Unhappy Ending

I've felt so confused and numb these past days. Running momentarily lifted my spirits, but there was no thrill in the hunt, no satisfaction in the drink. I'm afraid I've been a terrible brother to Emmett.

The second mountain lion I devoured left me full, but unsated. Some restlessness beset me; running, hunting, fellowship with my brother – nothing would lead me to name it.

I decided to once again try Carlisle's suggestion, hoping for a name to this inner turbulence and need. Relaxing my breathing, turning my thoughts inward past my character, past my flaws…

And, unbidden, I was transported to my birth mother's side once more. This time, the scene was not pleasant, not a happy memory of some forgotten day. Though I was still small and my mother still wore the same delicate pink dress, her face was a mask of grief and distress.

"Edward, what did I tell you?" she asked, her voice raw and raspy. .

"Momma, I'm sorry."

"What did I tell you? Do you remember?"

"You said to be careful." My little head bowed and looked at my feet.

"Be careful to what, Edward?" Her voice was hoarse but steady; she was making a point.

"Be careful not to squish him." A tear rolled down my check in guilt and shame.

"Why? Why were you supposed to be careful?"

"Because he was so little." I knew I was wrong, and I couldn't bring myself to raise my head.

"Edward." I still looked down, fearing the worst of her anger to usher through her calm voice. "Edward, look at me."

Slowly, I raised my head and looked up at her through my teary lashes. There, in her cupped hand, was a tiny brown and white mouse, dead. "Edward, he's dead. This was why I asked you to be careful." Her voice was flat and emotionless.

I began to cry in earnest and through my sobs said, "Momma, momma, can't you make him better? Fix him momma, please, fix him. I didn't mean to hurt him! I was just loving him!"

She laid the mouse on a paper on the counter, and knelt down to me. She picked up the hem of her dress and dabbed at my tears. My face was hot with inconsolable sadness. "Edward, I can't fix him," she said, relenting her harshness in the face of my heartbreak. "He's gone. He's never coming back, love." I began to cry harder still, and she pulled me into the circle of her arms, cooing, "Come here, love."

"Edward, when something… dies," she started. I could see in her face this was difficult for her. "It can't come back. It no longer exists, sweetheart. It can't breathe, it can't love, it can't feel. I know this is hard for you to understand, but once something or someone dies, they're gone forever." She took a deep breath, twisting her face around to mine. "You can remember them and keep them alive that way, but that's all. What they are, who they are – well, that's gone."

"Why momma? Why? Why do they have to go away? Where do they go?" I was crying, my small frame shaking with sobs.

"That's a very good question, Edward. People have talked about this for as long as anyone can remember." She looked away from me, considering it for herself. "I believe that we go to meet God, and be with Him. And it's so nice being there, we never come back here."

"But," I cried, softer now, "I still want to play with him. I'm not done!"

"Edward, that's why I asked you to be careful, love. They can't ever play with you again. Mousie is gone now, sleeping, but he's never going to wake up. I know you loved him, but he's gone now."

My mouth hung open in a mask of pain and sobs. "No, momma, no. I want him back," I cried, rubbing my weeping eyes with my tiny fist. "I want him baaacckkk…"

She leaned away from me and held me with her hands on my arms. "Edward, I know you do, and I wish I could make that happen. But he's gone." I could see the ache all parents feel as they try to explain death to someone so young and full of life. She sighed. "You're so little, Edward. You're my little boy, and I love you. Do you know how much I love you?" She peered into my sad little face. "My love for you is so big, sometimes I'm afraid I'll hold you too close and hurt you." Her loving green eyes bore into mine. "But because I love you, I hold you just right. That's what love is, sweetheart." She took me in her arms and held me, pressing her cheek to mine. She held me just right.

"But I loved him!" I whimpered, my anguish fading into the sleepiness that blesses upset children.

She scooped me up into her arms and began to walk to the stairs. I saw the mouse lying on the counter before I turned my head into her chest. "I know you loved him, I know that. But sometimes loving someone too hard can destroy them. Do you understand?"

It was in that moment, in that memory that I realized that Carlisle had been right. The answer had been with me all along, and only now, could I recognize and name my unrest: My love was crushing Bella to death.