"Yep, I needed this," I moan, resting my head back with a smile. "Oh, right there. Yes."

I hear laughter, but I give zero fucks as I chant God's name. "Jesus, are you coming?" Alice asks.

Rose snorts from beside me as the lovely manicurist seems to find the perfect places on my sore, swollen feet to massage. This is orgasmic. I mean, not near as good as Edward, but it feels so damn good and I'm literally moaning as she works her magic.

"You can't possibly understand how good this feels," I say, lifting the cucumber from over my and looking over at Alice. "My feet feel like giant balloons and I'm not saying Edward sucks at foot massages, but he's certainly not this good. Judge away."

At twenty-five weeks I'm far from as big as I'll get, but I feel massive. I honestly do not believe my feet can handle much more and it hurts like a motherfucker when my sweetpea stretches and kicks. She's not even that big yet, but I feel like I'm lugging around a watermelon.

Speaking of which . . . "Where did my jolly ranchers go?" I ask, looking around my chair for the bag I brought with me. Yes, I brought candy to a spa. It's the tiny human's fault.

"I stole some," Esme says and passes it back to me. "Only the grape, I promise."

I pluck the other cucumber from my eyes and dig in, grabbing the first watermelon one I can find. I go through different craving phases like crazy and the latest one has probably been the strongest. I have jolly ranchers everywhere — my car, my purse, in my wallet, pretty much every jacket I own, and in conveniently placed bowls around the house.

"You can have as many as you want," I say, grinning before popping it in my mouth.

I keep moaning as the most incredible woman in the world works on my feet, but the conversation turns to our little shopping trip before this. We crossed off most of the items on my list for the nursery, so Edward and I are going to start putting it together this weekend. He painted over the course of a few days — between work and the weekend on-call — and I can't wait to see it come together. After weeks upon weeks of shopping, it's about time I get to decorate my baby girl's nursery.

"All this adorable girl stuff makes me want another baby," Rose says, sighing. "I don't miss diapers or midnight feedings, but I miss the smell and the soft skin, the tiny clothes and socks, and the sweet yawns. Seth just burps as loud as he can, trying to compete with Emmett. I just . . . I'm going to need to borrow this little girl."

"No, no, not until Nona gets her time," Esme says. "I call dibs on first sleep over. Oh, and holding her first."

"What? You can't call dibs!" Alice says. "It's first come, first serve, right, Bella?"

"I . . . I'm sorry, Alice," I say softly, cringing. "And to you, Esme. If you think I'm letting her go you're friggin' crazy." I laugh as Esme rolls her eyes. Of course she gets to hold the baby before anyone else in the family, but she may have to wait a while.

I'm so excited to meet this little girl, but the ultrasounds will have to suffice for the next fifteen-ish weeks. In the meantime there are a hell of a lot of things to do and the nursery is just barely the beginning. Edward and I have classes to take, things to learn, and more clothes to wash than either of us have probably ever owned. I'm more than halfway along and in a few short months everything will change, so I'm going to try to enjoy this pregnancy and the time Edward and I have left alone.

I can't imagine ever wanting to leave her, but it's nice to know I have three excellent babysitters on hand.

. . . . .

The long outing leaves me tired by the time I get home at five. Edward texts that he'll be home late, so I decide to microwave leftovers and crawl into bed early. It doesn't take long before I pass out cold with my hand in a bag of potato chips — which isn't actually the first time, to be honest.

Edward still isn't home by the time I wake up a little after nine, and there's a message on my phone explaining why. He's losing a patient. He won't leave someone who has little time left, especially when it's someone he's grown close to. He says he'll be home by morning, and though I miss him, I understand he has to do this. It's who he is and I wouldn't change a thing, but I do kind of wish he were right now.

I wake up with a tickle in my throat and an overall ache through my body. My sweetpea might kick and make my lower back hurt, but I don't think she can cause this kind of pain.

I drink a little water and try to move around, but it doesn't really help so I start looking through the medicine cabinet. I don't want to worry Edward, so I decide to text Carlisle instead. You know, to see if he's awake. My phone quickly shows the three dots I hoped for, so I call him before he can reply.

"Are you awake? I'm sorry if I woke you up," I say, really hoping I'm not bothering him.

He chuckles softly. "I'm catching up on some paperwork, but it can wait. Are you okay?"

"I'm . . . not, not okay. Kind of. Can I take cold medicine?"

"That depends on your symptoms. What's wrong?"

The tickle in my throat stirs a cough and I try to mutter out I'm fine until I can catch my breath. I coughed some earlier today, but I just thought it was the brisk air.

"That's one," I say, clearing my throat. "I'm sorry."

"When did this start?"

"I took a nap when I got home and just woke up feeling cruddy. My head and body ache, and my throat kind of hurts. I've been coughing some, but I didn't feel bad earlier."

"I'm going to assume you're calling me because Edward's at work and you don't want to bother him, so I'm going to come over."

I shake my head to myself. "No, I'm really not super sick or anything. Edward will be home by morning and I don't need to take anything, so I'll be fine."

"I really wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I could help you and I didn't," he says as I hear shuffling in the background. "I'm sure Esme would want to come, if you'd like."

"Oh no. And you don't need to come either. I'm fine and it's late."

"And I'm wide awake. Please, Bella. I promise I'll bring medicine and make it quick. And not tell Edward."

I narrow my eyes as I realize he seems to be blackmailing. "You'd tell Edward?"

"He'd hate me if I didn't tell him you were ill and something terrible happened. Please, Bella?"

"That was really low."

He laughs softly. "Kind of, but I got my point across, didn't I? And it is true."

"Fine, you can come over, but don't bother Esme. She'll want to come and she doesn't need to."

"I won't bother her. I'll see you shortly, sweetheart."

"Bye."

I hang up my phone and toss it on the bed, sighing as I lean back. The thing about narrowly escaping death by cancer is that any time you're sick it's kind of terrifying. That lingering question comes front and center in your mind — is it back? It's probably not, but it's always going to be a concern. And apparently it's even more of a concern when you're a doctor and it's your loved one.

While I wait for Carlisle I bring a pillow and my laptop downstairs to the living room and get settled on the couch. I turn the TV on and resume an episode of a show on Netflix. I'm cold but my feet are on fire, so I wrap a fluffy blanket around my shoulders and close my eyes for just a moment.

Unsurprisingly, that moment ends with Carlisle saying my name.

"Either you hit every green light and the highway was empty or you sped," I say, sitting up as he takes a seat by my feet, placing his bag on the coffee table.

"Fairly light traffic, actually. How do you feel?" He reaches out and presses his hand to my forehead. "A little warm. Do you know if you have a fever?"

"No. I haven't checked."

He nods and opens his bag, pulling out a thermometer and his stethoscope. Even though I'm quite sure I'm fine, I indulge him and let him look me over. It doesn't take long until he's satisfied that I'm not currently dying, but I do have a fever and some wheezing.

The beginning of a cold, most likely.

"You can take acetaminophen for your fever and aches, but stay away from multi-symptom cold medicines," he says putting his things away. "They're not necessarily unsafe, but I'm sure you'd rather be cautious. You can use a nasal spray to help with the congestion if it becomes bothersome, but for the most part you'll just have to rest and take it easy until the cold clears up on its own, I'm afraid."

I sniffle, nodding. "And the cough?"

"That we need to keep a close eye on." His brow creases with concern and I know what he's thinking without saying it. "If you start experiencing any shortness of breath or problems breathing, you need to go to the emergency room of course, but right now I'm not hearing anything too concerning. Hopefully this will clear up quickly, but we'll be on top of it just in case."

I bite my lip, softly rubbing my bump as I wonder if what I'm about say will sound stupid, but to be fair, Carlisle's answered far crazier questions. "Me having a cold won't hurt her, will it?"

He shakes his head, smiling as he pats my hand. "No, she'll be perfectly fine. If this gets worse, we'll treat you appropriately but it shouldn't hurt her in the least. Just make sure to stay hydrated and rest. I'm serious about that."

"Yes, Dad," I tease as a cough tickles my throat.

He leaves the living room for the kitchen and comes back with a glass of water, settling back in beside me on the couch. His attention turns to my bump as I take the Tylenol. Just like Esme and the rest of the family, he's so excited for a granddaughter. They've all given me so much over the past few years and I've never had much to offer them in return, but the baby . . . she's the one thing their money can't buy; love is priceless and the most beautiful part of life. She'll be half me and half Edward and the second Cullen grandchild.

"How are you, dear?" he asks, lightly touching my bump as he smiles.

"Aside from the cold I'm wonderful. Esme treated us to a spa day after shopping and I enjoyed every moment. I'm crazily eager to start folding baby clothes," I laugh softly.

"I think that happens to some woman; it's called nesting."

I nod, smiling. "Yep, and I still have fifteen more weeks to go. I feel really bad for your son's credit card."

"I think he'll be fine," he chuckles gently before sighing. "I'm glad you're doing well, sweetheart. You know, I'm often reminded of how it felt when you first came into our family. It was a sudden love — we adored you, of course — but there was the reality of how ill you were. To see you here, years later, smiling and pregnant with my granddaughter brings me so much joy. I'm still in awe of your strength and bravery."

He's making me blush and I'm speechless for a few moments as tears burn my eyes. "That means to the world to me, Carlisle."

I reach out for him and he hugs me gently, kissing my forehead. "And you mean the world to us. Now, get some rest. I'm going to run to the drug store for the nasal spray and a few necessities. Can I get you anything?"

I shake my head, moving my legs so he can stand up. "No, thank you. I'm sure I'll be fine in a few days, really."

"Yes, I'm sure you will," he says, grabbing his light coat off the chair. "You really do need rest, Bella."

I smirk and repeat, "Yes, Dad."

He just smiles and it makes me so happy to know my daughter will have such an incredible family to support her. If something did happen to me, they would help Edward in every way possible and our little girl will still have a good life — a part will be missing, but she'll never be alone in this world.

. . . . .

Rest isn't helping much and I only feel worse once Edward gets home in the early morning hours and Carlisle heads home. He'd slept in the chair as I took up the couch, and when the coughing made me sick, he soothed my crying and took care of it. It's quite obvious where my husband gets his bedside manor.

Edward quickly takes me upstairs to our bedroom, carrying me even after working for twenty-four grueling hours because I can't steady myself on my feet. He helps me into bed and then joins me, stretching out beside me.

"I'm a little worried," he confesses, creasing his brow as he watches me. "You are absolutely gorgeous, but right now you look like you feel horrible, sweet girl. It scares me."

"That bad, huh?" I smile weakly, feeling the ache all over my body. "I got the flu shot, didn't I?"

He nods. "Yes, but it's not always perfectly effective. You might have stand the vaccine doesn't fight. And I definitely think that's what you have."

"And that worries you?"

He shifts beside me, wrapping me tightly in his arms. "I can't stand to see you sick, love. It always terrifies me and always will, but I'm sure you'll be all right. The best thing for you right now is water and rest. We'll see how you feel later."

I nod and he helps me sit up. I chug down a good portion of the water bottle on my table and then snuggle back in under the covers with him, letting myself relax in his arms. I turn so my ear is on his chest and hear the sound of his heart. The soft, rhythmic beat almost relaxes me before a cough tears through my chest and I accidently hit him in the chin with my head.

"Sorry." I cringe, pulling back and looking up. "Did you bite your tongue?"

He nods and says, "No blood no foul. I'm fine."

"I'm so sorry."

He pulls me back against him as I clear my throat. The cough subsided, thankfully, so I try to find that spot on his chest against and relax. "That was totally my fault because I was looking at your ass."

"Bullcrap, you can't see it."

"Exactly, so I was trying to," he laughs. "I love you, gorgeous."

Rolling my eyes with a small smile, I say, "And I love you more."

He laughs harder and it shakes his body, as well as mine. "That's simply not possible. You're delirious. Get some rest."

"Stop telling me that. You're just like your dad, and speaking of which before I get some rest, what happened last night?"

"He's at peace," he sighs. "He was older and he said he was ready, but I still needed to be there. He fought incredibly hard."

"I'm sorry, handsome."

He smiles sadly. "Thank you, but I'm all right. I did what I could for him."

"I'm sure you did. I know that from experience." I lift up, kissing him as he cups my cheek — the facial one.

"Thank you for fighting so hard to stay with me," he says sincerely. "Now—"

"Get some fucking rest," I mutter, falling back down against his chest.

. . . . .

Unsurprisingly, the rest thing really doesn't help, probably because I barely get any, and Edward's worry grows more and more. The cough is unrelenting and clearly doesn't make my girl too happy either. She won't stop kicking up a storm. It's late evening and Edward's getting me soup, which hopefully I can keep down. Lunch didn't go so well, so I need this if I want to avoid a certain large, sterile building.

And I really want that.

While Edward's downstairs making my dinner, he told me to stay in bed, but I decide not to listen to him. I can smell his mom's chicken noodle soup and wonder if she dropped some off today. By the time I get into the kitchen, I know she definitely did and watching Edward stir the pot only confirms it.

"You're a terrible listener," he says, shaking his head as I slid onto a bar stool.

"We're going on six months of marriage here soon. You should know me better by now."

He turns his head and smiles. "Oh, I do, but I did forget how funny you sound when your congested. It's so adorable and pitiful."

I lift my hand, letting one finger in the middle pop up. "I hope I get you sick."

"Nah, immune system of steel. So, do you want to eat down here? I think this is done."

"Your mom pre-cooks it," I giggle. "We put it on the stove just to heat it up."

"Awesome, I'm not poisoning you then."

He takes bowls from the cabinet and fills them up, bringing them over to me at the island. Before sitting down he gets out another bottle of water for me, silently indicating I need to drink it all.

"Yeah, I know," I say, grabbing my spoon and stirring the homemade soup. "I bet this tastes delicious; you know, if I could taste it."

"I'm sure it does, but don't try yet. Look a bit hot."

"You think?" I giggle, leaning down and blowing on the spoonful. "I really appreciate this, Edward."

"You're welcome, sweet girl. Let's hope you can keep it down."

It doesn't take long for it to be apparent that I can't. I let it cool off and manage to get a few spoonfuls of broth and noodles down, but the queasiness settles in and I quickly give up and try to dash off the stool, covering my mouth.

"Whoa," Edward says, grabbing as I almost take a tumble.

Sadly, my pristine kitchen is soiled before he can get me into the bathroom and it doesn't stop then. It's absolutely awful and painful, and I'm so dizzy as I kneel in front of the toilet with Edward holding my hair, just like old times.

A get a brief reprieve and sigh, shaking my head. "I'm not okay."

He dabs a tissue at my mouth, looking terrifyingly concerned. "I think it's time to get another opinion," he says. "We need to go to the ER."

"I know," I whisper with tears. I hate this, but I'd myself so much more if something serious is wrong and I was too stubborn to get help. When my stomach finally settles, he helps me to my feet and I check my balance. I feel all right, so with his arm around me, I follow him out of the bathroom. The first few steps go well enough, but then the dizziness hits hard once again and I blink, trying to focus on what's in front of me. Black dots begin clouding my eyes, making my line of sight smaller and smaller until . . .

"Bella!"