against my chest. The room around me spun as the pounding in my head intensified. I'd hoped holding onto her would bring me some clarity, but the panic gnawing at my thoughts only dug its claws in deeper. Desperate, I kept pleading for her to say something.

I was not ready to lose both my parents.