There was carpet in my mouth. It was my carpet, slightly musty from the omnipresent dust that slid across our apartment's wood floors. I needed to vacuum more. But why was I on the floor? I'd gotten up to do something. Oh yes, I was going to get a drink. It was the middle of the night, not sure exactly when. I felt terrible. Shivering cold, and achy and full of dread. I was sick. And apparently I'd passed out as soon as standing.

My throat still burned with thirst, so I rallied for a minute. I'd always been a little anemic so I was used to feeling a little light-headed if I got up too fast. But this was worse. I'd been lucky, falling on the one soft landing our apartment had. I didn't think I'd be so lucky a second time. Living alone with a toddler makes you feel all sorts of vulnerable. Always on vigilant look out for their sake, but also for yours. What if I choked on a cough drop? Slipped in the shower and knocked myself out? Lost grip on the knife and cut myself? There wouldn't be anyone to give me the Heimlich, see what that loud bang in the bathroom was or pick me up when I fainted from the sight of my own blood. And besides me, there's be no one to look out for Owen. Vulnerable didn't begin to describe that feeling. Most the time I could push it down. I was totally capable, I knew that. I'd proved that. But things happen, things beyond our carefully laid out controlled plans. Hello, I was perfectly aware of that.

With slow, careful movements, I pushed myself to my knees, shakily stood, and maneuvered myself to the kitchen for a drink. The water tasted so cool and sweet in my mouth, but swallowing brought tears to my eyes as knife blades of pain followed the water. I rarely got sick, but when I did, my body rebelled against me. I didn't get a little sick, I got a lot sick. A tear of hopelessness slid down my cheek and I felt very, very sorry for myself. I let myself wallow just a minute more. I deserved it, didn't I? Everyone does some times. Shakily, I stood at my sink and quietly sobbed. But feeling sorry for yourself doesn't get you very far. Eventually the cold got to me, and I felt a little dramatic, so I pulled out the Tylenol from the cabinet over the sink and painfully, so painfully, swallowed a couple down, refilled my water and maneuvered carefully back to my bed. Maybe I'd feel better in the morning.

I didn't feel better in the morning. Usually my alarm barely beeped and I'd turn it off, hop up, and start the day. But today it almost sounded unfamiliar. I felt like I was underwater. It was early enough that I could still get a sub in for work, my fellow Hygienists and the Doctor would not appreciate being stuck with all my patients all day. I fumbled my alarm off, called the service and croakily took care of that, then texted my co-workers and then immediately fell asleep again.

The third time I woke up that morning, it was with Owen sliding matchbox cars over my arms.

"Momma, wake up," he sang, "Cars say wake up…" I had no idea how long he'd been trying to rouse me, but I vaguely felt that it'd been a long time.

"Sorry honey, you must be hungry," I croaked out. Owen tilted his head and examined me more closely. My phone vibrated.

"You sick Momma?"

"Yes, baby. Momma's very sick." I closed my eyes for a second. Owen needed to eat. I needed to…something. It was all very overwhelming.

My phone vibrated again. I squinted. The overcast sky outside did little to help me gauge the time.

"Give me one minute and I'll get you some breakfast," I croaked to my sweet son.

"Ok momma," he said, content with his cars.

My phone vibrated again. I sighed, then flinched as even that hurt. Groaning I reached for my phone. It was past ten o'clock! I hadn't slept that long since… college? I didn't even remember! I was amazed and horrified.

"Owen, you must be so hungry!" I cried brokenly.

"I got snacks," he answered proudly. Sure enough, my resourceful boy had pulled the snacks out of the Owen-friendly stash in the low cabinet. I was glad I'd tried to instill a little self-reliance in my son, but horrified that he'd been puttering around the apartment totally unsupervised for the past…however long he'd been up. Knowing his schedule…three hours? I shivered, feeling so lucky and so awful.

My phone beeped again. I groaned softly.

I started with the text messages first. There were many. A few from co-workers telling me to feel better, my boss warning me to stay home until I was healthy, and then about 50 messages from Edward. And about 100 missed calls. I'd turned the ringer down after texting work, not even thinking about it. There was someone I'd forgotten.

Was it easier to text or call? I debated for a minute, then decided to text. I didn't want to worry him, I probably sounded worse that I really was. Only problem with texting is that it took a little more coherence than I currently possessed. My text looked something like: "Sorry, sick at ham. Caller in to work. Just guppy." Good enough, too tired to do more. Now, Owen. What could I get him? I probably needed to get up and drink. Now that I thought about it, I definitely needed to use the bathroom.

After slowly, carefully visiting the bathroom, I wobbled into the kitchen. Everything available to eat sounded awful, so I settled with another glass of sweet, painful water, two more Tylenol and a box of cereal for Owen. I didn't even pour it into a bowl. He laughed as I handed him a whole box for his very own. "Try not to make a mess, ok baby?" I whispered.

"Not a baby," was his gleeful reply and he buried his hand into the box and shoved a handful of cereal into his mouth.

"I know," I croaked. "You're my big, sweet boy." And I was about to blow his mind even more. I turned the TV onto PBS and let Sid the Science Kid take care of him for me. He laughed in surprise at the anarchy I'd allowed and crawled up to snuggle with me on the bed, immediately distracted by the show. "TV is a wonderful invention," I thought to myself as I promptly fell back into oblivion.

The fourth time I woke up, it was to a knocking sound.

"Momma," Owen said, his warm, sticky hands cupped my cheek, nose inches from mine. "Momma," he said again.

"Hmm?" I asked, wincing. Was it possible my throat felt even worse?

"Momma, issa door."

"Ok," I croaked. I gently slid him off me and then almost fainted again as I got up. I took a minute to collect myself, but whomever was at the door didn't stop. Luckily our apartment was small. The few steps to the door were precarious at best.

"Edward," I croaked as I opened the door, slightly confused. He took one look at me and didn't wait to be invited in.

"Oh Bella," he said, propping me up. The tone of his voice was so full of concern, it made me feel pathetic. I would have been a little offended if I hadn't needed his support.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered. It hurt too much to talk louder.

"The daycare called, they tried calling you, but didn't get an answer. They were concerned when Owen didn't show up."

Oh right. I'd forgotten that part. Whoops. What was I going to do with Edward? I didn't feel like entertaining. All I wanted to do was crawl back in bed. I was so tired, it only slightly registered that I should probably be embarrassed about what I looked like. I was beyond caring about much. The bed looked so inviting. I slid out from Edward's arm and stumbled back to it. Owen smiled at Edward.

"Momma's sick!" He said happily.

"I can see that," he replied wryly.

I rolled over and closed my eyes.

"Bella," Edward said, a little tinge of worry in his voice.

I opened my eyes in response, too sore to talk. Edward sat gingerly on my bed and put his hand on my forehead. It was so cool, I closed my eyes involuntarily.

"Bella, do you need me to take care of Owen?" He asked, looking around at the mess in front of him.

My eyes welled with tears. I nodded. "I think so. I'm so sorry Edward."

He looked at me, face full of concern and love and my gosh, I knew I'd be embarrassed about this later, but right now I was so, so tired. I closed my eyes again. I heard Edward pull out his phone.

"Hey Carlilse, can you call Dean? Yeah, I'm at Bella's. I think she has that flu, the bad one that's going around…..not sure….Mmmhmmm…" He paused, "Bella, do you have a thermometer?"

"With the medicine. In the cabinet above the sink. Kitchen." I croaked, eyes still closed. I felt the bed rise as he got up. Rustling sounds in the kitchen, then back to my side.

"Here, Bells, let's check."

I put in the thermometer, the cold hard rod of it uncomfortable in my hot, feverish mouth. I whimpered involuntarily. I felt Edward's hand on my forehead again, so cool, stroking away my heavy tangled hair. It felt so nice. I sighed.

"104," he said to his phone, sounding anxious. "Yes. Ok. Yes. Can she come here?...As soon as possible. Ok."

"Bella, Esme is on her way. She's going to come take care of Owen and I'm going to take you to the doctor's."

That was weird. Why was Esme coming? Nothing made sense. But Esme was nice. I nodded, eyes closed again, and fell back into oblivion.

"Oh honey," Esme was stroking the hair back from my face, her voice full of love and concern. Esme was here. It was such a mess. Esme had such a nice house. There were cars and cereal all over my bed.

"…help me get her to the car?" Edward was saying. Something about stairs.

"I can get to the car," I croaked, "I'm fine."

"Clearly," was his sarcastic response. I opened my eyes, but it took too much energy to be as indignant as I'd planned.

"We're going to the doctor?" I asked.

"Yes, as soon as we can get you up."

"Can I brush my teeth?" I asked? I felt so nasty and icky and I was sure that would help me feel better.

"Let me help you," he responded, gently supporting me as I sat up. My head swam for a minute, and I felt blackness crawl in from the edge of my vision. I rocked back, but Edward caught me, "Careful, it's ok. Just take a minute," he said.

With a lot of support, I made it to the bathroom, squinted at my wobbly reflection, sloppily brushed my teeth, and realized that it didn't make me feel better at all. "Edward," I said, my feverish breath warm and mint, "I really don't feel good."

He chuckled softly, "I know, hon, I know."

After painfully pulling on my coat and scarf, shoving my feet into my comfy sheepskin boots (all assisted by my ex-boyfriend and his mom), I stumbled my way to the car. Esme held Owen, propped on her hip, "Don't worry, Bella. I'll take such good care of him. Everything will be ok."

"Bye Momma!" Owen said, waving sweetly as Edward got into the driver's seat.

Tears popped in my eyes. My mouth wobbled as I whispered, "Thanks Esme." Her mouth got tight with emotion in response, and she pulled Owen in for a kiss.

"Bye Daddy! Bye Momma! We go to the zoo!"

"Have fun, Momma loves you," I croaked. As Edward pulled into traffic, I realized I hadn't thought this through, "Does Esme have the key?"

"Yes, I showed her where your spare is. And she has her zoo pass and Owen's backpack. And she's going to call your work for you, and the daycare."

I nodded, feeling slightly dizzy as the cars and buildings slipped by. Rain splattered the windshield, making it worse. I closed my eyes again, and didn't open them until I heard the crank of the emergency break as we parked.

The doctor's waiting room was lovely and tasteful, but crowded with fellow sick people. It was that magical time of year. Edward guided me to a chair, where I collapsed, feeling like I'd run a marathon. A few minutes later he came back and helped me to a patient room.

"That was fast," I said.

"Carlilse," was his response. The Cullen's didn't need to wait for doctors.

"Edward, I don't think this doctor is in my group plan," I said.

"It is," he assured me. "It's covered."

That didn't sound right, but I didn't feel like arguing. The recessed lighting above me was wobbling a little.

A knock at the room's door, and the doctor was there. The nurse hadn't even been in to take my vitals yet. I was sure it'd been less than a minute. "Edward," he said in a tired but kind voice, "So nice to see you. And this is Bella! Oh dear," he said, pulling out the light and a wooden depressor. It hurt to even open my mouth. He sighed as he looked and then pulled out the thermometer.

"What was it last time you checked?"

"104 at 11:30."

The thermometer beeped. "104.2"

He checked my other vitals and rattled off my stats. "Has she taken anything?"

"Tylenol," I croaked.

"Dosage?"

"Two, over the counter, not sure…" I whispered.

"When?"

"10:30?"

He nodded again. "It's the bad one that's going around," looking at Edward, "It seems to be hitting her especially hard."

"I'm lucky like that," I whispered.

He chuckled. "Well, overnight observation. I want to get her on an IV for sure. Viral, steroids. You had her records sent over?"

"Not yet. Bella, who's your regular doctor?" Edward asked.

"Don't have one," I said. "Not since Owen."

"You don't have a doctor in town?" he asked again.

I shrugged, "Haven't needed one."

I closed my eyes. This was exhausting. Their voices ran together.

"Bella," Edward said softly, pulling my hand to wake me, "We're going to get you a room."

"In a hotel?" I asked, confused.

"No, hon. Here. In the hospital."

"Why?"

"Your fever is really high, and the doctor wants to keep an eye on you."

"Ok."

"Really? You're not going to fight me on this?" He asked, shocked amusement coming through the concern in his voice.

"Wait, what?" I asked, confused.

"You're going to stay in the hospital tonight."

"Who will watch Owen?" I cried softly, wobbling as I sat up, "Will you watch Owen for me?" I asked, gripping his hand.

"Esme is watching him. Don't worry, everything is ok. I'm going to call your work and your Dad. And the daycare again. It's ok, everything is ok."

Everything was ok. Edward said. It was ok. Edward was always right. It must be ok.

"Ok," I said. And I closed my eyes.

There was a hum of an unfamiliar heater, beeping of monitors, and a soft snore to my left. I was in a dark hospital room. I didn't know the time, but the hush of the halls and my grogginess made me feel like it was the middle of the night. An IV hung next to me, dripping slowly. Outside rain hit the window in a gust of wind. I didn't feel chilled, I didn't feel woozy, and when I tested a swallow my throat didn't convulse with pain. It was sore, but definitely better. Despite the hours of sleep, I still felt very tired. I rolled to my side and saw Edward, snoring softly in what looked like an incredibly uncomfortable hospital chair. His hand dangled limply next to my bed, his head lolled off to the side in what must have been a very uncomfortable position. He was close, so I reached through the bars of the hospital bed and grabbed his hand, pulling slightly, trying to wake him so he could move to a more comfortable spot. He must have been exhausted though, cause he didn't wake. He did roll towards me though, and in his sleep whispered, "I love you Bella." Followed by more soft snores.

My throat tightened and burned. Not from the sickness, from tears.

"I know," I whispered back. And I did know. I'd always known. And I knew what I'd felt since the moment I met him. I'd tried so hard. I'd tried so hard to be strong. But I couldn't fight it anymore. I was so tired of being without him. I was so tired. And he was asleep. I could say it. He wouldn't have to know. I was so tired. I could admit it. He wouldn't know.

"I love you too."