"Dr. Cullen?"

I looked up from the papers I was perusing, meeting a pair of green eyes. The nurse had, from my peripheral senses, knocked twice before opening the door. I didn't understand why I was still caught by surprise.

"Your patient is waiting for you," she continued politely.

I set the papers down and, as a habit of mine that had not died ever since I was human, I nodded once with a warm smile.

"I will be at her room in a while," I replied. "Thank you, Anna."

She quickly averted her gaze, and then I heard her heart quicken. Her hands staggeringly closed the door of my office after mumbling a faint, "N-No problem."

As soon as her footsteps were far away, I heaved a heavy sigh.

I had work to do.

On a normal day, these things would have been so easy. But this was not a normal day, as it hasn't been for seven years, because I was still engrossed with so much worry.

I gathered the papers on my desk and swiftly arranged them into a folder tucked underneath the book I was currently reading. I frowned a little, now and then remembering the nurse's green eyes. How is it that when I start to occupy my mind with something else, a remembrance of him would pop up so suddenly?

I hope he isn't getting himself into too much trouble, I thought to myself.

And then I chuckled lightly at how absurd it seemed to me. Getting the feeling of being a father was an idea I had not the faintest memory of acquiring.

So I let the anxiety pass as quickly as it came. Now I was wearing my serene mask: poised, professional, impartial. Truly, there were other matters that needed my attention more.

I got out of my office then and led myself to the room I was currently assigned in. As I passed, everyone greeted me with as much respect as I deserved. I would respond just as respectfully, but not without feeling a little rueful that none of them saw how deeply in a dilemma I was in.

I arrived at room 251, examined the monotonous white door that decorated every floor in this hospital, checked the full name of my patient, and knocked.

No one answered when a reply should have been expected within the given time frame; these humans had quite slow reflexes.

I turned the knob and pushed the door open, softly.

"Mrs. Styne?" my voice was no more than a quiet whisper.

It was then and there when I saw her for the first time.

Her subtle scent, lilac and lavender, wafted all throughout the small room. She was gently nestled on her bed, her caramel tresses falling softly like waves down her shoulders. The peaceful reverie in her face, eyes staring out the bright window, welcomed the warmth that the sun offered to light up her face.

There were two heartbeats. One was her own: steady and stable; the other was quiet and small. Underneath the white sheets that blanketed her lower body was a medium-sized bump that emerged from her stomach.

It took me the length of one human heartbeat to examine her, which was more time than I typically needed. Quite unusual. Although, measuring her from where I stood, I could see that her eyes were wise and… deep.

"Mrs. Styne," I prompted gently, and then she slowly turned to my direction.

Her emerald eyes widened when she saw me standing at her door, and a subtle pink stain smeared itself on her cheeks.

I processed her expression, and smiled inwardly. She was indeed lovely. But her curious, perhaps abashed, green eyes only reminded me of the worries I suppressed earlier on.

"Were you waiting for too long?" her soft voice asked.

I felt my facial muscles soften. "Not long enough to complain."

She relaxed her shoulders, relieved. "I'm sorry… When I start thinking of something important, I lose awareness of everything around me."

What a coincidence. But now wasn't the time to socialize. I could feel that pull, as I had several times during the course of my existence, call out to me.

A pull that drew me to these humans.

It was not something I should nurture early on, especially since I knew how easily I would fall to being attached to them. I smothered it, quietly shoving thoughts of acceptance when an escape from this loneliness presented itself to me. None of these humans deserved to feel the fear that would surface once they knew what I was.

"My name is Dr. Carlisle Cullen," I introduced myself. I did not know for sure, but somehow, she caught the slight way I evaded her statement. I knew this because there was an infinitesimal crease that wrinkled her forehead.

I went on as if nothing happened, "You must be…" I pretended to fumble around on the chart I had in hand. Humans usually behaved this way. "Esmeralda Styne."

"Esme," she corrected.

I smiled in apology. "Esme."

Her eyes traced their way to gaze at my chart. There was a peculiar expression on her heart-shaped face then, as if something in the chart I was holding would present to her bad news.

"You're just having a bit of a high fever from the flu—" Influenza, I corrected mentally, and that brought on a new wave of anxiety for what it reminded me of. "—so you need a lot of rest. Your baby will be out soon enough."

Yet somehow, my reassurance did not comfort the brimming emotions underneath the surface of her face.

"Esme?" I called out to her, a bit anxious myself.

"It's bad news for him, isn't it?" she murmured to herself, eyes now focused on the linoleum floor.

"Him?"

"My baby." Her delicate hand instinctively smoothed the bump on her stomach. She finally looked up to meet my face again. "It's bad news for him," she repeated.

I pursed my lips, thoughtful.

"True," I agreed cautiously. "But then again, it won't really affect him much if you rested long enough to regain your strength." As I talked, I walked over to her side and placed the chart on her bedside table. "So, that won't be a problem, would it?"

She was thoughtful for a moment as well. For a fraction of a second, she let loose the tension in her shoulders again and heaved a soft sigh. Her eyes were watching her own hands as they continued to smooth the bump, rounding up into circles.

"Am I being too paranoid, Dr. Cullen?" she asked in a whisper.

"Not absurdly so," I amended.

It was just so normal for a soon-to-be mother to get worried about her unborn child. Surely, there was nothing wrong if she worried about her health as it might affect her baby.

However, I was too distracted to think of anything else when I found her in that peaceful place again; that gaze of reverie as she watched her stomach. It was that same serenity and placid gaze which she held upon my entrance.

Deep in thought, I said to myself. There was something that struggled within her, and yet I could not intervene as easily as I wanted. My curiosity for these humans never seemed to fade throughout the passing years.

I felt that pull yet again, that unmistakable urge to be closer to someone.

But I had to stop it.

"Will your husband be arriving soon?" I asked out of impulse, just to escape that dreaded longing. There was nothing wrong with my question, I assumed, as it was not unusual to ask about the spouse of a patient. Surely there was a counterpart to the title of her Mrs.

"He died almost eight months ago."

It did not quite shock me as it should have that my perfect review of each patient's chart slipped into something this devastatingly low.

"Oh," was all I could say. "I'm—"

"No harm done," she smiled up at me, now curling her lips into something warm and assuring. But something in that smile made me doubt if there really was 'no harm done.'

I averted my gaze back to the door where I came in from.

How could I let myself slip up so easily? Thoughts of that ancient grief were usually better controlled in days like this, yet somehow I could not suppress them so well. Perhaps this woman who sits here must have some kind of effect in me?

I frowned at the thought, yet I did not dismiss it entirely. She was probably feeling the same anxieties as I was; loneliness, as made clear now that her husband had died just recently, and… parental worry. I was, after all, worried about that child of mine who had gone to live without me seven years ago.

Maybe we were just on the same page, however seemingly far apart our situations were.

"Do you have a child, too, Dr. Cullen?" her question came out in another one of her soft whispers.

At first, I didn't know how to answer her. Did I really have a child I could call my own? Not in that biological sense, but in the sense that she had meant?

But then again, a thought came crashing down on me: Did I really think of myself worthy enough to be called a father to someone whose life I've broken?

I relaxed my posture, which was already as still as stone. Rigid, like a statuewn on me. in the sense that tuations in days like this, yet somehow i . I had to put a lot of effort into looking back at her curious green eyes, because I knew staring into them would only send be back to the depths of solitude.

"I don't know, Mrs. Styne, if I could still call myself a father to him." That was all the honesty I could offer her.

But her answering gaze smoldered me into place; it had a depth that understood me.

"You love him," she said.

Truly, I do. "Yes."

"So he will come back to you."

However uncertain those words were, placed in that order, I knew myself enough to hope that she was right.

I smiled as softly as I could. "I'll be right back to list down your medication," I said slowly, now making my escape from this seething pain in my chest. I did not resent her for allowing that ache to resurface itself, but it does not mean that I could stand one more minute to look at her honest face.

I was half-way through the door when she called out, not seeming to recognize the pain brimming inside of me. "What's his name?"

I seized the doorknob a little tighter than needed, a little more forceful than necessary.

"Edward," I replied, and his name brought with it the worry, the anxiety, the guilt, the pain… the acceptance I've kept so long.

I made my exit, but not without leaving a few dents on the wall as I passed.

End of chapter I