Chapter 9: Ink

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Esme

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I felt the pen tip crumple under the pressure of my hand. Ink pooled on the white page under it and I uttered a very unladylike curse. I dropped the broken object onto the page, dark spots of ink splattering across it, and with a wave of my hand sent the whole sketchbook tumbling onto the floor. It fell with a loud thwack flat on the floorboards. I petulantly growled at it, a surprisingly intimidating sound but the mess of ink and paper didn't so much as quiver. I sighed and dropped my head into my hands.

"Esme?" I heard Carlisle's worried voice and the front door open at the same time. His inhumanly fast footsteps slowed when they reached the hallway outside my room less than a second later. I felt a stab of guilt for worrying him but I couldn't raise my head to look. I knew he would be able to see the broken pen and the pad of paper on the floor next to me. "Are you alright?" He asked coming in cautiously. "You haven't broken anything in months."

"And that's the second pen today!" I groaned. I heard him kneel by the pad and pick it up. I knew what he would see under the splatters of the broken pen. My name was written out two or tree dozen times across the page in my scrawling signature. But once or twice where I meant to write Platt I had begun the loops of an E instead.

"The second?" He asked. "What happened to the first?"

I sighed. Part of me wished I'd kept my mouth shut. Another part of me wanted to tell him. There was nothing he could do about it but somehow I hoped telling him would make me care less.

"It was at the school. I went to sign the paperwork."

"You got the job?"

"Yes, they called just after you left for class."

"That's wonderful."

"Yes," I agreed sedately. He sounded genuinely happy for me but it made me feel all the worse for my bad mood now. It was a small stupid thing to let ruin my success. The teaching job was what I wanted. I would finally be able to meet people and actually make friends, even if I had to keep them at arms length both figuratively and literally. But something was still holding me back.

"I'm confused," he said, sitting down on the edge of my bed and I snuck a glance at his face. It was troubled, his amber eyes locked on me intently. Maybe I shouldn't tell him, I thought. Every time this particular subject came up he became tense and taciturn. His eyes looked hard and cold like he was hiding something behind his serious face. I wondered what it was but it scared me a little to find out.

"Please, Esme, if there's anything I can do to make this right," He said, "I want to. If you're not ready please don't think I'm trying to force you into anything. You are still very new to this life. It's alright not to be ready for this step."

"No, I—I am… at least for the job. It's just…" I shook my head and looked out the back window of my room. It was hard to admit something so silly when he was looking at me with such serious eyes. "It's stupid."

"Nothing that bothers you could be stupid," he replied and it sounded like he genuinely believed it.

"It was just a thoughtless mistake. I went in just to discuss the schedule for summer school and to sign the formal paperwork. It was just Mrs. Roan and all the windows were open. I actually felt… comfortable talking to her about the children and she seemed to like my suggestions. For once I just felt… human. Then she gave the formal paperwork and all I really had to do was sign it. I did it without even thinking, like reflex."

"Oh." He seemed to understand.

"I was so shocked I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to explain it so I broke the pen and smudged it out."

"Pens break all the time."

"It's not that I broke something or even that I nearly broke our cover," I shook my head. "I just didn't realize that I still think of myself as…" The words wouldn't get past the lump in my throat. I didn't even want to say it out loud. I turned away and gave a half lie knowing it would sound weak. "I guess I haven't had much reason to sign anything so I'm still in that habit."

"That's reasonable." He said but I could hear the tension I had expected in his voice. "If you would like you don't have to go by Platt either."

"No, I would like to keep the name, even if it's just while we live in Rochester. Besides it would be hard to change it now." I looked down at my hands and the spots of ink that dotted them now.

Even if I went by Esme Platt the rest of my immortal life, I knew that somewhere I was still Esme Evenson. If my mother reported me missing then somewhere the police were looking for me. Maybe they would even pronounce me dead eventually. I wonder if I would get a gravestone and what it would say. I could picture it, a simple gray rectangular stone over an empty coffin with the inscription: Esme Platt Evenson daughter, wife, and mother 1895-1921. I frowned. It bothered me more than it should have. In so many ways I felt like a different person but at the same time I still felt like the wife who ran from her husband with a child in her womb and barely twenty dollars to her name. I had left Esme Evenson, the battered wife behind, but I still wasn't Esme Platt again. I was just Esme. Signing anything else didn't seem right.

"Like I said, It's stupid," I told him taking a deep breath. "Here let me get that before you get ink on your shirt." I reached for the sketchbook that was now a small lake of shinny black liquid. Mutely he handed it back to me. I busied myself with cleaning it up the best I could while Carlisle just sat on my bed, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"I never asked where the name Cullen came from. Was it the name you were born with?"

"Hmm?" He seemed to surface out of his thoughts but something remained in his expression, like he was preoccupied. "Yes it was. I've gone by many different names over the years but I prefer my own if I can keep it."

"I guess so much else changes it's nice to have one thing stay the same."

"For a long time that was true. I actually worry about it less now. Knowing that Edward and you will always know me for myself is a great weight off my shoulders."

Perhaps he's right, I thought. If Carlisle and Edward know who I am why worry about a name. I'll always be Esme to them. That's what matters. I tried to convince myself of this. The front door opened in the middle of my thoughts and Edwards footsteps cross the threshold.

"Ready for an night time run?" I asked Carlisle.

"I actually have some work that I need to do."

I tried not to be disappointed. Edward appeared in the hall a second later with a grim face.

"Welcome home," I said and stood up to hug him as I always did. He clung to me more than usual.

"Hard day?" I asked and he just nodded into my shoulder. "Come on then, a hunt will do us both good."

"Coming Carlisle?" he asked as we headed out. Carlisle had followed us far as the hallway but was not standing between his room and mine with a very concentrated look on his face.

"No, not now," he said. Edward just shrugged and we left him there.

"What were you two talking about?" Edward asked when we were out of earshot of the house.

Just something silly that was bothering me. I said, trying not to think of the specifics.

"Fine, I won't pry. Maybe Carlisle will tell me when he get's back."

"He's going somewhere?" I asked.

"Yes, didn't he tell you? He's planning some kind of trip."

"No. He didn't." I said frowning. I looked back to where the house had disappeared between the trees and wondered what was hiding behind that serious face. I shivered and sped up to keep pace with Edward.

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Charles Evenson

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I stumbled home the night I met him cursing the damn barkeep and his goons. I wasn't nearly drunk enough to deserve being manhandled into the street. I was a paying customer. What right did they have to turn me out? The half rate dump could use patronage like me. Well see if they find me back there again! Still I had my bottle and it would be enough to get me to sleep tonight. I fumbled with my key in the lock and finally got it to turn. Damn thing, always sticking. I'd have to get it fixed eventually.

The house was still and cold as always. I nearly tripped over the hall table as I passed it and cussed at the damn nuisance. It was useless anyway. She was always filling my life with useless crap.

The light gave a soft click, throwing light vertically across the hall, and I jumped, spinning around to see what was there in the dark. I missed him at first. He was sitting so still in that little pool of light. His skin was a sharp white in the high contrast and his eyes caught and reflected the light almost like a cat. He looked more like a statue sitting on my couch than a man. For a long moment I just stared at him and he looked right back at me with those unnatural eyes as if he could see through me.

"Mr. Evenson," he said finally and his voice was surprisingly gentle for the hard-edged frown he had on his face. It struck a cord in my memory. "I require your assistance in a matter that concerns your wife." I swallowed and felt a chill down my spine. Something about his stillness and the controlled way that he talked sent my heart pounding. I knew instinctively this wasn't the kind of experience I was likely to live through.

I did the only thing I could think to do. I ran. But no sooner had I turned back for the door than he was in my way like a blur of motion he was suddenly between me and the hallway, glaring down with his eyes shadowed. His lips pulled back in a menacing sneer and I cringed away from his flashing teeth, white as his skin.

"Please sit down, Mr. Evenson." I stumbled back and felt my bottle slip from my hand and crack on the floor. The strange man waved his hand toward the chair I had fallen against and mechanically I sat down. My shaking legs weren't going to hold me up much longer anyway. No sooner had I sat than the chair was pushed with surprising speed across the floor leaving four long loud scrapes across the floorboards. In the blink of an eye the man was back where he had been before, as if he had never moved. Only the slight ruffling of his blond hair told me he had really been behind me a moment ago. He couldn't be human the way he moved, soft so suddenly. I prayed I was dreaming, but to my horror and despite the buzz in my head the scene remained vividly clear.

"Now that we're comfortable," the man said though I was quite sure neither of us was comfortable, "to the business at hand. Your wife."

"My wife?" I asked in a shaky voice.

"Esme Platt Evenson."

"Y—yeah. I—I know who she is." I stuttered. That's when I recognized him. A face like his was hard to forget and Esme had been with me when we met. "I—I know you too. You're that doctor, the one that I took her to."

"Yes," the man replied, his tone unchanged. I relaxed a little. Doctors were supposed to take oaths against harming people right. That meant I was a little safer I reasoned but my heart was still pounding uncontrollably.

"Then we can forgo introductions and get to the point. I'm sure I don't have to remind you of why you brought your wife to my office that day."

"S-she tripped."

As soon as the words were out of my mouth I regretted them because I saw his anger break free. The polite expression was gone in an instant and the sound that growled out of him was more terrifying than a hundred rabid dogs. At that moment I would throw myself to those dogs to get out of the room with him. I cowered in my chair, shaking and scared as I have ever been. Is this God's retribution, is that it? Is this the devil come to claim me? Only the devil could wear such a kind face over such hate! I knew truly this creature hated me and I was utterly at his mercy.

"Do not," the man hissed, "lie to me, Mr. Evenson." He closed his eyes and very slowly his composure, the mask of civility, returned. It did little good. I knew what lurked underneath and I could hear the echoes of the terrifying growl in his next words.

"I may be a doctor but I have learned that there are many ways to inflict pain without causing harm and you would be surprised how much pain a mind can endure without breaking."

I just swallowed and nodded.

"Now. What I require from you is very simple and you will do it because you value your own pitiful life, which I would take such great pleasure in ending. First you will sign both pages in front of you. Secondly you will appear in court when summoned and give a truthful account of your marriage. Thirdly you will never mention seeing me to anyone so long as you live because as terrified as you may be now there are worse fates awaiting you than I would grant you should you speak."

Looking into his eyes, yellow gold as the lamplight and bright in the darkness I believed him. I slowly looked down at the papers on the table before me. Each was crisp and white, printed in black with official titles and the state seal on the top. A pen was laid out for me and the necessary lines were marked in neat Xs. I glanced up at him but the strange man hadn't moved but for his eyes that followed me unblinkingly. I swallowed dryly and reached for the pen.

The papers disappeared from under my hands as soon as I had finished signing.

"Thank you for your cooperation Mr. Evenson. I hope there will not be the need of a further visit."

"No, sir," I whispered.

"Good." He packed the papers away in a briefcase and stood. He took a moment to dust off his pants and then reached over to turn off the light. I cringed, terrified to be in the dark with this demon. But he paused, eyes on the framed photo sitting beside the lamp. It was a photo of the wedding. Esme stood beside me in her white dress looking pretty as usual but neither of us was smiling. The light flicked out a second later and I jumped. But the demon was gone. I was alone in the house with only my broken bottle and the now empty frame sitting on the table exactly where it had been before to remind me of that night.

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Carlisle

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I hurried through the darkness back to my car after leaving Charles Evenson's house. I turned it on but didn't move for a long time, just sitting there and letting the stench of sweat, blood, alcohol and cigarettes slowly clear from my senses. I took deep breaths through my nose and tried to image all of the filth falling away from me. I shuddered. It had been surprisingly hard not to just kill the insolent man even knowing that I needed him alive for a while longer. Even thinking about him made me growl lowly in the confines of the car. How many more times would I have to drive away from Columbus knowing that the man who abused Esme—beautiful, kind, sweet Esme—still lived? I wondered. The images of her my imagination tormented me with flashed before my eyes. Her face, flushed with warm blood, hazel brown eyes sad—now swollen shut masses of purple bruises. Her lips, humanly imperfect, lopsided, slightly chapped—now split and bloodied, drooping. I turned away from those thoughts forcefully, focusing on my deep breathing, holding the image of her beautiful immortal face in my mind—even there her ruby eyes were accusing as they had never been in life. I had the papers, that was all that really mattered and Charles Evenson was scared enough that I believed he would show up in court. That was enough.

I heaved a sigh. Turning to my brief case I rifled through it for the large folder. I checked the sheet of paper already inside and added Charles's signed documents to it. I was about to put the case away when I saw Esme's file from the clinic and the thick letter that wedged it open. I paused.

I'd seen the letter before when I took Esme's file from clinic archives to find her address, the address that Charles still predictably lived at. But I'd been in such a rush, driven by my purpose I hadn't stopped to examine it more closely. Doctor patient correspondence was usually filed with their record. I didn't think much of it. Now I lifted the envelope, noting the smells of dust and car exhaust that clung to it.

It was small letter sized envelope with battered corners, slightly yellowed. The clinic address was printed on the front under my own name. Below that was a forwarding address written by the clinic staff to the bogus hospital where I had claimed to be going and a return to sender stamp. Flipping it over I noticed the letter had been opened, probably when it was returned to the clinic. A bit of fabric poked out of the ripped top of the envelope.

The white square of cloth turned out to he a handkerchief with the initials C. C. sewn into one corner. It was mine. I remembered suddenly the day I had first met Esme in Columbus. I had lent her my handkerchief and she had left behind her white glove. I had been so preoccupied that day I hadn't even noticed the theft was really an exchange. She kept it? Why? I wondered. Did she… perhaps for the same reason I did? I thought about the little white glove that I kept in the back of my desk drawer. I knew ever stitch and flaw of the fabric. The little blue button sewn on as a replacement had kept me lost in speculation for hours. In the long days after meeting her again in Ashland it had been a bittersweet reminder of her and a consolation. Surely this square of cloth couldn't have meant so much to her, I told myself.

I pulled out the letter, expecting a short statement, something about returning the item but instead the page was dense with Esme's tight handwriting, shaking in places where her composure slipped and heavier where she wrote with force. Her smell, human and tantalizing clung to the paper, tinged with salt from the puckered circles where her tears had left marks. Desperately fighting my own hopes and dread, I read:

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August 16, 1919

Dear Dr. Carlisle Cullen,

I think by now you must have forgotten me. I can imagine that in your line of work you see many women in a similar situation, of whom I am neither the least nor the most deserving of your pity. I think I am not deserving of it at all for two reasons. The first is that I have been luckier than others and I thank the wretched war for that. The past 13 months I have been blessed with the freedom of solitude and the hope that my husband might never set foot on American soil again. I dream that he has found a French woman to love as he never loved me and will forget entirely to return. When I am not so hopeful I dream that he does not survive the front. I do not know even if he has ever seen the fighting; not one letter has come since he was drafted. What a terrible person that makes me, to hope for my husband's death but I truly have and can't regret it. Such a woman does not deserve your pity, more so because you have already given me all I could ask for in simple kindnesses. I have clung to those in the worst of Charles's anger and the darkest days of my marriage. I imagine what my life would be if I had married you, how kind and loving you would be and how happy we would be together. Delusional as my dreams of you are, I fear what I might have become without them. Now I have to let them go.

Charles will return tomorrow. My treacherous heart clings to the hope that he will be changed by the experience - that all my pain will remain just a bad memory. But my mind knows the truth. Nothing will change, not across the ocean or here. I cling to your words even more these days. With distance I can see the truth in them. Charles's violence was never directed at me only taken out upon me. Now I am not sure I can live that way again or how long I will survive in it. I fear for my life. I cannot run with no money and nowhere to go. I cannot stay with nothing to hope for. Even my dreams of you are so impossible they will not sustain me. So I am giving them up. They are the last part of my life that I would cling to. Now when I die, I will go quietly.

Do not mourn for me. I do not deserve that. You have nothing to feel guilty or sorrowful for. I am ready to die and I have lived happily this last year with my dreams of you, which have been the greatest gift of my life. Despite the brevity of our acquaintance I feel in my heart you were the best man I ever met and the only man that I could ever love. Silently and alone I have loved you and I will quietly die loving you.

Forever yours in life or death,

Esme

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I couldn't breathe. Why didn't I stay? I asked myself. Why wasn't I here to get this letter and to save her in time? Why wasn't I here? I put the letter aside with shaking hands. She had loved me then. I remembered her face, teary eyed and speechless, when I walked into her hospital room in Ashland. She had loved me then. I remembered finding her body in the morgue so broken and nearly unrecognizable under the blood. She had loved me then!

Could she love me still? I remembered her look the first time she woke up after the transformation and her bright red eyes locked onto my own. She'd recognized me through all the panic and confusion. I remembered her bright smile every day when I came home, looking up from a book, from the piano, from the window… I remembered her with dust in her hair and sleeves rolled up, with half of a chair rail in her hands smiling just to see me. I could still feel her hand in mine that day she'd sat beside me on the couch, comforting me, just listening. How many times had she done that since? A dozen or more time she had sat compassionately with me in unfailing patience. I remembered the way she held onto my arms walking through the park, discussing what we had lost and looking forward to the future. Could she still love me now?

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Esme

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I felt my still heart leap when I saw his car in the drive. I wanted to run as fast as my feet could carry me and resented having to move at human speeds. I cursed the long skirts I was wearing for my job at the school for twisting around my legs and the high-healed shoes that slowed me on the stairs. I pushed the door open, trying to be careful of how fragile it was but hardly caring because I needed to see him.

"Carlisle," I said breathlessly and my smile was involuntary. He was sitting in one of the armchairs beside the fireplace with his elbows on his knees and his head just lifted from his hands.

His answering smile eased away all the days of his absence and I felt like I could finally breath again.

"Esme," He stood up and he was at my side so fast it shocked me. I tensed up the half second before I found myself in his arms. I was too shocked to even react for another half second as my immortal brain struggled to understand what was happening but his arms didn't disappear like I expected them to. They were still strong and comfortable against my back. I relaxed, feeling his shoulders and his chest against mine. I lifted my own arms to wind around him loosely. I was scared that if I moved to fast or held to tight the moment would end, shattered into a million delicate pieces.

"You're home," I heard myself whisper. It was the only thought that got past my equal shock and joy.

"I'm so sorry," he said. His words caught me off guard.

"For what, Carlisle?" I wanted to see his face but I didn't want to let him go even an inch.

"For leaving." His words were laden with regret in a way I had never heard. How many ways did he have to feel guilty, I wondered. How could he know that the past few days have been so hard for me? Did Edward tell him how miserable I have been, looking out constantly for his car and worrying I had given some offense that kept him away?

"Carlisle, it's fine, really," I said, ashamed of my own pettiness, but he was shaking his head.

"No, Esme, for so long ago… in Columbus. I'm so sorry." He leaned back now and my arms felt cold without him. His hands found mine and for the first time I realized he was holding something. He pressed the soft object into my palm. I tore my eyes from his heavy gaze to look down at the square of white cloth and the familiar initials. It was one of his handkerchiefs. But this one had more than his scent on it. It had mine. Not my immortal scent but the scent that was almost mine but rich with warm, pumping blood. I knew what it was.

Foggy memories of the letter I had written and wrapped in this handkerchief years ago surfaced in my mind. Oh no! I shook my head. It wasn't possible. He had already left the clinic when I sent that letter. He couldn't have gotten it. But how did he have the handkerchief.

"Esme, I'm so sorry I left when I did. I'm so sorry I wasn't there to help you."

I just shook my head. How could he apologize for that? It was a ridiculous fantasy. He wasn't responsible for me. He didn't owe me anything.

"No, Carlisle."

"Esme, I knew," he said and there was so much pain in his voice I had to look up into his eyes. Once I did I couldn't look away. They were butterscotch and flecks of rose gold, fixed on mine unwaveringly. "I knew what he was doing and I left because I didn't trust myself not to harm one or both of you. I couldn't stay without… I wasn't strong enough when you needed me."

"You don't owe me that or this guilt," I whispered helplessly, gripping the cloth between my hands. "It was a fantasy, Carlisle," I said it aloud, finally. I had never been able to admit to the world in more than writing what I knew in my deluded heart; to have Carlisle love me as I did him was never more than a vapid dream. "You don't have to live up to my fantasy. I don't want you to feel obligated to return my feelings. Please don't… don't force yourself to do that." I couldn't bear to look into his eyes and see the relief I expected there.

"Obligated?" He asked breathlessly. I felt his hands, burning against my cheeks, cupping my face and lifting it to look at him. There was no relief only aching longing and disbelief in his eyes. "Never, I never felt…" He trailed off, at a loss of words. Why else would he be apologizing? I thought in confusion. Then every coherent thought fled my mind.

All I knew was him in every one of my senses. His smell filled my nose. I could taste it on my tongue. The low moan deep in his throat filled my ears and I felt in in my lips. I felt his hands on either side of my face lifting it to his and his soft smooth lips caressing mine, firm and needy. As suddenly as the kiss began it was over. Carlisle stepped back as if my skin burned him, gasping a deep breath of air.

"Forgive me," he said quickly, "that was too forward." I found myself short of breath and barely able to speak. My lips felt warm and ached to kiss him again. I shook my head and looked down at the floor. My moment of pure bliss was fading as I caught my breath and heavy resignation took its place. I knew this moment had to end and never be repeated.

"You didn't have to do that for me," I whispered.

"Esme, I didn't…. I hardly know what came over me. Is that what you think I feel for you, a sense of obligation?" He asked me softly, disbelieving.

Just nod, I thought to myself. Just nod and all of this will be like it never happened. He'll be relieved but he'll let you me stay. If he will just let me stay, just let me see him every day, I can live with just that. All I have to do is nod and release him from this guilt. I have no right to expect any of this after everything he's given me. But I couldn't make my head move even to look up at his face.

He reached out slowly and tentatively to my hand. "I have something else to return to you actually," he said softly and held out something to me. For a moment I thought it was another handkerchief. It was also white cloth but sewn into the shape of a small hand. A single blue button winked from the wrist.

"I meant to return this to you that last day in Columbus," he said, "but I knew as soon as you walked out of my office I would have to leave or I would end up doing something I would regret. I thought then it was to be the last time I would ever see you and I wanted something to remember you by."

He wanted to remember me? I tried to make sense of his words. Why would he need my glove for that? It's a sentimental thing… why would he feel that way about… my head lifted and I looked up to his face driven by my masochistic curiosity. The aching longing in his eyes took my breath away. I scarcely dared to believe what he said to me next.

"Esme," he said my name reverently, like it was something precious, "I have loved you more with every hour I have known you. My love has exceeded all my own dreams of what I could feel long ago and grows still." His face was sad but his eyes were bright with a hope he was still clinging too. "If you no longer feel as you did for me when you wrote that letter, given all that I have done, I can understand that. If you ask of me, I will never speak of this again nor will I ever keep you here if you choose to leave. Your life is your own. Anything you want to start a new life is yours. I would give you everything I own willingly if it would make you happy. But no mater how you feel about me or where you are I will love you still."

I felt his grip slacken on my hand but I grabbed him tightly before he could pull away. I don't want to forget and I don't want to go. I never want to leave you, I was crying to him in my mind, but a lump in my throat trapped the words in my chest. I knew if I were still human I would be crying but instead I was simply struck mute, shaking my head dumbly and gripping his hand.

"It's the same," I managed to say, "I feel the same. In life or death, whether my heart beats or not, Carlisle, it is and always has been yours."

The sadness on his face melted away into shock. I felt a quivering smile starting on my face just as one started to pull at the corners of his mouth. Then he was grinning and I was smiling back at him widely. I felt light on my feet, as if the only force holding me down was his gaze. I saw his shoulder shake with his first quiet laugh but before I could laugh as well we were interrupted.

Footsteps on the stairs behind me made us both turn to the open front door where Edward appeared with his head in a book and a stack of thick volumes balanced under his other arm. He paused in the doorway, realizing that he'd walked obliviously into something. He looked from Carlisle to me and back with a vacant expression. Then like a flicked switch he gave a whoop and dropped the books.

"Ha ha!" He cried and dashed to my side, picking me clean up off the ground and spinning me around. "Finally! Finally." He cried and laughed. I was laughing too before I knew it.

He loves me! I thought to Edward. Carlisle loves me! He's always loved me just as I have always loved him, wonderfully, magnificently, impossibly! All those times I was thinking of him, he was also thinking of me. Did you hear that from him before? Could you have…

"You knew," I accused aloud.

"From the moment I met you!" He exclaimed. "I tried to tell you the very first day!"

"All those times you pestered me," Carlisle said with a groan.

"You're both so oblivious and damned shy," Edward said with a roll of his eyes. I glanced at Carlisle only to find him looking at me with the same expression of sheepish joy. There were new laugh lines, thin and faint, around his eyes. They made him look younger somehow and more beautiful than I had ever seen him.

"Alright," Edward groaned, "I get it. Here I go. I'll be back later… much later." He quickly gathered his fallen books. Half straightened from his task, he paused. "Oh," He said suddenly serious, eyes flickering to Carlisle's. I followed his gaze to see the beautiful laugh lines gone. Carlisle was tense and somber again.

"I see," Edward replied. "I don't know." He looked at me with pity and kindness before leaving the way he had come just moment before and turning around the side of the house.

"What was that?" I asked Carlisle.

"It's… it's the reason I went back to Columbus," he said with a heavy sigh. He motioned to the couch and I sat down there. He took his seat in the armchair again and passed me a large thin folder. He looked worried as he scrutinized my expression. His shoulders were tense and behind his worry I saw that repressed hard emotion he was hiding from me. I had a cold feeling in my stomach that I knew what was coming. "I went back to see your… husband."

I swallowed. I slowly took the folder with shaking hands and opened it. I slid out three sheets of legal paper. The first had a letterhead declaring it from the New York court system and was mostly blank. It began, "Statement of Esme Platt Evenson follows:" and ended with a judge's signature. The other two were stamped with the seal of the state of Ohio and were titled in bold gothic letters: Separation Agreement and Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.

Charles will never sign this! I thought but as I pulled the paper free of the folder I saw his familiar scrawl across the bottom. I looked up at Carlisle in shock.

"You did this for me?" I asked, breathless again.

"It's a little thing, but it matters to you," he said softly.

"I—I don't know what to say." I looked back at the paper that represented all of my freedom. It was the knife to cut the last bond to the worst years of my human life. I could put it behind me and I would never be Esme Evenson again, nowhere. I could be Esme Anne Platt again. My marriage signified everything that had ever held me down or isolated me. It had taken me from my family, turned my mother against me, turned my family away from me, threatened my child and left me scarred, even if the physical scars didn't show on my new body. These few pieces of paper and lines of ink would cut me free.

"Thank you," I whispered. "This… it means more than I can say."

He reached out to cover my still shaking hand with his own and smiled at me, a small sad smile.

"You're welcome." He let me go and stood up saying, "I'll give you a minute if you want to fill those out."

I was torn between wanting to be alone to clear away the last of my past and not wanting him to leave. I was afraid that when he returned things would be as they were before. Somehow he saw all this in my eyes and he leaned down, one hand brushing over my hair, to press his lips to my forehead. I closed my eyes and let his smell fill my senses. I felt calmer just having him close.

His lips left a warm spot on my skin when he pulled away. I nodded to him and smiled at me before turning and leaving out the front door, following Edward. I looked back at the paper in my hand. I took a deep breath and picked up the pen from the table. For the last time I signed my name Esme Evenson.

Author's Note: I bet you thought I'd forgotten about the handkerchief. No, I didn't. I had a plan for it all along. Humf! Did you like it? Sappy enough? Too sickly sweet? Too OOC? I like speechless Carlisle, anything to mess with his all mighty self-control and otherworldly calm (insert snickering here). The poor bastard. *sigh* oh well. Hope you enjoyed. -Ember