The little snowflake just became

Lost in the storm

And suddenly it didn't feel

Special at all

I could not have asked for a better childhood. I was born and raised in the tiny, depressing town of Forks. However, I didn't realize just how tiny and depressing it was until I was older. Growing up, it seemed like the biggest, most exciting place on the face of the earth. Then again, what isn't exciting when you're merely a child?

I always did well in school. I wasn't that popular, but I wasn't exactly alienated, either. My group of friends consisted of me, my bubbly and outgoing best friend, Alice, and Rosalie, the girl with blonde locks down to her butt and always had ribbons in her hair. We had known each other since kindergarten, and Forks was the kind of place where once you established your group of friends, you were pretty much assigned to that group. Of course I was fine with that. Although both were a little superficial, Alice and Rose always had my back, especially when things turned to absolute shit around the time when I turned fifteen.

My parents always got along great. They had their disagreements, but they would usually smooth things over with each other within a day or two. I remember every Sunday my father would go out on the lake to fish with his best friend, Billy Black. While he was gone, my mother and I would usually spend the day watching really cheesy movies, playing board games (she always cheated), and lazily sprawling ourselves across the couches while talking about nothing in particular. Around sunset, my father would return home, usually with several prized fishes in hand. My mother and I would then take the fish from my dad, then banish him to the living room while we prepared some sort of feast with his catches of the day. My mother always did know how to make a mean fish stew.

It was around the age of thirteen I noticed a shift between my parents. When I was eleven, my father suffered a major heart attack. This required him to undergo heart bypass surgery, and he was never quite the same after. The doctors insisted he was fine, but he just didn't seem like his old self. His zest for life wasn't there anymore, which was odd considering the fine line he had just walked between life and death. You would think that he would want to grab life by the balls and experience everything, but instead he would rather spend his time in front of the television.

He was eventually diagnosed with depression. The doctors could never pinpoint if it was some sort of complication from the surgery, but to me the cause didn't matter. What mattered was that I had lost dad that I grew up with. Instead, I was left with a hollow shell that called himself my father. If that wasn't hard enough, I could feel myself beginning to lose my mother, also.

At first, mom was patient with dad. She would make sure he took his medication and that he got plenty of fresh air and sunshine. After all, the doctor had said that was very important. However, I could see something changing in her eyes, some sort of resignation setting in. I noticed that she began to arrive home later and later every night from her job at the community center. She had always been passionate about her job as an art instructor, but she had always made time for her family. That was no longer the case. I was always left to prepare dinner for dad and myself. It had become routine for my dad to arrive home after work before my mother who had begun to offer more private art lessons. I didn't resent her for this. I merely thought she was working overtime to pay off the ridiculous amount of hospital bills we had been left with in the wake of my father's surgery.

Rose and Alice could see something changing in me. They would often comment that I looked "tired" or "mopey". One time, Rosalie jokingly programmed the national suicide hotline number on my speed dial. I didn't find this amusing in the least, and I ended up not speaking to her for a week after that. After that whole incident, both Alice and Rose eased up on me. I think they could tell that something was seriously wrong, even though I was in complete denial. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was the glue holding my family together at that point. However, it wouldn't last much longer.

It was just a couple of months after my fifteenth birthday when the shit hit the fan. I arrived home late because Alice's mom, who always gave me a ride after school, had been held up at work. I rushed through the front door, eager to start dinner before dad got home. I now realize how naive I was in thinking that if my parents and I could sit down at the table for a meal every night, that would somehow still make us a family. I was so wrong.

I heard them before I saw them.

"What is this Renee? This is not you speaking right now."

I looked towards my father, my arm still mid air while hanging up my jacket on the coat rack. I stopped immediately

What was Riley Biers doing in our house?

Better question: Why the hell was my mother holding his hand?

The conversation between my parents halted suddenly when they saw me walk through the door. My mother looked almost panicked and my father looked like he was confused beyond belief, like he was attempting to solve some impossible puzzle.

For a brief moment, my mom opened her mouth to say something to me, but she quickly shut it and turned back to my dad.

"Charlie, you've known this was coming. I hate that Bella had to come in right in the middle of this." She paused to look sadly at me. "I wanted to speak to her privately about the whole... situation."

I had never been so confused in my life. I stood statue still in the doorway, afraid to move. Hesitantly, I began to speak.

"Mom? Dad? What's going on?" I paused to look at Riley. He seemed to be taking great care to look anywhere but my eyes.

"Baby," my mother started. She released her grasp on Riley's hand and walked over to me, taking my hands between her own.

"I'm moving to California."

With dawning realization, it occurred to me that she had not said WE are moving to California.

She was going to California. Without Charlie.

Without me.

I didn't need to hear anymore. I grabbed my coat from the rack and ran out the door before she had the chance to say anything else.

That was the last time I saw her. She made good on her word and moved to California. However, I had fled the house before she had the chance to explain that she wasn't going by herself. She wasn't taking us, but she was taking Riley.

She and Riley had met several months ago while she was giving him private art lessons. He was only 24, but that didn't seem to matter to my mother. She had grown tired of her existence in the sleepy town of Forks, the emptiness that my father was unable to fill, and she craved something new. That something new just happened to be a man young enough to be her son, a man who insisted that she follow him to California because he believed he had a real chance at becoming the next Brad Pitt or George Clooney. He snapped his fingers, said go, and just like that my mom was gone.

That night, I avoided going home until well after the sun had set and the moon had risen. I chose to spend my time crying at the old abandoned lumber mill, and it was only the ache in my heart for my dad that was able to lure me back home. I didn't even want to imagine that scene that would await me when I walked through the front door. I expected to witness things breaking, maybe walking in and seeing my father on his knees, crying and begging God to just bring her back.

Instead, I was met with silence.

I found him on the back porch, sitting still in one of the rocking chairs that my mother had picked up on the side of the road several years back. He stared absently ahead, not focusing on anything in particular. I sat on the ground next to him, refusing to sit in one of those chairs my mother had brought home. They were part of her, and I no longer wanted anything to do with her.

I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my chin on top of them. My father and I didn't speak for what seemed like hours. It was he who spoke first.

"I think there's still some leftover tuna casserole in the fridge that your mother made the other night. Mind warming some up, Bells?"

I looked up at him and realized that his eyes were shining, filled to the brim with tears. Even though he was still staring ahead and not at me, I smiled back weakly and patted his hand.

"No problem."

I eyed the tuna casserole sitting in the refrigerator and immediately imagined my mom and Riley, him driving some ridiculous Harley motorcycle with her sitting on the back, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, throwing her head back in laughter, in... freedom. I felt the bile rise in my throat. I took the dish and quickly scraped it into the garbage disposal. I started to gather the ingredients for fried chicken. Charlie and I definitely needed some comfort food.

We never spoke of mom again.

a/n: song mentioned is "the first snowflake" by boy least likely to. in the next chapter, edward should enter the picture. thanks for reading.