Author's Note: Thank you's all around :)

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

Four

I waited almost a whole week before telling anyone that I'd broken up with Mike; it took less than half that time to mourn the relationship. He called that Thursday to let me know he would be by on Sunday to pick up his things. I told my friends at our weekly dinner at Rosalie's house.

"Thank God!" "Freaking finally!" were their respective replies.

"So what did he do?" Rose asked.

"Nothing, he just got up and left."

"He didn't even try and apologize or anything?" Alice screwed up her face in disbelief.

I cleared my throat, sharing suddenly didn't seem like the best idea. I could feel the hurt simmering beneath my still surface. It wasn't him specifically, just the fact that I had been so wrong about the way he'd felt about me. He hadn't really cared at all. I wondered again how I didn't realize it sooner. "No, I don't think he cared enough to," I couldn't stop my voice from catching as I spoke. Rosalie reached out and touched the top of my hand.

"He's not worth it."

I shook my head, "it's not him. It's just…I was so easily tossed aside." I said it quietly, half hoping they wouldn't hear me.

Alice shook her head, "don't think that way, that's just how Mike is. He doesn't care about anyone."

I gave a half hearted smile, "yeah." I was trying to shake myself out of it, "he's coming over on Sunday to pick up his stuff. He has crap all over the place."

"Want to take it all to a pawn shop?" Rosalie offered.

I snorted a laugh, "no that's ok."

"We'll come over and help you pack it up, ok?" Alice and Rosalie nodded at the same time. I was grateful for the help.

My mailbox was stuffed full when I checked it that night; I yanked everything out and trudged up the stairs. Inside, I tossed my keys on the kitchen counter and flipped through the stack of junk mail and bills. At the bottom of the pile was a mailing envelope; I looked at the sender's address, New York City. I was wary as I opened it, had I done something while I was there and now I was in trouble? There were two sheets of paper, one crinkled which I recognized immediately and the other smooth and unlined. I looked at my own letter, but I couldn't bear to read it, instead I set it on the counter. I flipped the other sheet over to see what it said; it was handwritten.

Dear Bella,

I tried to think of a way to make myself seem less sinister while still returning your letter, but probably failed. But I felt I needed to, it seemed too important for me to just toss aside. I confess that I read it, please forgive me (not that it's likely I'll ever know) and before you tear this up and throw it out just know that you're not alone. I've been thinking about what kind of pain you must be going through and though I can't possibly imagine, I can empathize with the loneliness.

I, myself am a bit of a shut-in, or so I've been told. I'm also an architect at Perkins Eastman in Manhattan; my best friend, Jasper, and I have partnered up and just landed our first big account today. We were celebrating at the same bar where you wrote your letter (I took your table after you left which is where I found it).

So, if you're still reading this, here's a little more about me. I prefer staying in rather than going out, unless it's a quiet evening out. I read and listen to music on an almost obsessive level, I play the piano, I don't own a cell phone, and I'm a coffee addict.

I'm sorry again for invading your privacy, but if you've read this far, that's something right? And you're not forgotten by me. I'll leave you be now, my address is on the envelope on the off chance you'd like to write to me (angry or otherwise).

Sincerely,

Edward Cullen

I put it down and threw away my unimportant mail on autopilot, then read it again. When I was finished, I went back to the first paragraph - But I felt I needed to, it seemed too important for me to just toss aside. It was funny; I had just used that same phrase earlier that day, toss aside. I shook my head, this was silly, he returned my letter – the end. I took mine with me into the bedroom and stuffed it in my nightstand; I left his on the counter.

On Sunday, Alice and Rose were at my apartment bright and early helping me sort through all the things Mike had accumulated over the last couple of years that I'd lived here. I'd brought boxes home from work which were set up on my kitchen table, slowly but surely being filled. "I'm assuming these are his?" Alice was using a tissue to hold up a brownish tinted pair of socks.

"Yeah," I watched as she threw them in the direction of a box; one of them missed. I turned back to where I was sitting on the floor of the living room, disconnecting his PlayStation.

"What's this?" She asked.

I could feel my stomach flutter even before I looked up, I already knew what she was talking about. The letter, it was still sitting on the counter. "What's what?" I asked as nonchalantly as I could muster, the deep blush on my face a striking contradiction to my tone.

"Should I read it?"

"Read what?" Rose walked in from the bathroom where she'd been gathering Mike's sundries. She dumped them into a box and looked over Alice's shoulder. "What is this?"

I jumped up and ran over, grabbing the letter out of Alice's hands. "It's nothing," I folded it up and stuck it in my jean's pocket. I knew I wasn't going to get out of this easily. "I dropped a letter I was writing that last day in New York and he found it and returned it, that's all."

"How did he get your address?" Alice shifted from one foot to the other.

"It was on my letter."

"So some stranger found it and thought it would be a good idea to write back?" Rose furrowed her eyebrows.

"It's not like that," I said, feeling defensive. "He was just being nice, he thought it might be important to me; it's no big deal."

Alice stared at me for a moment, "you're going to write him, aren't you?"

"No."

"Bella! You have no idea who this guy is; he could be a complete psycho! What if he's been following you all this time –"

"All what time?" I interrupted.

Alice ignored me, "what if he followed you to New York? And then you drop whatever you were writing and he thinks, aha! This is my chance! Then he seduces you –"

"Seduces me?"

"Into a false sense of security until he can go all Ted Bundy on you, did you ever think of that?"

I looked at her, a skeptical expression on my face. "I highly doubt it's as dramatic as that." It's true, I had wondered what made him want to not only send me my letter back, but write me as well; I still didn't know.

"Well, probably not, but still, you have no idea who this guy is," Alice said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She softened her voice, "we just care about you."

Before I could say anything, there was a knock at my door. "I'll get it," Rose said, sounding chipper. She let Mike in; I noticed for the first time that even in flats, she stood several inches taller than him. "Hi, Mike," Rose stood too close; I could tell he was feeling uncomfortable. "There's your crap, take it and get out."

I stifled a laugh as Mike walked over to his things; I grabbed his PlayStation and the controllers and stuck them in a box. "Thanks," he mumbled. None of us offered to help, instead choosing to watch him as he tried to figure out the best way to grab all three boxes, plus open the door and get down the stairs.

"Here let me get that for you," Alice said sweetly. She glided over to the front door and opened it wide, while Mike struggled to keep everything in his arms.

"Mike, let me-," Alice cut me off with a sharp look. He managed to make it out the door and Alice slammed it behind him. "That was kind of mean, you guys," I couldn't make my expression as stern as I wanted to; I could feel the smile beginning to turn up the corners of my mouth. I wouldn't have dared to be that rude had I been alone.

Once the girls left, I spent the next hour or so wandering aimlessly around my apartment. Alice only mentioned Edward once more as she was leaving saying, "throw that out." At seven I made myself a bite to eat and took the letter with me to the table where I read it for a third time. I found myself smiling when I was finished, but I couldn't really pinpoint why. Against my better judgment, I pulled out some paper to reply.