So...today, May 29, is my birthday. :) My favourite holiday. As a gift to me, I would be so happy if all you lurkers who have never reviewed before, would do me the honour of just clicking that little button. I have always had anonymous reviews enabled (although, so that you're aware, there's no way for me to reply to them) so if you don't want to sign up for an account, no worries – please just give me a shout.

And as a gift to you, the readers, I'm happy to present a very special person to narrate today's chapter. Enjoy!

-o-

Carlisle

The day I became a father for the first time was one of the most exciting, moving and terrifying days of my life. It was the early 1980s; fathers had been welcomed into the mysterious world of childbirth only in the previous ten years or so. Of course, as a doctor, I had been present at a few births in medical school. As the father of this unborn child, however, I'd become entirely enamored of the process from the day Esme told me she was expecting.

When I first held my newborn son in my arms, I promised him and myself that I would be the best father I could possibly be; that I would have a real relationship with him and any siblings he may have; that I would emulate my own father's example of being warm, open and accessible to my children. For 15 years, I thought I was succeeding. I had a close and loving relationship with Edward and with my daughter Alice. The four of us travelled together, spent time together by choice, ate dinner together every night when my surgery schedule allowed. As Edward moved into his teens, Esme and I decided he had earned the right to have a bit more freedom and trust from us; and so though we still asked where he was going, with whom, and when he'd be back, we didn't think it was necessary to be the ones who called to make the arrangements with his friends' parents. We extended his curfew somewhat. We thought we were doing everything right – gently releasing the spring we held in our palms so that once we had let go, it would continue to rest with us, rather than leaping away.

And then, one February day, it all went horribly awry.

I had just come out of an appendectomy at the hospital when I received an urgent page telling me to call home. My heart leapt into my throat, and various scenarios flashed before me – one of the kids was hurt; or Esme'd had an accident…I couldn't get to the phone fast enough. When I heard Esme's voice on the other end of the line, so distraught that she almost couldn't speak, I feared the worst. She told me I needed to go to the school to pick up Edward; but couldn't say much else. I figured that if it was a medical emergency, an ambulance would have been called, so that gave me a tiny measure of relief.

I could not have anticipated what awaited me in Mr. Brown's office that day. When I was shown into the office, sitting there was a boy who looked remarkably like my son; but he was wearing clothing I'd never allow my children to wear, either in or out of the house. A sleeveless shirt that had been cut off around the navel; ridiculously tight jeans; and bracelets. Mr. Brown, by that time, had realized from Esme's reaction that we had no prior knowledge of Edward's double life; and he explained the situation to me as compassionately as he could.

My son was gay. I was in shock. My son was gay, and he never told us. Had we not encouraged the kids to be open with us? Had I failed in my attempts to be approachable? Was he having sex? Was he being safe? I had no idea, and I felt like an utter fool. Worse, I felt like I'd had failed Edward for not knowing this. I had noticed a change in Edward in the previous couple of months, but chalked it up to teenage hormones. It honestly wasn't a drastic change; just a reticence about spending time with us that hadn't been there before. Many teenagers go through a period where they're uncommunicative with their parents. I truly believed that if there was something serious he needed to tell us, he would.

But he didn't. I hadn't asked, he hadn't told; and now we were in a situation where, not only did we not have the faintest clue what was going on with him, it seemed everyone else did. And as much as I couldn't help feeling that he had betrayed us, it was nothing compared to how I had failed him. I should have known. I prided myself on how close we were – how did I not know?

When I spoke to him that afternoon, after we had arrived home and I had done what I could to calm Esme, I was much harsher than I should have been. It hurt bitterly to realize that he hadn't come to us – to me – about this, that he hadn't trusted me with it. What I said to him was true – we were disappointed that he didn't tell us and that we'd had to found out through his principal. To this day, though, I deeply regret telling him he'd betrayed and made fools of us.

At first, I couldn't understand why Edward would have assumed that his mother and I wouldn't accept his sexuality. Didn't he know that we were supportive of gay rights? Didn't he know that my scrub nurse, Mary, was a lesbian, and was one of my closest friends at the hospital? But as I had time to reflect, I realized that he probably didn't know those things. He likely didn't realize that Esme and I had always been more socially liberal than many of the other Lake Union Prep parents. We hadn't really ever discussed it at home, other than between Esme and me, because we didn't want Edward to be worried that he would be defined among his friends according to our much more liberal values. And as my own awareness of gay and lesbian issues expanded, I realized how heterosexist I had been in our own household – I never once framed conjecture about his adult life in any way other than a heterosexual context. I never said, Some day when you fall in love…; I only said, Some day when you have a girlfriend… or When you get married… – an option available only to heterosexual couples.

As I contemplated these things, I understood, at least in part, why Edward had been hesitant to tell us he was gay. I was still hurt and in shock; but I felt hope that as we discussed things, he would realize that we would support him.

Except he wouldn't discuss it. That day in our living room was the last time I saw my son as I knew him. Literally overnight, he became a virtual stranger to us – refusing to eat meals with the family, almost never leaving his room except to go to school and to attempt to sneak out, to go who-knows-where. He defied us at every turn, getting sent home from school over and over, for dress code violations and for getting into physical altercations because of his sexuality. Calm discussions with him were a thing of the past; our interactions, when he actually responded, took the form of yelling matches between he and I – something that would never have happened before; our house barely heard a voice raised except in laughter. After our arguments, Esme always ended up in tears, and Edward would stomp off to hibernate in his room again. It was a terrible strain on our family life. Esme and I tried to support each other, but sometimes we were at a loss as to how to deal with the situation and the strain wore on us. Poor Alice, several years younger than Edward, barely understood why this was happening. We tried to shield her from as much of the unpleasantness as possible, but when I argued with Edward, it was impossible to keep it from her.

Most of the time, though, Edward didn't argue. I could barely even say he was sullen, because that would imply too much emotion. The sensitive, thoughtful, artistic boy we had known, ceased to exist to us; and we were told by his teachers that they experienced a similar phenomenon. Edward just didn't respond. It was as though others weren't in the room – he went about his business and didn't reply when spoken to, and rarely spoke to anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. The arguments, when they happened, were almost a relief, because at least he was showing some spirit; at least he was talking to us.

The only thing we never had to argue about was his report card; and we hoped desperately that this was a good sign – that he might actually settle down, return to us. When he received his acceptance letter for San Francisco Art Institute, we were surprised but pleased. We didn't even know he'd applied there; and the photography program was difficult to get into. When he went off to college, we clung to the hope that being out from under our shadow would be good for him. We thought when he went to college, he'd meet some new friends – kids who hadn't been raised by the narrow-minded homophobes like the Lake Union parents; kids who would accept him for who he was.

And he may very well have made those friendships; I have no idea. The most information we got about his life at college was the letter we'd receive from the school, letting us know what his grades were. Thank goodness he had to rely on us for his tuition, because otherwise we wouldn't even have had that. Edward rarely came home on holidays, though he was just a short plane-ride away; and never sought a Seattle-based summer internship. When he graduated with his Fine Arts degree, he moved directly to Chicago; and until last Friday night, I hadn't laid on eyes on him since his graduation, in spite of his having returned to Seattle two years ago. We've barely spoken – not for lack of an effort on Esme's part – since he graduated college.

We were shocked to see him at the restaurant; although, living in the same city, it wasn't impossible. Still, seeing him bolt out of the restaurant at the sight of us was more than Esme could bear. We spent a very difficult weekend in tears and discussion, coming to the conclusion that it was too emotionally taxing for her to continue to try to contact him, particularly when this latest event had illustrated so clearly that he wouldn't even be in the same restaurant with us. She finally had conceded reluctantly that she didn't know whether she could make the effort any longer, when it seemed so clear that she would be continually rebuffed.

My conversation with Jasper on the following Monday gave us a bit more insight into why Edward had left the restaurant so quickly. He was upset with Jasper, but ultimately it still came back to us. He broke up with Jasper because of his connection, however superficial, with Esme and me. Jasper, who seemed like such an intelligent, grounded young man, who cared deeply for our son. Someone like him would have been very good for Edward, might have been able to convince Edward to reopen communication with us. The kind of young man I'd be proud to call my son-in-law.

It was painful to relay the contents of that conversation to Esme, but obviously I had no choice. We finally grasped that there might not be any reason to hope for a reconciliation with him.

-o-

To say that I am surprised to see Edward on our doorstep tonight is a grave understatement. The knock on the door late at night rouses me from my sleep, and although this is one of the "better" neighborhoods in the city, I still grab my baseball bat from behind my bedroom door, to carry with me as I answer the door. When I open the door to see him there, I think at first I must be dreaming. But in my dreams, he's cold, bitter; in my dreams he turns and walks away from me as I call his name. The person who stands before me at my door is a broken man – his eyes swollen and red, the tears on his cheeks glistening in the porch lights, his hand leaning heavily against the door frame as though it is vital to help him remain upright.

I can't speak – I can barely comprehend that this broken person standing on my door step is my son, and that he has come to us, voluntarily. My mouth opens and closes several times in an attempt to speak, but no words come.

He is the first one to break the silence. "Dad…" he whispers, fighting desperately to regain his composure. Dad. He hasn't called me Dad since the day he apologized to me in the car – since then he hasn't used Dad or even my first name when speaking to me. Hearing him say it for the first time in ten years - at once I am assailed with more emotions than I can name. I begin to tremble, and I, too, have to clutch the door frame to keep standing.

"Edward…?" I rasp, and he doesn't move. Suddenly, on the stairs behind me I hear frantic movement, and turn to see Esme fly down the stairs, from the top where she has presumably been listening to make sure that the person at the door poses no danger.

"Edward!" she cries, coming to stand beside me, her hand extended to her son. Esme would never be able to turn her back on her child, no matter what she and I have agreed upon.

Edward looks at her outstretched hand, and then looks at me, as much to ask whether I will allow him in. I meet Esme's eyes and the look of fierce determination I see there is something I don't ever want to have to take sides against. Looking again at Edward, I too hold out my hand to him, and step to the side just a bit, so that he can enter the house if he chooses. He deliberates just a moment more, and then he reaches out to grasp the hands we hold out to him. He steps into the light of the foyer, and I close the door behind him.

"Mother," he says, his voice scratched and raw. Letting go of my hand, he wraps his arms around her. She holds him tightly as well, both with tears flowing freely; and together they sink to the floor of our front hall. Clutching him to her as she did when he was a child in need of comfort, she rocks their bodies back and forth, her hair smoothing his wild locks that are the same color as hers.

"Shhhhh," she soothes, again and again. "It's okay, my darling; I'm here. You're home now." And our son, in her arms, sobs as though his heart is splitting in two.

They remain that way for over an hour. I stand by, impotently watching as my wife holds Edward. I'm completely at a loss to even begin to speculate on what cataclysmic event has brought him home tonight. Finally his cries quiet. Kneeling beside them, I suggest that perhaps we should go to sleep, and the three of us can talk in the morning.

Edward nods his head. Sniffling, he asks, "Where should I sleep?"

"In your bed, son," I reply, and hold a hand out to each to help pull them up off the floor.

Upstairs in Edward's room, he looks around sadly and cautiously at the boyish posters that still cover the walls; Esme has always refused to redecorate this room. She turns down the covers on the bed and Edward slowly sits down, then turns and flops out lengthwise on the bed. Esme unties his shoes and pulls the covers up over him.

"Good night, Edward," I say, and he makes eye contact, giving me a sad half-smile; and then I look expectantly at Esme.

"I'll stay in here tonight, darling," she answers my unspoken question.

"You'll what?" I ask. She motions for me to step into the hall outside the bedroom; and when we're standing on the outside of the closed door, I continue, "I don't think it's necessary for you to stay in his room, Esme, he's a grown man."

Esme is a loving, gentle creature – the best woman I've ever known. When her mother bear instinct is triggered, though, she can be truly terrifying. As we stand in the dim hallway, her eyes flash at me, and I feel an overwhelming urge to protect my vital organs.

"Carlisle Cullen, don't you dare tell me what is necessary for my child," she whispers furiously. "What if he wakes up and decides to slip out again when we're asleep? My boy came home to me tonight, Carlisle, and I'm not going to let him get away again. Grown man or not, he is hurting, and I am going to be there for him, for as long as he'll let me." Her fury subsides a bit, and she tilts her head up to give me a kiss, and then turns back toward the door. "Good night; I'll see you in the morning." With that she disappears into the dark in Edward's room.

In my bed, I lie awake for hours, tossing and turning; finally dropping into a restless sleep sometime after four a.m. I awaken at seven and slip quietly down the hall to look in on mother and son.

Esme is asleep half-sitting up, propped on numerous pillows. Edward is snuggled into her, his head resting on her soft abdomen. It reminds me of when I used to come home after midnight from a shift at the hospital, to find that the two of them had fallen asleep together reading in Edward's bed. This morning it gives me the sense that I'm interrupting something private, a special moment between mother and son, though they're both asleep. I close the door quietly and make my way down to the kitchen to put on some coffee.

After calling the hospital to let them know that I won't be in today, I sit at our breakfast table to contemplate what I'm going to say to Edward today. First and foremost, he needs to open up to us about what caused him to come to us. I don't even know if he might be in some kind of trouble with the law; though it seems out of character from the young man I once knew, anything is possible. Of course, it doesn't escape me that the timing of this closely coincides with the end of his relationship with Jasper. Is it possible that Edward regrets ending their relationship? Jasper didn't seem to think it was likely that they would get back together; but then Edward has never really reacted to anything the way I anticipate.

As I ruminate, the phone rings. I pick it up quickly so it doesn't wake Esme and Edward, and when I answer, I hear a familiar bright voice at the other end.

"Dad!" says Alice. "How are you? I'm surprised to hear you. What are you doing home? Day off today? You guys going somewhere? Where's Mom? Is she up yet?" Alice tosses questions at me in her typical rapid-fire style, not waiting for an answer before racing on to the next one.

When she pauses for a breath I take the opportunity to say, "Yes, I'm staying home today. We're not going anywhere, though. We have a bit of…a family emergency."

"What?" she squeaks. "An emergency? Why didn't anyone tell me? What's wrong? Is Mom okay?"

"Mom's fine," I assure her. "This just transpired late last night; too late to call you."

"What transpired?" she demands, and because the question isn't immediately followed up by another question, I know she's waiting for a straightforward answer.

"Your brother showed up on our doorstep last night, Alice," I murmur.

She is silent. Though I can't see her, I can imagine the frown on her face as she thinks of Edward. Alice has no happy feelings for her brother; and I'd venture that she doesn't even feel particularly sad when she thinks of him. She resents him, deeply, for the pain she's witnessed Esme and I go through since he came out; despite the fact that I've tried to explain to her that I am far from blameless. Alice will have none of it; she blames Edward entirely for the way he has dealt with things.

This year Esme finally stopped telling Alice when she tried contacting Edward, because of Alice's strong reactions each time. Esme would invariably get her hopes up that this would be the time she'd reach Edward, or that this time he'd call back. When it didn't happen, she would be sad and withdrawn for a couple of days. If Alice was home from college during those times, she would walk around cursing under her breath all the while Esme was upset. She never went on the offensive against her mother, of course – Edward was the target of her epithets – but it made it that much more difficult for Esme, just the same. Alice could never see that.

Sometimes it's difficult to feel like you're the lone calm, circumspect individual; in a house full of impassioned, temperamental people.

"Is Mom okay?" Alice finally asks.

"She seemed to be last night, dear," I reply. "It was emotional, of course; we were all emotional. She and Edward are still sleeping."

"So what's his problem?" Alice asks through gritted teeth.

"Alice," I chide gently. "I don't know yet what brought him here last night. He was extremely upset when he came; he couldn't speak. Your mother held him for an hour or so; and then I suggested we all go to bed and talk about it in the morning."

"Upset? Upset how – angry?" she clarifies.

"No," I shake my head. "He was crying, Alice; and it looked to me as though he'd been crying pretty hard for some time."

"Edward crying?" Alice whispers incredulously. "Well, that's something I didn't think I'd ever see." She's quiet for a moment and then adds, "Do you want me to come up today? I could see if I can get the day off…"

Alice is in her final year of the Bachelor of Social Work program at University of Washington Tacoma. She is doing a practicum at the local Child Services department and loving it completely "I appreciate the offer, dear; but I think it'd be best if Mom and I have the day to talk to him first, to find out what's happened," I suggest. "I don't want him to feel overwhelmed with all of us here."

"Okay," she says dubiously. "But call me if you need me."

"Of course, dear," I soothe.

"I'll be thinking about you, Dad," she adds."

"Thank you. Love you."

"Love you too. Bye," she finishes.

"Bye," I reply, and hang up the phone.

I turn to the coffeemaker, which has finished gurgling. As I pour myself a cup of black coffee, I hear Esme and Edward making their way down the stairs, talking quietly. I turn and lean with my back against the counter, waiting for them to join me in the kitchen. I see Esme first, and then Edward; she is holding his hand and gently leading him into the kitchen. Edward's eyes meet mine and I give him a small smile, wanting to make sure he realizes that he is welcome in our home. He returns it, though weakly, and sits down at the kitchen table.

I pour Esme a cup of coffee and add the cream for her. "Coffee, Edward?" I ask gently.

He nods. "Black, please," he says.

"I remember," I reply gently. This time he looks at me with a bit of surprise, and his smile is a bit wider, a bit more genuine. I set the coffee in front of him at the table, and then take a seat opposite Esme. We both shift slightly in our seats to look at Edward. For a while he stares into his coffee up, not making eye contact, and I have a chance to examine him more closely.

His bronze locks, the exact color of Esme's, are every bit as wild and uncontrollable as they ever were; though he keeps it a bit shorter now than he used to. His eyes are red-rimmed, making the green of the irises stand out, even more brilliant than I remember. His shoulders are broad and muscular, his arms long and lean, and his hands are graceful. His face is puffy from crying himself to sleep; despite this he is undeniably handsome, even more so than he was as a teenager. His features have matured – he's a man now.

I debate whether to break the ice by speaking first, or wait for him to speak. I look to Esme – her intuition about emotional matters is better than mine. She gives me a small smile, then turns back to Edward, patiently waiting. This is my answer; we wait.

Finally, in a raspy, quavering voice, Edward says, "Thank you for letting me stay last night."

Esme reaches out and places her hand on hers. "You are always welcome."

He meets her gaze and smiles wanly, then continues. "I'm sure you're wondering why I came here."

"Are you sick, Edward?" I ask, gently but firmly. This was my first coherent thought last night after Esme took Edward's hand and led him into the house, the first of many, many questions that came to me during the long, restless night.

"That's your first question? Why, because I'm gay?" he asks, a touch of bitterness darkening his tone.

Damn it – great bedside manner, Dr. Cullen. He thinks I'm automatically implying HIV. Honestly, I'm not. "It's my first question because I'm a doctor," I correct him, "and because two of my cousins were diagnosed with leukemia at around the age you are now."

He ponders this for a moment, and then seems to accept it. "I'm not sick." There is a long silence as he chooses his next words. Finally he continues, "You saw me with Jasper last week."

"We did," I nod. He knows this.

"Jasper and I were dating," he says carefully, looking at me from the corner of his eye to watch my reaction.

I say mildly, "We assumed that was the case when we saw you."

"I broke up with him that night," he informs us.

"Son, you know that I work at Northwestern Hospital now," I state. There's no point in pretending not to know that he is already aware of this.

"Jasper told me…that night," he grimaces.

"You should also know that I went to see Jasper in his office on Monday," I say carefully, waiting for the potential thunder.

His head whips toward me, and he eyes me carefully – what he's looking for, I can't say. He watches me for a moment and then says, "You did?"

"We were in shock, to say the least, after we saw you on Friday; and seeing you with Jasper was more surprising still. And then when you left so quickly…well, we wanted answers. We felt we deserved some answers, Edward," I explain.

"So you went and talked to Jasper," he says slowly.

"Well, I tried to," I continue. "But Jasper declined to discuss your relationship with me, other than to tell me that you'd broken up. He said he didn't want to betray you by discussing it without your knowledge, even though you were no longer together."

Edward puts his head in his hands and stares at the table top. His face is inscrutable for a few moments, but eventually one tear falls to the table, exploding on contact with the surface. "He is so much more than I deserve."

"Edward, what would ever make you say that?" asks Esme, speaking for the first time since we started our coffee.

"I'm so broken, Mother," he whispers, and he drops his arms to the table and rests his forehead on them. Esme and I both pull our chairs closer to him; I place my arm on his back while her hand goes to his impossibly messy hair. "I chased him away that night because I felt betrayed; because he was too close to you."

I wince. Too close to me – I already knew this was the case, but hearing him confirm it, still hurts. "So not only do you not want anything to do with your parents, but you don't want anything to do with anyone connected to us," I state in a monotone. If I keep my voice calm maybe my heart won't hurt so much.

Edward lifts his head to face me. "Dad…I've always told myself that I'll never apologize for being gay, because it's not something I chose, any more than I chose my green eyes. But…if you told me maybe you could forgive me…I would apologize. I'll still be gay…but please – do you think you can ever forgive me?"

I look at Esme in horror, and her face mirrors mine. Edward looks from me to Esme and back, mistaking our expressions. "If not, please just say so now, and I'll go…"

"Edward!" Esme cries. "How could you think being gay is something we'd need to forgive you for?"

Edward's face changes to a look of confusion. "Because you said…on the day I…when you found out, you said you were disappointed…betrayed…"

"Edward – we were never disappointed in you for being gay!" I correct him, perhaps a little too emphatically.

"Carlisle…" Esme murmurs my name warningly.

"Okay…we were surprised," I backtrack a bit, "and we…didn't handle the surprise all that well."

"We flipped our shit, honey," Esme says matter-of-factly, using one of Alice's expressions. Edward and I both stare at her – she's not one for salty language. She returns my stare and says, "Well, we did."

"Yes," I confirm; turning back to Edward, I continue. "But Edward, we were disappointed that you weren't honest with us. That you felt you needed to hide the truth. That you were more open with the people at school than with us. We felt we'd failed at something we'd thought we were doing well. We thought we had made it clear that you should come to us with anything that was bothering you; anything important to you is important to us."

"'Is important'? Present tense…?" Edward asks sharply, meeting my gaze.

"Absolutely," I nod emphatically. "Edward, we love you. So very much. You're our son." He turns to Esme and she nods as well, smiling and taking his hand in hers again.

"Edward, we have wanted nothing but for you to be a complete part of our lives, since the day we found out I was pregnant with you," Esme avers, tears in her eyes. Edward squeezes her hand and looks down again at his coffee, swallowing hard.

"I have a few things I need to say to you both," he says.

"We're listening," I reply softly.

"Despite the fact that you feel like you failed, I am the one who has done everything I could to keep you out of my lives since that day you found out. I couldn't bear the disappointment in your eyes; I couldn't stand to think about what a failure I was as your son. And I told myself that I would distance myself as much as possible from you both, so I'd never again feel the sting of your disappointment."

"Edward," I start to say, but he holds up a hand.

"Please let me finish," he asks, and I nod. "Jasper knew me in high school. He remembered when I came out, and he had a crush on me at that time. He waited all this time and came back to Seattle partly in hopes of finding me. And he did find me, and for two weeks, I was the happiest I've been in ten years." His voice cracks a bit, and he pauses for a moment before continuing. "Now I realize that, not only have I wasted ten years of my life alone, without my family or a single friend; but I've also cost myself the person who could have been the one I spent my life with…" His voice chokes here and a simple pause won't help him regain his composure.

"Oh, Edward," Esme whispers, her hand stroking his arm.

"I'm so sorry," he cries. "I'm sorry for all the times I wouldn't talk to you when I was in high school. I'm sorry for the arguments. I'm sorry I never came home for holidays or summers when I was in college. I'm sorry I didn't answer the phone when you called me. I got all your messages, Mother…"

"Shhh, honey," she soothes, "I know you did."

"You never gave up on me," he sobs.

"Of course not, Edward," she shakes her head. "A real mother never does."

For long moments we sit in silence as Edward breathes deeply, snuffling; trying to calm down again.

Finally, the question I've wondered since Friday night has to be asked. "Edward, do you love Jasper?" I ask gently.

"I love him," he whispers, "and I love you too; but I don't know how to love."

"Don't know how to love…?" Esme repeats, staring incredulously at him.

"I used to know," he continues vaguely, staring off out the kitchen window as he speaks, as though he didn't hear his mother. "I've forgotten how. I don't know how to be in a relationship with anyone. Not as a son, not as a friend, not as a lover..." Esme and I stare at each other across the table, and we both have tears in our eyes as he continues. "I want to remember. I want to learn. I want love," he finishes simply, and then he looks at his mother, and at me.

Edward has some serious issues that he needs to work through. Later today I will recommend that I speak to some of my colleagues about getting a referral to a good psychiatrist for him. I'm a realist, and I know our relationship can't be rebuilt in a day. But for now, I am proud of him for coming to us. I'm happy that he seems to want to be back in our lives. And I love him.

I'm not a religious man, but there is a Bible verse that I have loved since the day Edward was born. I haven't thought of it recently because the memory was too painful. Now, it returns to me.

This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.

-o-

Hope you enjoyed reading the POV from Dr. Hot Bitch himself (that was for you, Nina); people have been asking me for chapters and chapters, when we would get Carlisle and Esme's perspective on how things went down.

Thank you!! xoxo