Escape.

That was the only word that flooded every inch of my mind. I passed my colleagues then as they greeted me. Thankfully, I was still able to put up this masked smile on my wretched face.

"Good morning, Dr. Cullen."

"Oh, doctor, you look well today."

"Nice weather we're having, don't you think, doctor?"

"What a lovely shade of blue your shirt is, doctor."

They did not notice how quickly I passed, how fast my feet took me to my office. All I had to do was smile in response to their useless chatter, and that was all that they needed to feel accepted.

Accepted, I thought wryly.

How easy it was to be human now.

I walked into my office then, closing the door behind me. My mahogany desk sat there, beckoning me to come as it had numerous unnecessary paperwork waiting for me. They were all just there, upon my request, in case I needed a distraction. The doctors were more than glad to hand over to me their documents, as I would finish them as quickly as they came.

A pile of twenty-four credentials sat, and I seized the opportunity for any minute distraction I could find. I suppose this was my way of escape, filling up this mundane paperwork. I could have read some books, but truth be told, I've already swept my eyes through each and every book in this hospital.

So I filled them all up, and it only took me less than thirty minutes.

I heaved a sigh after pushing aside the last one. I felt a bit calm now, knowing that the pain had subsided quietly… for the moment.

My eyes turned to the direction of one lone folder, now isolated from the stack of perfectly-organized documents. There was no use stalling now. I had to face it all over again, now a little bit more prepared.

I couldn't let a human rule over my emotions, however emotionally unstable humans in general were.

Upon picking up her files, I read through Esme Styne's hospital records and learned as much as I could about her.

She was born in New Jersey in the year 1908 and moved here, to Missouri, three years ago with only her husband. Eight months ago, her spouse was considered deceased due to a fatal train accident, as trains were not at all that stable. She lives alone, currently supporting herself all throughout her pregnancy.

A case of mild influenza broke through the state just recently, and considering that she was already at her ninth month of pregnancy, she found it more assuring to stay in the hospital until her delivery.

There was nothing unusual about her records, I assumed. But what I could not understand was why a smile tugged on my lips with the knowledge that she was four years older than I was, technically speaking.

I took out my prescription pad and dotted just an anti-pyretic drug to counter-act her fever. She had reached 41 degrees last night, as I read through her chart earlier, and the attending nurse concluded she had the case of intermittent pyrexia.

Soon enough, I was on my feet.

When I got back to her room, I was greeted by her kind smile. Subconsciously, I wanted to bury that feeling of yearning yet again, for when she looked at me that way, I could not resent her for making me feel a false hope hang above my head.

"Are you alright, Dr. Cullen?" I could sense a twinge of regret that sparked somewhere in the way she spoke. "D-Did I offend you…"

"Certainly not," I amended softly. Somehow her agitation affected my polite rebuke, because I didn't want to see the alarm on her face. "Mrs. Styne, I am simply worried about my young man going off on his own for a while."

She lowered her gaze. "I suppose it was… a sensitive topic for you."

"Yes…" I whispered, but I was in better control now that my emotions were in check.

"My deep apologies, doctor."

I could not suppress the soft chuckle that had suddenly escaped. And that shot her green eyes back to meet mine when I replied, "You should not apologize for something that is true."

Occupying my hands with something to do, I began to check her vital signs even though it was not my job, as a doctor, to do. Perhaps no one would mind if I wanted to spend a little more time with one particular patient, as the hospital already has more helping hands compared to thirty years ago. I left her to her thoughts, and not once did we both feel any need to fill in the silence within the room.

"I'm afraid…" her soft voice broke through the quiet as I was checking the drip rate on her intravenous wire.

I turned to her. "Yes?"

"I'm afraid if I can't raise him well."

She was worrying about her baby yet again. "Mrs. Styne—"

"Please call me Esme," she insisted, probably a little abashed that I kept addressing her so formally. Or maybe it was just on the surface; maybe it must have affected her every time I mentioned that last name intertwined by her deceased husband's.

"Esme," I sighed, smiling. "You need not worry too much about that, not when your anxiety could affect him. You see, by the time he grows up, he will soon have his own paths to choose."

Worry creased her forehead. "Would it be wrong if I wanted to keep him close to me…?" She trailed off, and it was then when her thoughts had engulfed her once again. It surprised me, though, that I had observed her so well just within the few moments I met her.

She fascinated me.

"No, I don't think it would be wrong…" I responded just as quietly, my thoughts taking a course of their own. I remembered how Edward had furiously rebelled on the way of life I pressed onto him. I remembered how much he had hated reading every kind thought that I possessed for him, and that he knew he just needed to breakaway from this life I chose.

I didn't have the right to hold him back, no matter if I was treating him like a child of my own. I was not his father, and never should I assume myself to be.

Remembering that night he left, with utter finality in his voice that he wanted to go on his own from now on, I cringed away from the pain that it had brought me.

"When we keep them too close, sometimes… its harder for us to let them go when they want to break free," I finished my response, glad that I had the words finally out.

I turned to Esme, and she had already held my eyes.

Delicately, as if a knot had unraveled, she smiled up to me. "You shouldn't feel lonely for something you did right."

Her eyes were filled with so much trust, compassion. Wise, emerald eyes bore into me, and I wished so much I could tell her everything.

But I could not.

That night, Esme's water broke. She went into labor by 9 in the evening, and I was more than glad to have been the one to deliver her baby.

It was quite a surprise because she knew all along that her baby would be a boy, despite that we had no appropriate technology to determine that during her pre-natal consultations.

But that was not what worried me to death. Her baby boy was weak when I took him out of her womb.

He had cyanotic extremities, and his cry was a weak murmur against all the blood. His heartbeat did not quite meet the standards of a normal health baby, and his respiratory count was unusually slower than what was supposed to be expected. I worried gravely, as I began to form small circles on his back to facilitate his breathing, that the baby would not survive for too long.

I offered Esme's baby for her to see, and she crooned with so much warmth and love that it tugged at my chest.

He was her only family now, and I knew that I had to do everything I could possible to save his life. Even when, a million times over the course of my experience in hospitals, this case did not really allow a high percentage of survival on the infant's part. There was just not enough technology to support him yet.

"Thank you," she breathed, now on her bed with the baby cradled close to her chest.

I looked at her, and there definitely was hope in her eyes. However, as I looked deeper, I learned that she knew, somehow, that there was something wrong.

"You're welcome," I replied pleasantly. "Esme… we need to keep an eye on him for a while, though. He didn't really reach the ideal safety standards of a normal baby."

And there it was, that wistful yearning. I saw, in the way she held her son a little closer than necessary, that she knew his time was not long.

She kissed his nose as delicately as was possible, and then I bent down to take him away from her.

"I need to take him to the intensive care unit," I told her as I walked slowly out the door with him in my arms. "Please rest. Your fever isn't going on so well." Had I the pity, I would have told her that her baby was going to be alright.

But I knew she did not need such a thing.

"I will try my hardest to take care of myself," she said.

I nodded once in response, then went on my way to the ICU. I gently placed her infant in the sturdy incubator and assigned a nurse to keep a strict eye on him. There was nothing much I could do but hope for the best in his condition.

Experienced as I was, I knew that his time would come quickly soon.

A surge of pain flooded me as I watched him struggle to breathe. I took care in raising him to a sitting position so that it would allow maximum lung expansion. His heartbeat slowed, finally able to relax after all that struggle just to breathe.

And then there was that small voice, that faint possibility of saving him, one that I had dared not wanted to consider after Edward left.

I knew it was absurd, utterly uncalled for and unforgivable… but I could not stop the thought from coming anyway.

I wished I could change him into what I was now.

I frowned deeply then, and soon I felt an overwhelming disgust and hatred for myself. How could I have even considered taking this infant into this cursed half-life, however justifiable my reason may be? It was an impossibility.

The baby mumbled then, breaking my train of thought.

I noticed how his pink complexion glowed now, but not quite in a way that would have been a safe sign for him. His tiny little mouth, now opened, reminded me of Esme's lips when she talked.

"You're a handsome little man," I whispered, glad that his interruption stopped me from loathing myself more.

I traced one of my pale fingers to his tiny hand, and in response, he squeezed it so hard—hard for him, of course—as if he didn't want to let go.

"Such a delicate little thing," I murmured in awe, watching him finally rest after a long night.

I stayed with him for a while and reveled at his warmth. How I wished I could bring his mother here and revel with me, because we all knew there was only so much time left.

End of chapter II