Sorry it's been so long. The end of the semester and all that stuff.

This is the next day, still Edward's POV. Him telling Charlie. Warning: Dialogue is not my strongest skill, so no guarantees this chapter is any good. Sorry.

I drove my Volvo down the driveway, glad that I could drive without thinking because I was too focused on trying to keep the memories out of my head. I should not have taken this car. She had been in it too many times, there were too many ways I could remember, and that was something to be avoided at all costs.

I also had to concentrate on my story for Charlie. Bella had died of the mysterious disease she had contracted. She had been "on the mend", as she had insisted on telling Charlie, but she had had a serious relapse and it had killed her.

It seemed surreal that the very thing I had been afraid of - her dying - when she presented and carried out her idea of keeping Charlie in the loop was happening now. Sure, at the time I had been positive I would lose her, but I had grown steadily more optimistic as the pregnancy progressed. Of course, all those hopes were shattered now.

The road was flashing by too quickly. There would be people driving today - a warm, yet cloudy Saturday would not leave the roads deserted. I slowly took my foot off the gas pedal, every motion a struggle.

I pulled into Charlie's driveway.

I could hear the TV blaring inside, watching a baseball game, but Charlie's mind wasn't on it. Why hasn't Bella called yet? She's called before this every day...

I felt nauseous at the news I had to deliver - a strange sensation that I hadn't felt in a while. Was it possible for a vampire to be sick to their stomach? What would happen? Would they throw up blood? That was a rather disgusting thought.

Timidly, I knocked on the door.

Was that a knock? Charlie wondered, but then one of the teams in the game hit a line drive. Oh, well. If there's someone there, they'll knock again.

Charlie seemed so nonchalant. I hated knowing that I would be giving him the worst news of his life in just a few short moments. The guilt surged up again, fresh and stronger than before. I suddenly had a nasty suspicion Jasper had been helping with that before. Another wave of gratitude toward him flared up.

Only one emotion had ever felt this strong before, and that had been love. It was odd to know that other emotions could possibly feel as strong as that.

I took a deep breath and knocked again.

Charlie heard it again and heaved himself up off the couch. He padded toward the door heavily.

"Edward?" he asked incredulously. What the hell is he doing here? And where's Bella?

"Er...hello, Charlie," I began uncertainly, unsure how to tell him. "There's something I need to talk to you about...could we maybe move this discussion inside?"

"Where's Bella?" he demanded as he held the door wider. I slipped through and had to concentrate on moving at a human speed as I led him to the living room. I ignored his question.

It sent a pang through my chest that Bella's scent was no longer here - it had been nearly a month and a half since she had last been here. Would I never be able to smell her delicious scent again?

I sat fluidly in the chair and Charlie took the couch? "Where's Bella?" he asked again, impatient.

"Carlisle is a very, very good doctor," I started. There would be no way I would let Charlie blame Carlisle for this. "Please understand that what happened was through no fault of his - he did everything he could..." And in the end, I thought to myself, it was me who failed her.

What happened? He doesn't mean? Oh no...no, no, no....

He had it figured out. I could tell even if I couldn't read his thoughts I could tell by the way his face paled, his breathing and heartbeat sped, his hands clenched in his lap.

"She's - dead-" he choked out.

I had to admit, it was harder hearing it from someone else. Harder than thinking it, harder than saying it myself. Hearing someone else say it made it more real, and suddenly I was just as affected by the words as Charlie was. My eyes gave away everything.

"I'm sorry," I said to Charlie fervently. "More sorry than you can possibly imagine, can possibly comprehend. She was on the mend, as she told you, but she suffered a very severe relapse that she didn't recover from. Her body was too worn out to fight off the virus, whatever it was, a second time. But you must believe me when I say that Carlisle could do nothing. He didn't know what he was fighting against, knew next to nothing about the disease, he could do nothing to fight against it because he didn't know what it was. Please, whatever you do, don't blame Carlisle."

"Why - would I - blame Carlisle?" Charlie sputtered. The initial shock was over and the grief hadn't set in yet. All that was left was anger. Anger at me. Well-deserved anger, of course. "Why would I blame Carlisle?" he asked again, rhetorically. "When I can blame you?"

"Believe me, Charlie," I pleaded, "I hate myself more than you do. I take full blame for this, and please realize that I am in as much pain as you are."

As much pain?! - and there he sits, perfectly calm and collected, just like always, when he caused the death of my daughter, and he wants me to believe a single word he says? I don't think so...

"You have done nothing but lie, do you realize that? You have never told me the truth, never told her the truth. You have done nothing good for her. And she's tried to get away from you, you realize that? She's tried, but you always kept coming back with your damn excuses and she kept on listening to you. She broke up with you, after your first date, do you remember that? She hated you so much in that moment she went to Phoenix, and yet you followed her. And then what happened? She falls out a window and breaks her leg. And then she takes you back! And then - just three months later - she comes home from her own birthday party with stitches in her arm. Three days later, you set her into one of the severest depressions I have ever seen. Seven months later, no word, no letter, no phone call, and she disappears for three days and comes back with you. I tell her to stay away from you, but she won't listen to me. Then, less than a month later, you propose. Propose! You're both eighteen and you've been dating for what? A year and a half, minus seven months? And then for her honeymoon you had to take her to some godforsaken island is South freaking America. Vermont too good for you? Something wrong with Disneyworld? Take her to Europe if you want to get really exotic! Show off your money if you must, but no, you take her to one of the most disease-infested places in the world. And then she dies. Every thing, every single bad thing that has happened to her in the last two years is because of you. I hope you're happy with yourself." (Wow...that was a long paragraph...:-))

Every harsh thought that Charlie had thought towards me in the last two years is coming out now.

And the worst part is, there's nothing I can say. No way I can defend myself. Because every thought is true, every word true. How many times had I thought those very same things, agonized for hours over them? But I was never strong enough, and now Bella, weak, delicate, Bella, had paid the price.

I hope you're happy with yourself. Yeah, right.

"Charlie," I said, my voice pained. "Every word of that was true, but you need to put your hatred for me aside and focus on the issue at hand. Bel - Bella is de - dead, and we need to give her a funeral. A nice funeral. Don't worry about the cost. We will make it the best funeral - if a funeral can have such a happy word as that placed with it - anyone has ever had, and then I will leave and let you forget me. You'll never see me again, I can promise you that."

Charlie's eyes tightened and his fist twitched.

"I will work with you to plan a funeral," he said after a long moment, his thoughts chaos. "But only because of her. I will tolerate being in the presence of the one who killed my daughter for her. But then I want you gone. Gone. I never want to see you within twenty miles of me again, or I swear to God I will give you the severest restraining order possible. Do you understand me?"

"I do."

"All right, then. Just so that's understood."

And the hardest part was over. Well, not the hardest part. There was no part that was harder than the others. They were all hard, past the point of endurance. Every moment was so difficult to survive that it seemed like each one couldn't possibly be harder. But then it was.

The funeral could not come fast enough.

Hmm...so what do you think?

Goal: 7 reviews!