Love to my amazing Beta's: Jenrosee and blahblahblah.

Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns Twilight. While I borrowed several obvious quotes from her books, no plagiarism is intended.

EPOV

Everyone finally calms down once Carlisle determines my ribs are intact – possibly bruised, but not broken. It's then that they notice Bella disappeared during the commotion.

"I told her the truth," I mutter.

Three pairs of anxious hands shoot out to assist me when I start to push myself up from the bed. I take my father's hand and allow him to pull me to my feet. With one arm still wrapped around my aching chest, I stagger to the door.

"Everything's going to be - "

"Please don't," I interrupt, cutting my mother off before her encouraging words can break me. My voice is harsher than I intend. Ashamed, I keep my back turned on my family and hang my head. "I'm sorry. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I – I just want to be alone right now." I don't give them a chance to respond, and I stumble to my room in a daze.

Gently, I lower myself onto my bed and lie flat on my back, staring blindly at the ceiling. Some amount of time passes before there's a soft knock on my door.

"Edward," Carlisle says gently through the door. "I put some pain medication in your bathroom if you feel like you need it."

He thinks I'm in pain?

This isn't pain. I should know. I experienced more than my share of it when I woke up in the hospital, bruised and broken. But this - this is so much worse. This is something beyond pain. It's more intense than any hurt I've ever known. I feel like my body might start to convulse from it at any moment. No, this isn't pain, this is – this is… I don't even know. There are no words.

I don't hear Carlisle move away from the door, and I don't leave my bed to investigate the pills he left behind, or turn off the lights, or even try to sleep. I wish I could resign myself to being numb, just fucking numb, but every fiber of by being is in turmoil.

For several minutes – or hours possibly – I try to wrap my mind around what happened tonight. I always feared she would leave me when she learned the truth, but actually living through it - seeing my worst nightmare become reality – is something I couldn't have prepared myself for.

What the hell do I do now?

How do I live without my reason for existing?

Was this how she felt when I left her?

I squeeze my eyes shut against the searing agony that rips through me at that thought. If she felt one ounce of the anguish that is crushing down on me right now, then I deserve to spend the rest of my life living in this nightmare.

As I continue to stare at the ceiling, I keep my arm firmly wrapped around my chest. My hand clenches and unclenches my shirt, as if to distract me from my desperation and make me focus on something tangible. But even the insignificant throbbing in my side isn't enough to divert my attention from this torture. I allow it to twist and pierce at my heart, so much so that it seems to distort my vision. The light slowly fades from brilliant white…

To a soft yellow…

A dull gray.

Was the light fading, or was my room filling with smoke?

I lift my arm from my chest, watching the hazy cloud roll and sway around my moving hand. Wistful, cartoon-like spirals loop and curl between my open fingers.

Cold.

Fog.

Waving my hand forcefully, I clear the thickening air to reveal the lights of the city, twinkling like diamonds in the distance. They reach so high I can't tell where the buildings end and the black, cloudless sky begins.

"What do you think?" my voice echoes. The sound vibrates from all around me, yet I don't feel my lips moving.

She lifts her face. Her warm brown eyes, the only hint of color against the black, search mine. She smiles, happy and content, and then her eyes glance down to her open palm. A thousand silver starfish filter through her open fingers, tinkling like wind chimes as they bounce and scatter across the balcony floor.

Mesmerized, I watch as she tilts her hand. The metal charms pour like liquid, only to collect in a solid mass around our feet. When only one remains, a blinding point of light in the center of her palm, she offers it to me.

My eyes snap up, ready to protest that she should keep it, only to see Carlisle wrap his arm around Esme's shoulders and kiss her head gently. They both look to me, their eyes shining with unconditional love.

From the distance, a soft whisper, "My Edward."

My eyes fly open as I gasp. I blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the bright sunlight that now floods my room. Once I can see, I cautiously push myself to sit up, testing for any soreness in my ribs. When I find none, I look at the clock on my nightstand.

Shit, it's after one.

Footsteps echo in the hallway from the direction of her room. Their heaviness tells me they aren't hers, but I still lug myself out of bed to investigate.

As my feet drag down the hall, I rub my eyes with the heel of my hands, trying to clear the odd dream from my mind. When I reach her room, I push my hands deep in my pockets as I lean against the open door, watching Jacob gently fold a t-shirt and place it in her suitcase.

"Is she staying with you?"

He doesn't turn around as he lifts another article of clothing from the chaos strewn across the bed. "No. She did come over last night, but when she found out I knew about all this, she left."

"Do you know where she went?"

"She spent the night at Rosalie's."

That makes me feel a little better. At least there's still a connection – me to Emmett, Emmett to Rose, Rose to Bella.

"I've been over there all morning," Jake adds.

"Is she OK?"

He hesitates, taking a deep breath before glancing over his shoulder to look at me. "No," he says sadly.

"Has she…" I don't know how to form the question. It seems like a strange thing to be asking. Thankfully, Jacob seems to be on the same page.

"No. She hasn't eaten anything all day."

Jacob adds another shirt to a stack of folded clothes on the bed, and then places the pile into the suitcase. He pauses, takes another deep breath, and turns to face me.

"She's going home," he announces.

"Home?" I repeat, narrowing my eyes at him. This is her home.

"Phoenix. She's leaving right after the performance Friday night. It sounds like she's staying with Rosalie for the rest of this week, and then she's going home for Christmas break."

Jacob walks to her dresser, opens another drawer, and scoops out it's entire contents in one armload.

He's taking way more than she'll need for a two-week visit.

My eyes dart around the room. The pictures on top of her dresser are gone, her desk is clear of the usual clutter of papers and books, even the bulletin board contains several vacant spots - postcards from her mother, photos, ticket stubs - all gone.

My posture becomes rigid. "Is she coming back here?" I ask, panic making the words rush out.

"I honestly don't know. I think she just needs some time." Jacob places the last of her clothes in the suitcase, slides the zipper effortlessly around the rim, and then lifts the bag from the bed. He surveys the room, making sure there isn't anything he missed. "I guess that's it."

He walks to the door, pausing only to raise the handle on an identical suitcase I hadn't noticed. I move out of his way as he maneuvers the two bags through the door and down the dark hallway.

Jake stops at the top of the stairs and turns around to face me. "I'm sorry about how all this turned out. I really thought when she found out you still loved her that she would be thrilled. That's all she ever wanted." He sighs heavily and looks down at the floor. "Just give her some time. She'll come back. I know she will." He lifts the two suitcases and carefully descends the stairs.

Once again, I'm alone. Only now, there's nothing left. No sign of her life here. She has taken everything – like she never existed in this place – leaving no reason for her to return.

~o0o~

The next day, I force myself to go to school. The student body is buzzing with excitement over the upcoming Christmas holiday. There's only three days of classes scheduled this week, and all three are early dismissal. This proves to be a blessing and a curse. I'm grateful that I don't have to endure countless hours with my overly energized classmates. Unfortunately, during the afternoons, there is nothing to distract me from my desolate thoughts.

Wednesday afternoon, when the final bell rings, I'm not surprised to find Jazz in the school parking lot, perched on the hood of my car.

"Alice's school gets out early today too. I'm headed over there to pick her up, then we're gonna go eat. Wanna come?"

In the distance, thunder rumbles from the heavy, low-hanging clouds.

"Thanks, but I think I'm going to head home before this hits. Tell her I said 'hey'."

"Yeah, OK." Jazz hops down from the hood. "You sure you don't wanna come? Might do you some good to get out, take your mind off things."

I shake my head, fighting back the emptiness I've been successfully repressing all morning, and blatantly change the subject. "Is your dad still coming on Friday?"

"Yeah. Oh, I never thanked you for helping me get the living room finished last week. I finally got around to re-hanging all the pictures last night. Mom's pretty ecstatic about how it looks now that it's done. "

"Sorry I left you hanging there for a few days."

"It's OK. You had a lot going on."

I wish he would stop reminding me. "Yeah, so I'm gonna take off."

"You sure you won't come to lunch? I know Alice would love to see you."

During the three weeks I lived at Jazz's house, I'd inevitably spent time with Alice. It was unavoidable since she was practically glued to Jazz's hip. We formed an easy friendship. I often compared it to the relationship Emmett has with Bella – a kind of brother, sister connection. I appreciated that she never pushed me to talk about Bella or what was going on at home, though I'm sure Jazz had filled her in.

"Thanks, but I'm gonna go home and crash. I – I didn't sleep too good last night."

"All right," he says reluctantly, taking a few steps back. The wind whips up, scattering dead leaves across the concrete. Jazz has to shout over the scratching sound and another ominous rumble of thunder. "I'll let you off for today, but I'm calling you tomorrow. No excuses!"

I nod and duck into my car as he makes a run for his Jeep.

The drive home only takes a few minutes since there's barely any traffic this time of day. With both my parents at work, and Emmett inevitably at the gym, I have the entire house to myself. I scrounge around the kitchen for something to eat, but nothing appeals to me. Just as I'm about to give up and retreat to my room, the front door swings open.

"Ah, just the one I was looking for," Carlisle proclaims as he walks in, shaking his rain-drenched hair. He fiddles with his keys, trying to free them from the lock with one hand. In his other he clutches a large, brown, paper bag to his chest. He isn't dressed in the usual slacks and tie he normally wears to work. His casual wool sweater and light khaki pants are typically reserved for weekends.

"I brought us lunch," he announces triumphantly, holding up the bag and awkwardly kicking the door closed with his foot.

"Phew, I'm glad you're not out in that. It's really starting to come down." As he walks past me, the savory aroma drifts from the bag, causing my mouth to water.

Carlisle drops the bag on the kitchen table and turns to point a finger at me. His expression is serious, except for the sarcastic smirk he can't seem to hide. "Yes, it's fried. Don't tell your mother."

I can't help but chuckle at his lighthearted, childish demeanor. This is a side of my father I don't really know - but I'm starting to.

Over the last week and a half, my relationship with Carlisle has changed dramatically. The night Esme returned from New York and discovered us in the middle of our reunion, we stayed up until four in the morning talking about everything that happened over the last few years. There were more declarations of guilt and more uncovered regrets. More apologies and more tears – from all of us. The night was full of heavy conversation, heavy confessions, and heavy emotions.

We talked about my disobedience in the past, the accident, and my probation. My parents had a lot of questions about the drugs I took, and I answered them honestly. This lead to an open discussion about the rules I'm expected to follow and why. We even worked together to establish a set of punishments should I break them. By the end of the night, I had a clear understanding of what was expected of me.

Naturally, we discussed the factors contributing to my defiant behavior, and Carlisle candidly expressed concerns that witnessing my parents death weighs more heavily on me than I realize. He urged - more like encouraged - me to return to counseling. I didn't agree right away, only promising that I would think about it.

When the conversation turned to my biological parents, Carlisle confessed he had salvaged quite a few artifacts from their home: pictures, letters, my mother's jewelry, and other such keepsakes. I thanked him for that, but I wasn't ready to see any of it - even after all these years. When that realization hit, it only supported Carlisle's assessment that maybe I had been repressing my feelings about my parents more than I knew.

By the end of the night, I was emotionally and physically exhausted. I felt lighter and weighed down all at the same time. It was a lot to absorb and a lot to process.

Over the next week, Carlisle and I spent more time together. It was like he was trying to get to know me all over again. I didn't mind – I was doing the same to him.

Our conversations focused mostly on Bella and how she was progressing. I could see she was getting stronger every day, but I still had endless questions about her treatment and the long term plans for her recovery. Carlisle invited me to use the medical reference materials in his office, helping me sort through old textbooks and scientific journals, but that only fueled my need for more information. When my questions went above Carlisle's knowledge and resources on the subject, he arranged for us to meet with Dr. Weber.

I wasn't allowed to ask specific questions in relation to Bella's health or treatment plan, but Dr. Weber was able to give me a general idea of how he manages patients with similar conditions. I wanted to know why this happens. I wanted to know what I could do to help her – or what I shouldn't do. But, overall, I think I was seeking confirmation that she would be OK. I still hadn't gotten a definitive answer on that yet.

Dr. Weber did provide me with some small measure of comfort. "Look," he said, after I criticized myself for the thousandth time about missing obvious warning signs. "You can second guess every decision that has lead to this point, but the fact remains that this was going to catch up with her sooner or later. From what little I know about her life before she moved here, it seems to me that Bella was basically on her own. Just imagine if this triggered when she didn't have a support structure in place? If she didn't have access to the kind of treatment your father can provide here? If she wasn't surrounded by friends, like you, that obviously care for her? Where do you think she would be?"

"Can you grab us some forks?" Carlisle asks, snapping me out of my thoughts. "You like kung pao chicken right? I was trying to remember what you ordered last time we got takeout from this place. If not, I have shrimp chow mein and sweet and sour pork."

"Kung pao is great." I clamber around the kitchen for plates and utensils, then grab two cans of soda from the fridge before joining him at the table. He spreads the open containers out between us and scoops a serving from each onto his plate. I help myself to some of everything as well, and we eat in silence for a few minutes.

"So," he begins, taking a sip of his soda. "I've been over at the Hales' again all morning."

I nod solemnly. "How is she?"

"Better. She's been spending quite a bit of time with Mrs. Hale the last few days."

Rose's mom?

Carlisle notices my confused expression. "Mrs. Hale, Lillian, battled with bulimia when she was in college. She has never spoken openly about her condition, so please keep that information to yourself."

"Yeah. Of course," I mumble around a mouth full of fried rice.

"When Bella showed up at their house Friday night, Lillian took one look at her and knew instantly what was going on."

He cuts me off before I can correct him. "Not that Bella is bulimic," he amends in a placating tone, "just that Lillian understands what she's going through."

I nod and allow him to continue.

"Rosalie didn't know about her mother's battle with the disease either, so the three of them have been spending a lot of time together, talking about it. That's why Rosalie hasn't been in school the last two days."

"Oh." I hadn't noticed.

"They took Bella to some spa yesterday. Your mother went too. They called it…," Carlisle thinks for a second, waving his fork in the air, "a 'Mother-Daughter Date'. It sounds like they had a good time. She cut her hair. It looks nice." He shovels another bite of noodles into his mouth.

"Bella did?" I ask surprised.

Carlisle nods.

"Like… short?"

He shakes his head as he chews. "No. Not really. It's still long, but you can tell. And she did something different to the front." Carlisle makes a gesture with his hands, the movement resembling steps or chopping or something. I have no idea what he's trying to show me. "It looks good. I don't know what it is about women and getting their hair done, but they were all in much better spirits today."

I stare at my plate. I should be glad to hear Bella's having a good day, but it only serves as a reminder of how unhappy she was when she left.

Carlisle sighs, obviously taking in my sulky expression, and his lighthearted tone dissipates. "I know how hard these last few days have been for you. I know you're worried about her. That's why I'm telling you all this. I want to make sure you know she's OK, and this time away has been good for her. She has the opportunity to talk to someone who has lived through it, and Lillian knows the appropriate foods she should be eating as she progresses through these first few weeks. They are taking very good care of her over there." He reaches over and pats my arm reassuringly.

Over there? I don't want her to be over there. I want her here. Home - where she belongs - with me.

I sigh. Could I be more selfish?

"So she's eating OK?" I ask, trying to focus on something more important than my longing to simply be near her again.

"Yes, of course. She's gained about nine pounds total. She looks much healthier, though I did call Charlie and prepare him. She is quite altered from the last time he saw her."

I poke at the remaining bits of food on my plate, refusing to look up. "She's still going to Phoenix," I mumble, unable to hide my disappointment. I'd been blindly holding onto the hope that she would change her mind.

"Yes," he confirms. "She's leaving Friday night after the performance. Your mother and I are driving her to the airport."

"And when she comes back, does she – where is she going to live? Do you think she'll come back to stay with us?"

Carlisle sets his fork down gently on his plate, then folds his arms and leans on the table. His cautious expression makes me nervous. "Bella has only purchased a one-way ticket."

My mouth falls open as the air is sucked out of my lungs. "Wh - what? No. Jake said she's only going for Christmas break. She has school. She has that apprenticeship."

"Yes, but remember she has all the requirements to graduate already. Her undergrad curriculum doesn't start until the fall. She doesn't haveto return for the spring semester. She can if she wants to, but she can also choose to take a medical leave of absence and stay in Phoenix until next August."

A sudden coldness twists in my chest as I continue to stare at my father in shock. As much as I didn't want to admit it to myself, I knew it was unlikely she would return to live with us. I never dreamed she wouldn't return at all.

"That's why I went to visit her this morning," he continues. "She needed a copy of her chart from Dr. Weber's office. He also sent her a list of specialists he recommends in the Phoenix area, and he extended the refills on her prescriptions. We're covering all our bases to ensure, if she decides to stay in Arizona, she has all the tools she needs to continue her recovery. You don't need to worry about that."

Carlisle reaches toward my arm again, but I jerk it away before he can touch me. He retracts his hand and takes a deep breath. He pushes his empty plate to the side and intertwines his fingers in front of him.

"In addition to the particulars of her medical care, there were some… things I thought she should know before she makes that decision."

Carlisle takes another deep breath and stares at his hands as he speaks. "Bella and I had a long talk. I know you already explained to her how I confronted you about your relationship, but I wanted to make sure she clearly understood the circumstances surrounding what happened. I told her about my rash assumption that you were only with her to infuriate me, and that I refused to allow it to continue. I needed to make sure she understood that, at the time, I thought I was protecting her – not only her career, but protecting her heart as well. Of course, I couldn't have been more wrong, on all accounts, and I told her as much. And I made sure she knew how sorry I was for all of it."

I remember how angry Bella was when I told her Carlisle had initiated the end of our relationship.

"What - what did she say?" I ask nervously, wondering if she went off on him like she did me.

"Well, she was a little reserved at first, but she listened to everything I had to say. I hope you don't mind, but we talked a lot about us," he gestures in the space between us, "about the falling out of our relationship. I told her practically everything I told you - how she made you whole again - and I thanked her for that, and for giving my son back to me."

Carlisle looks up, determination evident in his eyes. "I also wanted to make sure she understands what she means to you. She needs to know what you've done for her, how you've been fighting for her - with her - every step of the way. She needs to know she's not alone in this, that she's not the only one with a broken heart."

He reaches for my arm again, and this time I allow him to wrap his fingers around my wrist.

"She asked that I give you this."

Carlisle releases his grip on my arm as he leans back in his chair, shoving his hand deep into his pocket. He produces a small, blue square, a note, folded and refolded so many times the creases now expose the raw fibers of the paper. No, not paper - cardstock. I realize what I'm holding before I reveal the inscription.

The symbol of the starfish.

The starfish is thought to represent safe travel over troubled waters and is also seen as an emblem of salvation during trying times.

A sense of calm washes over me, and for the first time in weeks, I feel the tiniest glimmer of hope.

~o0o~

No one mentions Bella to me again until Friday, the day of her Christmas performance. Emmett corners me in the kitchen, his arm folded tightly across his burly chest, clearly annoyed when he discovers I don't plan on attending.

"Because I'm not sure she would want me there," I confess.

"She won't know if you're there or not. It's going to be packed. You don't have to go backstage or even see her afterward, but you should still come. It would give you a chance to see her again before she leaves."

I lie and say I'll think about it simply to get him to drop the subject, but the seed is already planted. He's right; it could be my last chance – my only chance – to see her.

When the velvet curtains open for the second act, I'm grateful I changed my mind.

Hiding in the shadows, my back pressed against the far wall of the theater, I'm swept up in the dreamy music and the colorful fantasy-land that has come to life on stage. When Bella finally makes her way onto the stage, I relish every graceful movement, every flowing step, every moment my eyes can drink her in.

The sheer passion in her performance almost overwhelms me. She is absolutely breathtaking. There aren't any words to describe her beauty on that stage. She effortlessly captures the hearts of everyone in the audience.

As soon as she leaves the stage, I slip out the door and make my way toward the backstage entrance. Two young girls, decked out in heavy makeup and elaborate costumes, loiter outside the door. I approach them and flash my kindest, most dazzling smile before asking if they know Isabella Swan.

"Bella? Yeah. Of course," the tall girl answers eagerly.

I hand her a small bouquet of red primroses wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. "Would you mind bringing these to her backstage?"

She takes the flowers from me, lifting them to her face and inhaling their light, innocent scent. "Sure. No problem. Should I say who they're from?"

I consider that for a moment, and then shake my head. She smiles and disappears behind the door.

I ask her friend to thank her for the errand and leave the theater before she can return.

~o0o~

By Christmas day the house is bursting with people. Aunt Tanya, Esme's younger sister, and Uncle Felix arrive the day before with their five-year-old daughter. I try to hide my bitterness when they take up residence in Bella's room, or what was Bella's room. It's a childish reaction, but I didn't want anyone but Bella to use it.

More visitors trickle in through the day, expanding our family of seven to eight, and then ten. Rose is here, naturally, and Jasper and Alice stop by to wish everyone a happy holiday. When the doorbell chimes again, we all glance around quizzically, trying to figure out who could possibly be missing. Everyone we know is already here.

Almost everyone.

Emmett pulls the door open wide, and everyone cheerfully greets Jacob and Sam as they walk in.

"We brought the fruit cake!" Jacob announces in a mocking tone. He holds up an object that resembles a brick more than actual food. Everyone groans in unison, then erupts in laughter.

Almost everyone.

It's a good day, a happy day. The house teems with joy and laughter and all the trappings of a holiday surrounded by family and friends. I try to smile and absorb the cheerful emotions from those around me, but they fail to even scratch the surface. Inside, my heart is aching for the only person I truly want to see. As the night wears on, the facade becomes harder and harder to uphold. Finally, after the last guest says their goodbyes, I retreat to the shelter of my room.

I throw on my jacket and walk onto the balcony. The crisp, cold air is filled with the smell of smoke from the fires burning inside the houses around me. I brush the decaying leaves from what was once our chair and slump down onto the icy cushions. It feels like a hundred years – another lifetime – since Bella and I last occupied this exact spot.

For a brief moment, I allow myself to remember the times we spent out here. The scenes flash through my mind like a montage in a movie: the first time I saw her dance from the balcony windows, when she broke down and cried after I had been avoiding her, the night I rocked her to sleep in my arms, the candles…

I close my eyes, feeling the absence of her more in this moment than ever before. I take several deep breaths, letting the cold air burn my lungs and distract me from my inconsolable thoughts. It doesn't work, and I lug myself off the chair and walk to the railing.

I stare at the lights of the city as they twinkle against the jet-black backdrop. The full moon, bright in the night sky, refuses to hide behind the thin clouds. Though its cliché, I draw some reassurance that it's the same moon Bella would see if she were looking up at this exact moment.

"Merry Christmas, Bella," I whisper to the darkness.

I lean against the balcony railing until the cold air seeps through my jacket, and I start to shiver.

The warmth of my room brings little comfort. What used to be a safe haven is now only an empty space - a harsh reminder that she isn't here.

Dropping my jacket on the floor, I collapse on my bed. I'm not tired, yet I roll on my back and throw my arm over my eyes, praying that sleep will find me anyway. It seems to be the only way I can find relief – escape – from the nightmare of this reality.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, startling me out of my sulking. I fish it out and stare the caller ID as it continues to buzz in my hand. I don't recognize the number, but something convinces me to answer it anyway.

"Hello?"

I'm greeted with nothing but silence from the other end.

"Hello?" I repeat, my annoyance seeping into my tone.

Again there is no response. I lift the phone from my ear, checking that the call is connected. Seriously, kids still do these lame pranks?

Then it hits me. Slowly, I return the phone to my ear.

"Bella?"

I sit up quickly, raking my free hand through my hair.

"Bella?"

I know it's her. It has to be.

"Bella, please - please talk to me."

I know she's there, listening, but with every passing second it becomes clear that she isn't going to answer.

"I miss you," I whisper into the silence. "God, I miss you so much." I wait, taking note of any possible sound, but hear nothing.

"It just – it gets harder every day. I – I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be without you."

Another long moment of silence passes. I can't even hear her breathing.

"Please," I whisper, covering my eyes with my hand, forcing back my anguish before I completely lose it.

Several long minutes pass, and her silence continues to torture me. I sit up again, rubbing my burning eyes with the back of my hand as I clear my throat.

"Aunt Tanya is here… and my Uncle Felix," I blurt out, desperate for any distraction. "You know, Esme's sister from Port Angeles. They drove in yesterday, and they'll probably go home in the morning. I'm sorry you won't get to meet them."

I relax minutely. This is… good. Talking to her like this… like she's here… like we used to…

"They have a little girl. Her name is Jane, and she just turned five last month. She's pretty cute. Last time I saw her she was still a little baby, but now… well, she's like this little person now. I swear she doesn't sit still. She's got Emmett totally trained. He's pretty good with kids, ya know? Santa brought her a tea set, and she setup this elaborate party with all her dolls and Emmett. She even got him to wear this huge pink hat and some of Esme's pearls."

I smile to myself as the image of Emmett dressed in drag floats through my mind. What I wouldn't give to hear her quiet laughter put an end to this silence, but there's nothing.

"Jane got so many toys this morning. It looked like a wrapping paper bomb had gone off in the living room. Esme gave her one of those, ah... those fancy skirts that you ballet dancers wear … um, they're big and fluffy… shoot, what are they called…"

"A tutu," she says softly.

I freeze at the sound of her voice but compose myself quickly. "Um, right – right a tutu. It was bright pink, and she wore it over her Christmas dress all day. I hope you don't mind, but we brought her upstairs and let her take a test drive in your studio."

I pause, hoping she will tell me it's OK that Jane danced in her studio, but once again I'm met with deafening silence.

"She's so tiny she can only reach the bottom rung of the bar. I don't think she cared though. All she wanted to do was dance around in front of the mirror. We put on some music, and I don't think she stopped dancing for an hour. Mom showed her a picture of you, the one on the cover of that dance magazine from last year. She told her that a real ballerina lives here with us. Jane wanted to meet you, of course, but we told her you had gone to visit your dad for Christmas. We promised to bring her to a performance when you come back."

I'm despicable. I'm trying to guilt my girlfriend to come back to me by dangling a starry-eyed five year old in front of her.

I rub my face roughly with my hand as I try not to groan out loud.

"Jacob came by today. He brought Sam. I'd never met him. He seems like a nice guy. They ended up staying for dinner. Jazz and Alice stopped by too, and Rose was here, of course. They all wanted to know how you were doing and when you're coming home."

I hesitate again, praying she will give me something – anything – any indication she is coming back at all.

Nothing.

I sigh. "OK. OK. I get it. I'm sorry." I run my fingers through my hair in frustration. I don't know what else to say. I don't know what she wants, why she isn't speaking. Is she waiting for me to apologize again? Does she want me to beg her to come home?

"Merry Christmas, Edward."

Everything goes perfectly still, and for a brief second I wonder if I didn't just imagine hearing her out of my desperation. I take a deep breath, and an infectious smile spreads across my lips.

"Merry Christmas, Bella."

Abruptly, the line goes dead.

She's gone - again.

~o0o~

The next morning, Emmett and I help load all of Jane's Christmas gifts into my aunt's minivan. There are hugs and handshakes all around, and we watch as they slowly back out of the driveway and disappear down the street.

Carlisle wraps his arm around Esme, and Emmett and I follow behind them, making our way back into the house. As we approach the front porch, Emmett grabs my arm and holds me back, indicating he wants to talk to me alone. He launches into me the second the front door closes.

"You talked to her, didn't you?"

I flinch, startled by his accurate statement. "What – how did you know?"

"Well, for starters, you haven't been able to wipe that damn smirk off your face all morning."

I feel myself smile again.

"See!" Emmett points a husky finger at my face. "That right there."

"Stop it, man, you're making me blush," I tease, playfully slapping his hand away.

"So what did she say? How's she doing? When is she coming back?"

"I don't know," I admit.

Emmett frowns and tilts his head to the side. "Wait, I thought you said you talked to her?"

"Kind of."

"Kind of? Either you talked to her or you didn't. Which is it?"

I rub the back of my neck with one hand. "I talked. She listened."

"Oh." Emmett contemplates my statement for a moment.

"Look, she called last night, and at first I thought it was a prank because there was no one there. But then I just got this feeling that it was her and - and I just started rambling."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing important. I told her about yesterday, about Christmas, and Jane and all her presents. I told her how much everyone misses her. How much I miss her…" I trail off.

"And she just didn't say anything?"

I shrug. "Right before she hung up she wished me a Merry Christmas."

Emmett's face brakes into a wide grin. "Well, that's something." He nudges me with his elbow.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Think she'll call you again?"

"I hope so."

God, I hope so.

~o0o~

It's well after ten - eleven in Phoenix - and I'm nervously pacing around my room, tapping my phone against my leg.

Why is it so fucking hot in here?

I reach behind my head and grip my sweater from between my shoulder blades, yanking it off in one swift motion. My jeans are the next to go, joining the pile of discarded clothes at the foot of my bed. I dig through my dresser drawer until I find a pair of thin, blue scrub pants – hospital contraband, complements of Dr. Carlisle Cullen – and tug them on. Just as I'm pulling the drawstring tight around my hips, a muffled buzzing sound starts up.

I bolt to my bed, tossing my sweater and jeans to the floor as I frantically dig for my phone.

Fuck! Where is it?

It buzzes next to me, and I pounce, uncovering it from a fold in the blanket. I check the caller ID – it's the same unknown number as last night. The call barely has time to connect before the phone is at my ear.

"Bella?"

And just like the night before, I get no response. My frantic mood is quickly replaced with unease and doubt. I lower myself to sit on the floor next to the bed, crossing my legs and holding my head in one hand.

"Please, Bella. Don't do this. Talk to me."

Nothing.

I thread my hand through my hair. "Bella, I can't keep - "

"Tell me more about Jane," she says softly.

"What?"

"Tell me more about Jane," she repeats.

"Why?"

"Please?"

I let out a breath and rack my brain for anything I can think of. "Ah, well, she's got this curly, blonde hair that bounces when she walks. But she never walks, she runs everywhere she goes. I've never seen more energy. And she was so excited about Christmas. I wish you could have seen her face light up when she realized Santa had come and left her all those presents."

I wait, hoping she will speak, but after a moment of silence, I realize she isn't going to. I still don't understand what she wants, what she's doing with these cryptic phone calls.

Maybe my evil plan of dangling an adorable five year in front of her worked after all.

"On Christmas Eve, Jane, Aunt Tanya and Esme baked cookies to leave out for Santa. Jane caught Emmett sneaking cookies off the tray and she put him in time-out. She said it was because he didn't ask his mom if he could eat one first. He did it too. He stood in the corner for a full five minutes before Jane told him he could get up. He said he was trying to set a good example."

I chuckle as I remember the sight of Emmett with his nose pressed against the wall.

Her delicate voice breaks through my memory. "Edward?"

"Yeah?" I respond cautiously.

"Thank you for the flowers."

My entire body relaxes. I lean back, resting my head against the side of the mattress and close my eyes, savoring the moment. "You're welcome. You were beautiful."

We are both quiet this time, but something about this silence feels monumentally different.

"Do you know what they symbolize," I ask. "A red primrose, I mean?"

"Yes." She hesitates just long enough for me to wonder if she's going to elaborate. "Jake told me they symbolize everlasting love."

"That's right." I'm dying to know what she's thinking, but I don't want to push her.

"Edward, I…"

I hold my breath and steel myself for what she is about to say. If it's so hard for her get out, it can't be good.

"I miss you," she whispers.

If I hadn't been sitting down, I'm sure my legs would have given out. I close my eyes, struggling to find the right words, as relief floods over me.

"I miss you, too. So much."

"Good night, Edward."

"Good night, Bella."

Author's Note:

I'm going to try my best to keep up with posting every week, but this story has veered off from my original draft. I'm adding new/big scenes to almost every chapter ~ E/B have their own ideas as to how this should go ~ and I think it's more important to get the story right rather than rush to get a new chapter posted. Just bare with me if I can't keep up with the once-a-week schedule, and know I'm going to give you a completed story. :)

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