Sorry for the delay, people, I still have my exams going on. So the next one might be a little late again, but since I can't really keep myself away from this story, I'll be sure to update asap! :)

The Beginning of the End

After my unexpected swoon on the altar, the wedding was officially over. My parents had rushed to the hospital, minutes behind the various uncles who had already taken Edward there. And left me behind, senseless on the altar.

When I woke, Charles' face was the only face that seemed immediately familiar to me. I searched the hall for my family, but I could see no sign of my parents or my siblings.

"Edward?"- I whispered.

"Are you alright?"- Charles demanded.

"Yes… Edward!" I shot up, surprising everyone around. I could finally recognise a few people. Neighbours, aunts…

"They took him to the hospital," Charles said, quietly, helping me up. "Now, now," he said to the crowd gathered around us, "she's fine, just give her a minute. She needs air…" Slowly, curiously, the people filed away, talking amongst themselves. The buzz of excited, shocked chatter filled the hall.

"I have to go," I said quickly, swinging my feet off the wooden bench where I'd been laid.

"There's no hurry, now, Esme," Charles said slowly, infuriating me with his calmness, and his firmness. "Your parents and your sisters are already there… there's nothing to worry about."

"Edward is seriously ill! How can I not worry!"-I said angrily.

Charles' brows were fixed in a firm, serious line. "This is your wedding for God's sakes, Esme! You can't just abandon it!"

He spoke in a low voice, so no one would hear, but a woman standing closest to him heard him.

"He's right, you know, dear," she said kindly in a high-pitched girlish voice.

I turned to glare at her, but my glare just melted away. She had the most kindly, twinkling dark eyes, and a plump, rosy face complementing her dark haphazard curls nicely. I recognised in her a cousin of mine on my mother's side, cousin Emma. I hadn't seen her since I was ten, but the little I knew and remembered about her told me that she was a very good person. My eyes meanwhile wandered to her bulging midriff, reminding me that she was with child.

Then she'd understand. She'd have to.

"You don't understand! He might be dying!"- I pleaded.

Her smiled slipped away, and she looked thoroughly saddened. Charles, meanwhile, made an impatient noise, and snapped-"Nonsense!"

"I understand, my dear, but really, it is unacceptable when no one else from your family is here. You must be brave, you must be strong, and you must bear with it." She looked grim, a strange expression on her sweet face. "It is our duty."

A lone tear trickled down my cheek. She tried to come closer, but Charles beat her to it.

"Now, now. You musn't cry on your wedding day, Mrs. Evenson. It's very unbecoming," he said softly in his famous attractive tone, wiping my tear away.

"I have to go, Charles," my voice trembled. "Edward is my life."

Charles' face darkened momentarily, but it was gone so quickly, I wondered if I had imagined it.

"You will. Soon. But not right now."

My eyes filled up again, and my lips curled, pouting with the unfairness of it all.

All this time, Emma was speculative. "Tell you what," she said suddenly, "I'll send Frank to the hospital right away. He'd be only too happy to give Auntie Vicky and the others any message you'd like. Perhaps, you can ask someone to come…"

Her voice trailed away suggestively.

"Yes!"-I cried. "Oh, yes, yes! A hundred times yes! Please, Emma, tell him to go immediately!"

Emma nodded with a quick smile and trotted away as fast as her delicate bulk would let her. Frank was her husband, and a thoroughly nice chap.

Charles watched her go with a frown on his face. Then he turned to me quickly, good humour returning. "Come, now, Mrs. Evenson. We must see to our guests, as dreadful as the task is."

I stood up slowly, unsteadily, clutching onto Charles for support. The chatter immediately died down, and several people rushed to me.

"My dear Esme,"

"So terrible-"

"Poor thing…"

I don't know where I got the strength from to survive that afternoon. I had to smile grimly, which was hard enough because I was too grim to actually want to smile, and my usual fake smiles would be too cheerful at that moment. I could see no one's face clearly, Edward's pale face the only thing in front of my tired eyes. I barely paid any attention to what anyone was saying, wandering into dangerously tragic thoughts, or eyeing the door anxiously to see if cousin Frank had returned. Somehow I managed to calmly take in everyone's mixed congratulatory and consoling words. Somehow, Charles, Emma, and I managed to herd the guests out, and back home where lunch was waiting.

Even there, I didn't eat a bite, just drinking a glass of white wine when Charles pressed it onto me because everyone was looking. The alcohol did nothing to ease my worry, and on the empty stomach, it made me feel quite sick.

Soon the guests started to depart, the considerate ones first, observing how hard it was being for me. Frank returned soon enough, and said they would send Eleanor over as soon as they were able. He was very suspiciously vague, but it seemed Eleanor had to be there to help Mother. Of course. Poor mother. She was already so weak…

I remembered her long, suffering labour with Edward, and the painful months after that. It would be heartbreaking to lose something that was a reward, a balm to soothe the pain of that effort.

While my mind charted these painful thoughts, a particularly nasty gossiping woman from our neighbourhood, Mrs. Barton, came to talk to me. She was being irritatingly slow and leisurely, still holding a glass of juice "with a dollop of warm brandy for the cold", having decided to have dessert "later".

"Dear, dear, Esme," she said in her aged, sickeningly sweet voice. "So sad. So terribly sad." She nodded her head sagely. "Poor little boy. Terrible how some children are just born weak. It's just in the blood. Poor thing, poor thing. And so beautiful, at that. Quite angelic. One can easily imagine your family adoring him so. And you, especially. Of course, he's only your brother, and your affection for him goes much deeper than just sibling love… but it's rather nice to see you adore him so much." She paused suggestively, a malicious glint in her eyes.

My patience had waned quite a lot by then. Every little "poor boy" and "so sad" brought his senseless face into my vision, and every time, it was like I was being cut.

As I said, my patience had all but worn off, so I said tiredly, but bluntly, "He isn't my son, if that's what you mean, Mrs. Barton. My husband has married a true virgin, and if you really know all the news in town, then you would have known that it was my mother with the protruding belly in the months preceding Edward's birth, not me. That's enough proof for you, I think?"

And ignoring her shocked blustering reply, I swept away, fresh tears swimming in my eyes.

The very next moment, I forgot all about her as Eleanor bustled into the room. I nearly forgot to breathe when I saw her. Finally…

"Go, Esme," she said tiredly. "Before it's too late."

And I did just that.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. My white leather-shod feet longed to kick the damned clock into oblivion. Several swear words rose in my mind, but I suppressed them with some difficulty, actually biting my tongue hard in the process. My mother sat on a nearby bench, still, lifeless, colourless. My father sat next to her, his spine erect, his face emotionless. I was sitting on a bench facing them, Elizabeth's hand having found a fixed position on my shoulder to push me back into my seat when I shot up restlessly almost every five minutes.

We were in the hospital, waiting outside Edward's ward. It was a horrid, mind-numbing experience. Chaos. It was a day of chaos- inside my mind, during my wedding, out on the streets in the sudden stormy weather…

It was late in the night. My parents, me and Elizabeth hadn't moved from the corridor. We stayed there all day, pacing up and down restlessly, talking about my wedding in flat, forced tones. Eleanor was to stay behind at home, in case any congratulatory guest dropped by or called.

Charles had stayed with me for the rest of the afternoon and through most of the evening, but then the long, solemn wait bored and irked him. He had every right to do so, not knowing Edward so well, and being a man, not having enough sentiment at such things. But I was disappointed in him, all the same.

In the late evening, some of his friends came to see him, and he asked me, somewhat hesitantly, if he could go out with the men and celebrate. I agreed quickly, realising that it was unfair for him to stay, especially when his absence would make no difference. He was just married, and he had every right to go out and enjoy. With a quick, hot kiss on my cheek and some hasty comforting words, he left.

Sometimes we were let in to see Edward, but mostly we weren't. The doctor explained that he was to be a "thoroughly isolated environment", and besides, it was infectious, and thus, dangerous for us. None of us really cared for the latter reason, nonetheless we obeyed the doctor. Every time someone was allowed inside, mostly Mother would go. I only went in twice, and hated it each time. Edward looked terrible, too tiny in such a large monstrosity of a bed, too frighteningly pale and weak.

"What is it, doctor?"-my father had asked, his voice bleak.

The doctor had pursed his thin lips, a bad sign, I had learnt. "It seems to be the 'flu, or a rare, but not unheard case of consumption. We've given him the best medicines we can, but there hasn't been any change, so far."

After that, I hadn't been able to listen any more. I just couldn't.

It was around midnight when the doctor came to us again. There was a look on his face, a certain look I couldn't place at the moment. Could it be- had Edward finally started to recover?

"Mr. Platt, Mrs. Platt," he said slowly. I placed the tone of his voice a moment before he continued, but my mind didn't even have time to comprehend what it meant. "I'm sorry to say your son has passed away."

None of us said a word. We were all frozen, staring at the doctor like dumb statues. The doctor rushed into speech, pity seeping from his tongue. Pity. That had been the look on his face, the tone of his voice. "His lungs were never very strong… I'm sorry. We tried our best." Like awakening from a dream, my father just nodded. None of us still spoke. I think we all rather hopelessly believed that it was just a nightmare we had found ourselves in, a particularly bad one, and speaking would make it real.

The doctor rushed into speech again. "If you'd like to see him…"

"No."

One word. One word was all that Mother spoke, and it cut through us like a sword, echoing in the silence of the corridor.

The doctor stared at her. "But if you'd like to, for the last time…"

"Esme."

Another laconic pronouncement. It was like her voice had turned on a switch in me, and I jerked into motion, understanding her, but unfeeling, unthinking, just shocked. I walked awkwardly to the door of his room, and stepped in.

He was lying there, looking no different from what he had the last time I saw him. Only his little chest was no longer rising and falling. It was over. He was dead.

I stared at his body, wondering how I hadn't collapsed yet. Twice before, the mere thought of Edward dying had me in a swoon, but here he was, lifeless in front of me, and there was no welcoming darkness to drive this image away, the image of the dead body of the more tangible and real angel in my life.

I drank the sight in, poured it into my heart and locked it within. I would never forget this. Never.

When I returned to the corridor, Father was speaking to the doctor in hushed tones some paces away. Mother was still seated in the same position, staring at the blank wall. Elizabeth had her head buried in her lap, sobbing quietly. I halted in my tracks, suddenly finding myself out of place. I couldn't give in to grief. I couldn't, I couldn't…

I opened my mouth, trying to say something, when- "Esme!"

Charles was striding up to me, a smirk on his face, his collar askew, his cheeks flushed.

"You're drunk," were the first words that came out, my voice supposed to be surprised, but no emotion colouring the words.

Charles was immediately defensive. "No I'm not. What is happening?"

Without skipping a beat, I replied quickly, monotonously, "Edward is dead."

His smile slipped off his face. "My God!"- he said simply. "I'm so sorry, Esme dearest…"

"I know." My cold voice had fazed him, and he stared at me uncertainly.

"When…?"

"Just a few minutes ago."

"I see," he said. There was a long pause, uncomfortable for him, but meaningless for me. Everything was meaningless for me now.

"So… what now?"-he asked tentatively, breaking the silence.

My father turned to him at that. "Now," he said gravely, "we are going home."

Mother stood up when Father said that and took his hand, Elizabeth shuffling to her feet, sniffling.

"They will… bring him around tomorrow. We may make preparations …"

None of us said anything.

Then Charles cleared his throat apologetically. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm sure by 'home' you mean the Platt residence. But surely… Esme will come with me?"

There was silence. My father looked at me.

"Charles." I said, still monotonous, for any sort of emotion would let the grief crash in. "My brother just died."

He answered me immediately. "You just married me."

"Yes," my father agreed. "He's right, Esme."

"Edward. Just. Died." I repeated, my voice shaking. Goddamn Charles Evenson! I did not want to get emotional, I did not…

Both Charles and my father opened their mouths to say something, but Mother spoke first.

"Go, Esme."

I was quiet. Stunned. As if there wasn't enough to take on that day, my mother was sending me away.

"You'll come back in the morning, of course," Father said, tiredly. I hadn't been married twenty-four hours and I was already an outsider and tiring to them.

Charles saw my decision clear on my face.

"You're coming with me," he said with grim relish.