Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Twilight characters or the rights to "Between the Lines" as performed by Sara Bareilles, and I will not be earning income from using these materials. I do, however, own the storyline and any original characters. Thank you.

A/N: Hello all. I want to keep this quick, but first I'd like to give an especially huge shout out to my ever awesome Beta-mom, clarabella75, who beta'd this and got it back to me even in the midst of a sick child. You are awesome babe. Thank you. :hugs: Also, to my ficwife, Puppymama0909, thank you for always being here to support and lift me up. Love you much babes. To all of my readers and reviewers, silent or otherwise, thank you for the time you've spent with me. This story is a special piece of my heart, and it's always amazing to hear that you love it or are caught up in it as much as I am. To all of my FFA ladies and gents, thank you ever so much for your awesomeness. You all rock. :)

Now, on to the fun stuff ... hope you enjoy.

Chapter Eleven:
Confessions, Part One:
Honest Mistake

Time to tell me the truth
To burden your mouth for what you say
No pieces of paper in the way
Cause I can't continue
Pretending to choose …

"Between the Lines" – Sara Bareilles

x0x0x0x

I slid through the front door, icy bites of October air snapping at my heels while a whirlwind of fluttering leaves fought to escape from the treacherous outdoors with me. I stopped for only a moment, to brush nature back out where it belonged, before slamming the door shut behind me.

Clinched muscles released into a weary breath; my shoulders slumped and the barely used, fur-lined trench coat from my trips to visit the McCartys shifted open. Warmth curled around my frostbitten toes, winding up my legs and around my torso in welcome pinpricks of heat.

Dropping my purse on the couch, I inhaled deeply and halted in my tracks.

What the hell?

My heels slipped off and into the corner of the landing as I shifted towards the kitchen, sniffing again. The package inside my coat crinkled at the motion, burning against my side.

My initial plan had been a hasty retreat to my room, but the aromatic scents wafting through the pleasantly heated apartment had diverted me from my path. Not to mention the missing presence of Emmett McCarty, which was becoming more and more usual as the days shuffled by.

I clutched at the hidden manila envelope with the top of my arm, padding towards the kitchen and sniffing hesitantly along the way. The spicy sweet bouquet intensified the closer I drew to the open doorway. It all smelled suspiciously like …

Oriental pasta and puffed pastries.

My jaw nearly dropped at the wok sizzling on the stove, a myriad of vegetables swimming with noodles in a sweet, brown sauce. Beside it, rice rolled at an even boil while the oven baked at a steady 400 degrees. A fresh pan of chocolate turnovers sat cooling on the island, a bowl of chocolate chips ready to be melted and drizzled sitting unconsciously beside them.

The pixie was cooking. Something was up.

I snuck silently through the doorway, pulling an edge of flaky crust away and popping it into my mouth before my roommate noticed. Her indignant squeak followed close behind as she slapped at my hand. I grinned as nonchalantly as possible.

"Okay, Alice, what do you want?"

"Me?" her eyes lighted on innocence. I knew better. "What, I can't cook my best friend her favorite meal, just because?"

"No," I squeezed my arm to my side a little more tightly. The faintest feathering of butterfly wings stirred in my stomach. The intense desire to throw the envelope's contents all over the kitchen table grasped me for a moment, but intense fear held me back.

Alice pouted a bit and turned back to the stove. I peeked over her shoulder, working not to run straight up the stairs and rip into the envelope, and sniffed a bit more.

"Alice … are those … drunken noodles?" A quick grin stole across her spritely face. "I didn't even know you knew how to make those."

"Sticky rice, too," she nodded towards the boiling pot on the other side.

"Well, Miss Rachel Ray, Jr, it all smells delicious." I grabbed another piece of the same turnover I had snacked off of before. Alice shot me a dirty look.

"Good."

"So, really," I chewed slowly, watching her. "What do you want?"

Alice turned from the oven, hands on her hips.

"I just wanted to have a nice, home cooked meal with my best friend," she pouted, her small lip puckering out. "Is that so wrong?"

I raised my eyebrow. I loved Alice. I also knew her just as well as she knew me. She was a fantastic chef, but there was no way in hell she would simply cook for the fun of it. Her eyes shifted at my look and she turned back to the stove.

"Well, I was kind of hoping … that Jasper could stay the night tonight." She raced through the words at true Alice speed, my ears struggling to follow.

"What?"

She whipped back around to face me, grasping my wrists in her tiny hands.

"I invited him over after he gets off work tonight, and I was really hoping he could stay the night, but I know it's against the roommate code, and I don't want to piss you off or have you pissed off at me and –"

"Whoa, Alice, take a breath, seriously. Look, it's fine. I'm completely cool with Jasper staying the night." I ripped off another piece of turnover. "All you had to do was ask."

"Really?"

I couldn't help my smile at her stunned expression.

"Yes, really."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" Alice threw her arms around my waist, squeezing me tightly before whirling back to her meal. I finally picked up the entire turnover, un-iced, and pulled off another bite.

"So, where's Emmett? I feel like he came to visit someone else, as much as he's been gone." It had been almost two weeks since Emmett's less-than-expected arrival, and I had only seen him a total of three days.

"I know! It's great, right?" Alice flipped the heat down on the stove. "I thought he was going to be all underfoot, annoying the shit out of everything that walked like some crack happy, barely housebroken puppy, but instead, he's barely been here!"

I snorted a bit and swung open the fridge, grabbing a diet coke. "Yeah, I've noticed." The coke fizzed as it popped open. "Where is he this time?"

Alice shrugged daintily as she pulled the rice off of the burner and replaced it with a double boiler to melt the chocolate chips.

"I don't know, out with some friend?"

"Alice, he's been here for two weeks. 'Friend' is a little vague." I sipped at my coke. Come to think of it, he hadn't mentioned where he'd been off to at all. "Has he said anything to you at all about where he's been going?"

"Not much, just something about some guy he met on the flight out here." Instantly, the turnover fell to dust in my mouth. Alice continued, unfazed. "You know, I think it's really good for him to get out of the house though. He obviously seems to be really great at making friends, and you shouldn't worry about him so much, Bella." The chocolate began to melt.

My stomach rolled.

"I'm only worried about him making the right friends," I mumbled, tossing the rest of the turnover onto the counter. "I'm gonna go change into something comfy." My feet shuffled ungracefully across the tile floor.

"Dinner'll be ready in ten!" Alice called behind me.

Gathering my heels and purse from the living room, I tramped up the stairs to my bedroom. The black trench immediately slipped from my shoulders, the manila envelope hitting the hardwood floor. My gaze wondered absently over its pale yellow surface.

I was jumping to conclusions again. I had to be. Alice had said it was a "guy" Em had met on the plane … but would he lie? To me? About Rosalie?

I could barely admit it to myself, but my answer was a soberly resounding 'yes.'

I slumped onto my bed, head in my hands, my fingers anxiously playing with the roots of my hair. I had so much other shit to deal with. Didn't Emmett understand I didn't need more?

No. Of course he didn't. Because I had still been too chicken shit to confront him or anyone else, for that matter … which brought me directly to my second point of contention.

The envelope.

Shifting, I reached down and grasped at the edge. It slid along my fingers, cool and unrepentant. The contents shuffled. I tossed it on the bed beside me, standing and stalking over to my closet to change into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

Murphy was laughing his ass off at me.

I sank heavily onto the mattress. The envelope slid into my thigh. I stared at it dejectedly – again. I knew what was in it. There was no way I couldn't know.

Knuckles cracked against my office door, throwing it open.

"Hey, Bella?" Joelle's voice chimed. I didn't turn around, just waved her in. A thick, short manila envelope hit the desk beside me, knocking the mouse out of my hand. I glanced at the offending object and then up at Joelle, raising an eyebrow.

"Sorry," she smiled apologetically. "Hugo asked me to run these over to you before heading out. Since the office is going to be closed till Monday and everything, he wanted you to get these back to him by then."

"Have a good weekend," I called, nodding absently, and turned back to the layout slowly transforming under my mouse clicks.

"You, too. Oh, and hey, I guess I should mention the boss wants your picks – you know, the ones that are gonna make it into the spread, which means you're gonna have to get together with the band this weekend. Their contact info should be in the company logs, okay? Have a good holiday, Bells!"

My finger paused mid-click.

Oh. Shit.

I couldn't believe I had forgotten.

It seemed like such a simple thing to remember, a hurdle I would have to jump. I had promised myself I would find the courage to face my fear, but the images now laid on film were an entirely new, muck filled layer of ocean I wasn't sure I was ready for. I wasn't dealing well with my new found resolution.

And now, thanks to Emmett, I was trapped, embedded in my sticky mud, surrounded by a slowly rising tide.

My fingers scratched at the edge of the package, hesitantly separating paper from glue.

"Dinner's ready!"

"Coming!" The yellowed envelope joined the glinting lock on my desk.

I slid downstairs and into the kitchen, salivating at the scent.

Alice had truly outdone herself. A large portion of drunken noodles sat in a wooden serving bowl between two sets of oriental bowls and chopsticks, complete with individual bamboo serving cups, overflowing with sticky rice. The chocolate turnovers sat on the island, freshly glazed and glistening.

Of course, I was barely surprised. The meal had Alice stamped all over it. I even spotted a third bowl set off to the side, obviously for Jasper. I know she saw my smirk, but I chose not to comment, sparing her my snarky side in return for her fantastic cuisine.

I couldn't have told you this before I sat down at the table, but that night was everything I needed. As the noodles slid through my chopsticks, mingling with the carrots and chicken, the broccoli and onions, savory and sweet interweaving on my tongue, everything inside began to unwind.

I smiled, I laughed. I threw soy sauce.

I realized it had been weeks since Alice and I had spent an evening together, simply her and me and our lives, a small piece of history pulled from our college years.

It was heaven.

About halfway through our after dinner clean up, the door bell rang. I watched while my tiny friend nearly leapt out of her skin, sweeping her long dark hair up into a messy bun, her beautiful green eyes nervous and thrilled all at once, scattered locks falling against her flush cheeks, breathless.

My chest clinched.

"Do I look okay?"

A smudge of chocolate swept across her cheek from our turnover war.

"You look beautiful, Alice. If he doesn't love you, he's an idiot."

"Thanks." She turned towards the entrance, only slightly less ruffled. Nervous excitement vibrated from her limbs, and my neck began to tense again. I followed her from the kitchen, turning at the stairs.

"Making myself scarce," I winked. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Alice snorted. "In that case, Bella, I might as well send him home."

The door swung open before I could offer a proper retort. Jasper's deep tenor drifted up the stairs. The dull pain in my chest throbbed a little, and I wrapped my arms around myself, quietly shutting the door to my room.

His arms would slide around her, warm, comforting, completely encompassing her figure. I knew arms like those, arms that made you feel safe and truly special. Arms that would never wrap around me in love ever again.

I picked the envelope up off the desk, hands playing with the edge I had torn before, finally understanding why fear had engulfed me. I was afraid of being right, because if I was right?

I had already lost him to someone else.

The paper ripped, course and abrasive to my ears.

Slick, glossy proofs slid out, scattering onto the mattress around me, a few slipping onto the floor. I recognized them, vaguely, each a small part of me and my vision, what I had seen and sought to capture in such an unreliable venue as film. Most of them barely touched me; some had great lines or angles or shadows. They reflected my job, my design, a piece of each member shining through my set.

Not one moved me.

It was absurdly anti-climactic.

I piled the proofs on top of one another, stacking them gently and sliding them back into the envelope, setting them aside for further study another day.

Somehow, it was almost as though a small hole had opened up inside at their insignificance. I had expected something larger, more daunting, and instead they were merely … images.

Don't get me wrong, some of them were damn good, it was just, somehow, I had expected more.

I leaned over and gathered the few scattered along the floor, preparing to stuff them back into the envelope and toss it back onto the desk, when a white shape on the floor caught my eye.

I had missed one.

I pulled the photo to me with my toe, sliding my thumb underneath the edge and flipping it over beneath my gaze.

It was a sucker punch.

I couldn't breathe; reality had bitched slapped me, and I hadn't been ready for the hit.

Edward sat, bottom lip cinched lightly between his teeth, caught in a moment of unadulterated fascination. Behind him, the sky slid into the deep blue of the lake, a sharp contrast to the vivid green of the grass and intense black of the piano and his jacket. He was fixated on the keys before him, fingers caught between motion, joy and pleasure radiating to blend with the sunlight.

I leapt from the bed, the envelope landing on the floor and the black box of my past throwing itself open beside me. I flew through the pictures, memories I hadn't opened up in years, caring only for one image alone. Halfway through I halted, fingers hovering over a faded photograph.

I placed them, side by side, on the comforter.

They were identical.

The background had changed, of course, certain bits and pieces of furniture that were not mine morphed into pieces I'd never thought to see again. But the subject … the fascination … it was none of the precision and all of the imperfections I had forever loved and longed for.

Sometimes, you're more right than you think you are.

Trevor was Edward.

I didn't know how, or why, or who, or when, but some way, somehow, the two were one.

I needed answers. Now.

Before I lost my courage, I leapt up from the bed, quickly shoving the pictures into the box and the box back into my closet, and finally pulling on a pair of chucks before wrapping my trench coat around me and flying down the stairs.

Light from the television flickered in the darkness of the living room.

"Bella?" Alice's head sprang up when I clattered down the stairs. I froze.

"Need to run to the office. I, um, forgot something, for the long weekend." Weak. Every bit of my excuse was weak. I lurched towards the door.

"Hope you find what you're lookin' for, Bells." Jasper's elegant southern drawl sounded much too perceptive.

"Thanks," I yelled as the door slammed behind me. The photos I cradled to my chest, practically running to my car and only glancing at the clock after I was speeding down the interstate. 8:52. It wasn't too late, right?

"Shit!" My foot involuntarily slammed against the floorboard.

I didn't know their address.

I knew the general area, from Alice's usual chatter about the gated palaces and acres of honeyed, gold-spewing plains where the moneyed societal royalty of the metro Atlanta area resided, but in my impulsiveness, I had completely overlooked this small hitch in the plan. I snatched my cell from my purse, dialing 411.

At least it was a hitch easily fixed.

After a short call and a longer drive, my poor two-door Toyota rolled up in front of a veritable palace, complete with sprawling greens, which I'm sure were immaculate in the sunlight, a spewing fountain, and a brick cul-de-sac all its own. The car shuddered as I shut off the engine. I shuddered at the thought of getting out of the car.

I sat my purse in the floorboard, taking only my keys, and scooped the photographs out of the seat, glancing at them both again.

The boxed image, slightly yellowed and curling inward, filled my eyes with tears.

Sometimes you're more right than you think you are. Courage. Edward.

A few deep breaths were my only companion. It was time.

Heavy, cast iron met dark, paneled oak. I stood. I waited. I nearly hyperventilated.

The door slid open, shades of brilliancy pouring from the crack and illuminating me. A darkly lit shadow stood in the midst of the beams.

"Isabella?"

I shaded my eyes, sliding the photographs into my jacket pocket.

"Mrs. Cullen?"

"Bella, it's nearly 9:30, what are you doing here?"

I bit the inside of my cheek, slipping both hands into my jeans and fighting back tears.

"I – I just needed to talk to you. Alone. Please. It really is important."

Esme hesitated, her thick, dark auburn locks pulled into a high ponytail, the side of her mouth quirked upwards in thought. The sight was oddly childish, and I scuffed my foot.

"I won't stay long, I promise. I just need your advice. Please."

Her face softened. Relenting, she moved behind the heavy oak, pulling it backwards while I stepped into the warm hues of a brightly lit foyer. The locks clicked into place behind me.

"Why don't you join me in the living room? It's more comfortable there. Can I get you anything? Tea? Cocoa?"

"No, thank you." I trailed behind her petite form, its shapely curves and honeyed skin set off by the plain white tank, dark jeans, and thick green wrap pulled tight around her shoulders.

The entire house was immaculately decorated, elegant comfort that simply drew warmth from the burnished reds and casual creams and danced as a small flame in my chest. Esme curled up, feet wrapped beneath her, on an off-white love seat. Its plain form was simple and functional, something I could see in any other house, not just gracing the antique wood floors of this multilevel palace.

I seated myself beside her, pulling my coat from my arms and sitting it tentatively beside me. The cushions enveloped me, swarming me with a sense of security that belied the suspicion and absolute terror. Everything in the house was warm and inviting, a paradox to the cold demeanor Esme had presented at the engagement party.

Her hand fell on mine.

"Is everything okay, Bella?"

"I'm just worried … about –" I swallowed, "about Trevor."

Her brow creased. "Trevor? Did something happen dear?"

"No," I hedged, my gaze falling to my lap, fingers itching to pull the photographs from their cloth hiding place. "Not exactly."

"Bella," her hand pulled back.

"I was just wondering … if you had any pictures."

Esme sat straighter, worriedly brushing a stray hair behind her ear. Her gaze narrowed, eyes cold.

"Pictures? Bella, what are you talking about?"

My nails dug into my knees. "Oh, you know, like pictures of Trevor." Esme shifted slightly, wary. I wasn't going to get anything if I didn't go slowly, catch her off guard. "For the article, you know … the magazine?"

She relaxed slightly, eyes softening for a moment.

"I'm sure I could find something recent for you –"

"No," I jumped. I couldn't relax. My breathing fought against my erratic heartbeat. "I need … young pictures. You know …"

"I'm afraid I don't." Her tone was guarded, cold and even, a slap in the face. "I thought you said you needed advice."

I looked up. Her wall had reappeared. Courage became my only ally.

Edward.

Every vertebra lined up, one on top of another, pulling me taller, ever stronger at the sound of his name. Her cold, harsh set lips and wide, terrified eyes could not daunt me.

"A picture that proves … he's yours."

Every inch of her body stiffened. Her eyes locked on mine.

"Isabella. You have no right to question my husband, myself, or my son, and I will not tolerate this rudeness in my house. I suggest you leave now and never come near this property again with these false accusations before your lies land you in more trouble than you can possibly imagine."

Esme and I stood nearly simultaneously, my hands reaching for my jacket. I turned to find a strange mix of fright and satisfaction playing in her eyes. She had assumed I was leaving.

Instead, I reached into the pocket, the trench coat slipping from my fingers and both photographs clutched to my chest. I softened at the fear in her eyes, pressing down against the anger at her lies as the alarm on her face grew.

"But they aren't lies, are they?"

"I don't know what you think you can accuse me of, but I'll have none of it in my –"

She froze as I drew the image away from my chest, her eyes lighting on the same details mine had studied and practically memorized so long ago.

He was fourteen years old and already in love – with his piano. Errant locks of deep auburn hair fell over eyes lost in perfect satisfaction. Fingers, caught in motion, gracefully picked out the chords for yet another sonata. It was the year before he had picked up his guitar, two weeks before Christmas when I was searching for things to fill up my little disposable camera in the woods outside of his house.

I had found Edward lost in his own world, bottom lip cinched lightly between his teeth, and I had snapped the picture I stared at for weeks afterwards, memorizing the way he looked when he was blissfully happy, just so I could know.

And now, she knew.

Esme sank to the couch, her hands reaching to steal the photograph from between my fingers. Reluctantly, I released my hold, tears welling in the corners of my eyes to match the ones streaming down her face.

"Trevor." It was a whisper, utterly broken. Caught and convicted.

Suddenly, I didn't want to be the one to convict her.

"Edward," I whispered back, my chest clinching tightly, one finger reaching out to trace the side of his lip. I pulled the other image from my lap, so much more recent, but still an exact copy of the other boy in the other world. Wordlessly, I sat it in front of her.

She hitched a breath, the tears flowing steadily now, silently cascading in tiny black trails down her cheeks. I waited. Waited for the tears to stop, for the heartache to bury itself further inside where she could take hold of it again. Soon, her eyes closed.

"Esme." She opened them, looked at me, hollow and cracked. She knew what my next question would be. "What happened?"

She looked away, fingers ghosting across the ancient picture from another life. A deep sigh lifted her chest.

"Trevor is … was … my son." She smiled ruefully, her eyes and fingers never leaving my memory. "Carlisle and I were so young. We married right out of high school, never questioned our future or where we would go. His only dream had ever been helping others, and I simply wanted to raise a family of my own. It was amazing just how well we never fell into any of the statistics.

"Carlisle worked his way through college and then medical school, becoming one of the youngest graduates Vanderbilt had ever seen. After college, I worked a steady job that paid just enough for our survival, but before we had been married four years, I got pregnant." Her hand slipped to rest on her stomach. "Everything was perfect. The baby was healthy, I was healthy, and we lived well for what we could afford. We weren't rich, but we were happy."

Her eyes dropped to her chest. I wanted to take her hand, to know her sorrow before I forced her to speak it.

"Then, in the middle of Trevor's freshman year in high school, Carlisle helped invent a new type of prosthetic limb joint, some kind of gel to make movement more natural or something. All I knew was that we went from comfortably happy to rich beyond our imaginings." Sadness lined the hesitant smile on her lips. "Trevor hated it. He hated the neighborhood, refused to go to the new private school … so his father did everything to try and make him happy – including buying that damn bike when he was only fifteen."

Her fists clinched around her knees, the photographs lying on her thighs. Hesitantly, I covered her hand with mine.

"It happened so fast. Ever since we moved, Trevor had become the rebellious type, but before, he had always been so obedient and loving. I never quite understood how angry he was at me … at his father. The night he ran away … I never saw it coming. And for Carlisle –" her voice broke. She breathed in, and turned to me.

"Carlisle was working a volunteer shift in the ER. After he received the money for the patent, he still wanted to work, doing what he did best. Anyhow, that night, he was just starting his shift when the medics brought in a motorcycle accident … single driver … John Doe … dead on arrival. He was the receiving doctor …"

My stomach clenched; my heart was heavy and numb. I was going to vomit. The thick, wet streams returned, cutting lines across both of our faces. Esme carried on.

"It took him hours to call. When he did … I didn't believe him. It wasn't until weeks later, when the coffin was in the ground, that I knew he was gone." She closed her eyes. "Our marriage was a wreck. I wouldn't leave our room, much less the house. I didn't eat. The only world I knew was sleep. As soon as he realized he wouldn't be able to reach me, Carlisle continued on, taking as many shifts in the hospital as he could."

Her eyes opened, fixated on mine.

"It was exactly a year later that Carlisle called me until I couldn't ignore him anymore. He urged me to the hospital with only one word – 'Trevor.' I didn't know what he meant until I saw him, lying on the hospital bed, broken and scarred … the mirror image of my baby." A hint of recovery broke through as the tears slowed. "That was when my husband told me – he had no idea who he was."

She swallowed, the words coming hesitantly. "He had no ID, no passport, there were no files on him. He was one of very few survivors of a horrible crash landing."

She stopped. Her eyes flickered to my face.

"And he had been diagnosed with severe retrograde amnesia."

I was probably staring at her in horror.

"So you just … took him?"

She grabbed my hand before I could stop her.

"No, Bella, of course not. At first, Carlisle and I volunteered to take him home through his recovery, in the hopes he would remember something … but Bella … he was my redemption. Caring for someone other than myself again … it was as though I had finally woken up." She pursed her lips lightly.

"We weren't allowed to jog his memory, because any harsh lurches into a recollection he didn't have could scar his brain permanently or send him into a seizure. So we took to simply calling him son. Then … well, it became too easy."

"We had no family to know the difference, and Trevor had never attended the private school in our area … so we adopted him. Secretly."

"You lied to him?"

Esme flinched away, defeated. "We never meant to hurt anyone. He had no family … and we had no son. I swear to you, if his memory had ever come back, I would have let him be … but I love him … as much as I loved Trevor." She smirked to herself. "Sometimes, I wonder if I don't love him more."

I stared at the intricate circles on the rug, head processing what my heart couldn't contain. The Cullens had taken him in, had cared for him as one of their own … but they had stolen him away. They had provided him with a false past not his own, to replace a life he would never remember … to replace me.

But they loved him, as fiercely as I had. And while the hurt would lie, ever present, it was the truth of that love which would not allow me to deny them forgiveness.

"I'm sorry, Esme. I really am."

Her entire body trembled lightly, fixated on both of the pictures in her lap, until she reached down slowly and picked up the piece of my past. She turned to look at me. Understanding dawned.

"You … you knew him, didn't you? You know …"

"Edward," I finished, hands trembling, reaching for the photograph. The second time I had said his name in so many minutes. After nearly ten years of denying myself the privilege, the experience was cathartic. "He was my best friend. We grew up together, in Forks."

Esme nodded and then tossed her head against the couch, smiling ruefully. "I guess it's my turn now." She glanced over, enclosing my free hand. "I'm so sorry, Bella." Her words shook, spent.

She loved him. She loved him as well as I loved him, as well as any mother could love a son –even one that wasn't hers.

"It wasn't your fault, Esme. I can't blame you and your husband's kindness." I sprang from the couch, my palms suddenly sweaty. I scrubbed at the top of my thighs. "Fate's just a fickle bitch … but now," I sighed and wrapped my arms around my chest, "we can make it right again." I had almost made it to the clichéd nod of assurance when Esme's hand wrapped around my arm – hard.

"No."

The points of her perfectly manicured nails were piercing my skin. Ow.

"No what?" I pulled away slightly. She gripped tighter.

"You can't. You can't tell him."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to lie to him."

"Bella, didn't you hear what I said? He could have a seizure or go into shock. You have to –"

"I don't 'have' to do anything."

"So you'd risk losing him again?"

"You'd keep lying to him?"

"To save his life? Of course." Her eyes morphed into cold steel. "I won't lose my son."

"So I give him up? Again?"

"Is that too much to ask?"

I faltered. Was I being selfish? He was happy here, in this world. Their Trevor might not have been, but, before I came along, this Trevor was living and loving, working, making music – he was thriving. Who was I to come in and destroy a dream so tentatively built?

But then … who was I to decide what he should or shouldn't know? Who was I to lie?

"Yes." A firm, shaken whisper, resolute, was my offer. "I won't lie to him, Mrs. Cullen. Not for you, or your husband, or myself." Cold fear replaced the ferocity in her gaze. The grip on my arm loosened. "But for Edward –" I faltered. I would do anything. I swallowed thickly. "I won't tell him … yet."

Esme released my arm, raking fingers through loose bits of her hair.

"Thank you."

I pulled my coat into my arms. I needed to clarify.

"But I won't keep the truth from him, or anyone else, either."

Salt liquid lined her eyes. "I know."

"I'm sorry. Good night."

My steps echoed in the expansive house. The door shut.

No one followed.