Many thanks to the lovely Blk3660 for pre-reading. All mistakes are my own.

I don't own Twilight, but I'd be fooling myself if I didn't admit that Edward owns me.


EPOV

I woke up with a throbbing headache and a stinging temple. Before I opened my eyes, my fingers sought out the source of my discomfort, and I winced when they came into contact with a bandage on my forehead. The events of the night past flooded my memory, and I suddenly felt more awake and a little crazier than I had in years.

The image of the woman in my mind was fresh, but my greater fear was that my subconscious, once again, was manipulating reality. Although it hadn't happened since the war, I supposed it could come back at any moment. The heart wants what the heart wants. My heart still yearned for her, it seemed.

I decided that the best thing to do would be to put my mind at rest, confirm that the small brunette was indeed someone else who happened to conjure memories of my Isabella, and head back to New York. Despite my pragmatic approach, I couldn't help but feel disappointed in my course of action.

Many a time I had surmised that part of my problem was that there was no closure. There was no gravestone to visit or to place flowers, no memorial service. I didn't even have a newspaper clipping of her obituary. I had saved an article related to the train accident, but the details were vague and did little to settle all the questions that rattled in my brain. What had she been doing on that train? Why was she in New York State when she was attending school in Louisiana? Had she suffered? Was she happy before she died? Did she think of me? The last question, albeit the most selfish, was the most prominent in my mind when I thought of her death.

My mind started on its familiar circuit of questions and reflections, but was interrupted by a rap at the door. I looked around and realized that though the curtains were drawn, the sun was high enough in the sky that warm streaks of light peaked between the drapes and cast slices of sunshine onto the bedroom floor.

A second knock echoed through the room, and I found my voice, "One moment, please," the sound that came out was cracked and hoarse.

"Edward? It's me, Jasper." Lt. Whitlock's muffled voice filtered through the door, "I'll be back in ten minutes," he announced, before I listened to his uneven gait move away from the door.

I looked around and noticed that there was aspirin and a glass of water on my nightstand. I had to give the Cullens credit; they were certainly hospitable folk, what with the folly of my actions the night passed. I swallowed the pills and most of the water, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

Since I had apparently slept in my underclothes, I searched the room with my eyes and saw that my pants and shirt were neatly folded and laid across a chair. I stumbled out of bed and dressed myself, and then fished the watch from my pocket. One in the afternoon! I startled with the revelation that I had been sleeping for over twelve hours. I still had to drive home! At this rate, I wouldn't make it back into the city until well past dinnertime. I hurriedly shrugged on my jacket, and then headed over to the mirror that hung on the wall opposite the bed.

My hair was its usual combination of chaos and disarray, and my eyes were shadowed with deep purple bags. A strip of cotton secured a bandage over my left temple, and I could see where a bit of fresh blood had soaked through this morning when I had accidentally poked it too hard. I would have to change the bandage at some point, because I couldn't walk around New York, let alone the hospital looking like a patient myself.

Before long, a gentle rap on the door informed me that my time was up. With one last glance in the mirror, I crossed the room and opened up the door for Jasper, to find that he was also accompanied by Dr. Cullen.

"Dr. Cullen, Jasper. Good….er," I ran my hand through my hair in embarrassment for sleeping half the day away. Carlisle interrupted my stuttering before I could continue.

"It's fine son. You took quite a fall last night and you seemed to need the rest. No harm done." Carlisle gripped my shoulder and looked into my eyes briefly. There was a flash of emotion that was difficult to decipher, and as quickly as I noticed it, it was replaced the stern detached look that doctors give their patients. "Have a seat Edward…" He looked to be forming his words, "I'd like to look at your head, if I may." I nodded in acquiescence, but somehow got the feeling that inspecting my head wound was a rouse for something else on his mind.

Jasper followed in behind Carlisle, carrying three scotch glasses and a full bottle in his hands. He shrugged innocently at me when I eyed his instruments and nodded over to the nightstand where he placed the glasses and bottle.

Carlisle flipped the light on and motioned for me to sit down. He carefully unwrapped the bandage, and prodded my wound, causing me to wince a couple of times.

After a few minutes of silence, Carlisle confirmed that the wound was superficial, seemed clean enough and reiterated the instruction I knew all too well for keeping a wound clean and infection free. I remained seated, expecting the men to leave me in peace, but instead they stood in the room shifting uneasily from foot to foot.

I suddenly realized that I had most likely overstayed my welcome, and Dr. Cullen and Lt. Whitlock were here to see me out. Since I hadn't planned on staying the night in this residence, I simply reached for the few personal items that had been placed on the nightstand. Standing to go, I offered my gratitude, "I want you to know how grateful I feel for your hospitality last night, gentlemen. I have a long trip ahead of me, but I have a favor to ask of you. It seems last night I frightened a woman on the road. It was dark out and I didn't realize I had wandered away from your property, Dr. Cullen." I nodded toward the doctor, and the look that passed between himself and Lt. Whitlock didn't escape my notice.

"I'm feeling awful about the fright I gave her, and if you wouldn't mind I'd like to apologize in person," Dr. Cullen opened his mouth to speak, and I imagined it was to offer some writing paper, but I knew I had to step in and decline. I had to see this woman, once and for all, or I knew I would continue to wonder of her identity.

"Please Dr. Cullen; I would like to meet her face to face. I feel the need to put her mind at ease that there are no dangerous men wandering through her woods." Carlisle cast one last wary glance at Jasper, so I implored him, "Please Carlisle. I would feel like less than a gentleman if I weren't to speak with her."

"It is certainly possible for you to meet with her," Jasper interjected, effectively silencing Carlisle. He seemed certain that he knew of the woman I met, which I supposed didn't seem all that unusual, since she was a neighbor of Glendale "but there are some…details that you need to know before hand." Jasper's eyes narrowed in thought as I nodded my head in acquiescence. I couldn't imagine why I would need to be prepared. Perhaps the woman is unstable, or has a strange phobia? That could explain the reticence I sense in the men. I squared my shoulders in preparation.

"Ms. Black, it seems," Jasper raised his eyebrows as though he were surprised himself, "has a colorful history that she has, until recently kept to herself." I furrowed my brow, and Jasper continued, "I'm surprised myself. But she has been a good friend to this family for many years, and when she disclosed certain aspects of her past and implored to us that she had been discreet about them for her own safety, I believed her. She is a loyal friend, and I know she wouldn't hide something if it weren't important." Jasper smirked slightly before he turned to me again with a somber expression.

"Ms. Black came to us after experiencing something horrific, something that no one, and certainly not a lady should ever have to live through," Carlisle interjected. My mind began to reel with possibilities. Was she assaulted, was her…purity taken without her consent? Sensing my distress Carisle continued, "Edward, I can see where your mind is going and I will put you at ease. It was nothing of the sort. Marie Black, it seems, escaped from a situation in which she was being held under duress. She was being asked – no –she was being coerced into to making a choice she couldn't live with, so she ran. In doing so, she upset some people who could…make her life very difficult, so when we met her, she had given us an assumed name. We became acquainted with Ms. Black just after she met her then future husband, Mr. Jacob Black. Apparently, Jacob knew most of the story to which we have just been made privy. It seems that Ms. Black has found it critical that she make us aware of her history. In her words she told us that what once made her feel safe has now begun to feel like prison from which she escaped."

I sat back in my chair and contemplated this information, still without understanding how it affected me. Truthfully, I could see how it may have scared the lady to see a man walking down her road in the dark, but I still wasn't clear why I needed to know all of this. Surely I could apologize to Ms. Black – her chosen identity - and I could go back to New York knowing I had calmed her fears, and she could go back to her life knowing that I wasn't a trespasser of the malicious sort. I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, and raised an eyebrow toward him. Surely there must be more to this story.

Carlisle eyed the carpet thoughtfully, and rubbed the back of his neck before proceeding. He steepled his fingers while he rested his elbows on his knees, and gave a resigned look to Jasper.

Jasper tilted his head at me, as if gauging my mood, and spoke quietly, "Edward, I believe the previous identity of Ms. Black may be of some importance to you." Jasper swallowed thickly. It appeared as though neither of these men wanted to get to the heart of this story. There was some nervousness in revealing to me the apparently important identity of the woman who reminded me so much of my Isabella.

And as though my brain itself were being unlocked like a safe, I could hear the bolts in my mind sliding into place.

I met a woman on the road last night, who reminded me of my Isabella.

The woman knew my name. It wasn't the presence of a stranger that caused her to run.

Ms. Black, the woman I met on the road has been living under an assumed name for her own safety.

Ms. Black's previous identity was of importance to me.

My mind scanned for other people who may have fallen out of my life, people who moved or relocated from whom I had never heard. But in truth, there was only the memory of one person who would haunt me. Only one who would hold any meaning. My heart clenched as I asked my one and only question about this mystery woman.

"Carlisle," I did my best to keep a tremble from my voice, "When did you meet Miss Black?"

Clearing his throat, Dr. Cullen responded in a voice just above a whisper, "1935, son."

"Do you remember the day? The month?"

"Well," he paused, "It was shortly after labor day. Jacob had disclosed that her birthday was not far off and she had scowled as Esme proposed a birth-

I didn't need to hear the rest. The final piece of this mystery had slid into place. I knew, almost for certain whom Ms. Black was. I had to see her, I had to know. My jaw tensed and my mind raced with questions. Held under duress? She fled? Why did she not come back to me? Why did she marry another? Learning the answers might just kill me, but that pain would only be second to finding out that I am wrong, and that Ms. Black is not my Isabella.

"Isabella Swan," I spoke lowly, carefully. I kept my head bowed in an effort to remain calm and hide the tension that I was certain was rolling off of me.

I heard nothing.

"Isabella. Swan." I repeated her name a little louder the second time, and looked up. I saw two men gazing at me, ashen faced, sympathetic, and resigned.

That's all I needed to know before I bolted from my seat and down the stairs.

As I reached the fork in the road, I could hear the footfalls and pleas of Carlisle and Jasper as they struggled to keep up to me. Fortunately for me I was athletic and a fast runner, and since Carlisle was about 25 years my senior and Jasper had his leg injury, I was able to keep a good distance from me. I wasn't sure of their intentions, but no one was keeping me from my Isabella. Not this time or any time again.

I rounded the trees that had shrouded me the night before. I didn't have the time or the wherewithal to consider how the looked in the day, as my eyes were trained on the house that I knew to be hers. A million questions and emotions raced through my mind, and a large part of me feared that she didn't want to see me. For all the hundreds, thousands of times that I imagined this moment, there is nothing that could have prepared me for the feeling that maybe, maybe things weren't as they seemed. And most surprising of all, I was angry as much as I was fearful.

That thought stopped me dead in my tracks. The gaits of Carlisle and Jasper became louder until they stopped behind me and I felt two sets of strong hands grasp my shoulders and biceps. I didn't struggle.

"I'm angry," I informed them.

"I don't blame you," said Carlisle, "But you know you can't storm in there and confront her like this, angry –

"And sweating, and wild-eyed," Jasper finished. I looked down at my trembling hands, and I couldn't help but agree. I desperately wanted to see her, but I wasn't really sure why. I knew that at this moment anything could come out of my mouth and I couldn't let it be something I regret.

Begrudgingly, I sat down on a rock and rested my head in my hands. I looked down at the ground between my feet and contemplated all the emotions that were erupting within me. I failed miserably in sorting out all my feelings, which frankly was an uncomfortable subject for me. I didn't analyze feelings; I suppressed them. It was how I survived.

Forgoing the tumult of emotions, I began to dissect the facts that I knew. Using the toe of my shoe, I ticked off what I knew.

One: Isabella was alive.

Two: She was hiding from someone.

Three: She never came to find me - the man who had promised to his life to her.

Four: She was living under another name, and was apparently widowed.

Five: I wasn't sure if she wanted to even see me.

Six: I likely never would have known about her, had I not found her by accident.

I turned to Carlisle, "She doesn't even want to see me, does she?" I couldn't keep the hurt from my voice.

Carlisle sighed, turned away and looked further down the road, "It's not that, son. She had some…things to consider. I don't take it lightly when I tell you that she was in danger. There are others involved, who could be equally as hurt as she."

My toe erased the lined I had made in dirt. I paused and looked up. In a choke voice I asked, "Children?" I almost didn't want to know the answer.

Carlisle didn't answer out loud, but his head dipped and bobbed slightly, and I knew.

Isabella had run away for her own safety, and had children with another man. My heart would have broken again if I wasn't so overwhelmed with all this information.

"Jasper? My voice scratched, "I think I'm gonna need that scotch now." Jasper produced the half bottle of scotch from behind his back, and didn't appear surprised as I took the bottle by the next and drank back three large mouthfuls. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I looked down the road and realized that the woman I had mourned, dreamed of, begged for and cried over was not more than a hundred yards from where I sat.

How? How was I going to approach her now? "It's very nice to see you Isabella, all this time I thought you'd died. I bet you didn't know I've been pining for you since you left me, did you? Oh that's right, you should know, since I asked you to marry me!"

Ok, well there was one emotion I couldn't ignore.

I felt like I should have been relieved. A part of me died the day we heard the news from Mrs. Dwyer. As much as a part of me felt joy that she was alive, others were overriding it. Confusion, anger, jealousy. And I had too many questions to count.

"She's written you a letter." My head snapped up at this piece of information. Why hadn't he said something?

"What hadn't you said something?" I held my hand out anxiously.

Carlisle pulled an envelope from his coat pocket, "I had every intention to, but you ran out here and…" he trailed of and waved his hand, because we all knew the rest. All three of us were present when I snapped and ran off. "She didn't know if you wanted to see her, so she thought she would pen a few words, and give you the choice."

Why wouldn't I want to see her? I mean, yes, I was angry. I think any man in my position would be. But not see her? I wouldn't be able to leave without seeing her. It would be like knowingly leaving behind my very breath. I knew I wouldn't leave Vermont until I had been face to face with Isabella.

"I want to see her," I confirmed. Carlisle nodded and placed the letter in my hand. "I think I need some privacy, though."

"Certainly," Carlisle replied, and led us back to the Cullen's home.

Back in my newly adopted room, I sat at the secretary desk and looked at the white envelope. I tear streaked down my face as my finger traced my first name that was neatly written on the back. Just seeing something so simple brought back a barrage of memories. If I had doubted Isabella's resurrection before, I didn't now. It was, without a doubt, her handwriting on the envelope. While I was expectant of the contents, for a moment I just held the paper and wished I could slip back in time. I closed my eyes and envisioned myself at the desk in my room, opening a letter that she had snuck into my school bag. Often her letters to me were little bit like a journal, and I loved them for that reason. They weren't fancy or flowery, but intimate in that she wanted to share everything with me. She would tell me mundane things about her evening or weekend, when we weren't able to meet up with each other. She would apologize profusely for boring me with the "inconsequentials" of her days, but her writings for me were like poetry. It confirmed to me that she was thinking of me during our time apart.

Other times, she would enclose bits of prose that she had written that would often leave me heated and breathless. In those moments I was glad she wasn't with me, for surely I would have ravaged her in a very ungentlemanly way. Her letters would hint that she wished we would go further physically, but I was so frightened of her regretting going too far with me, that I had promised myself that I wouldn't progress us until I had made some sort of commitment. This had led to the evening of our engagement.

Recognizing that these memories were only allowing me to procrastinate due to my own anxiety, I took a moment to lift the envelope to my nose, and I inhaled.

Lemon verbena, grass, ivory soap. My heart sank. It didn't smell anything like the Isabella that I remembered.

Before I could talk myself from going any further, I sliced open the top of the envelope with the letter opener that Carlisle had provided. Inside was a single sheet of thin brown lined paper, like those that a child might use in school. I slowly unfolded the paper and laid it flat on the desk.

Edward,

I hope this letter finds you well, considering the circumstances in which we have become reacquainted. If you are reading this, then certainly Dr. Cullen has confirmed that it is indeed I that you met on the road last night. I can certainly imagine that I am alive comes as a shock to you -

"You can't imagine, Isabella," I muttered to myself, "If you only knew…you would have never disappeared on me." I carried on with the letter.

-and I'm sorry for any distress that finding me has caused you. I only hope that you can trust me when I say that lives – including my own – were at risk if I were to stay where I was. The presumption of my death was not planned, but conveniently allowed me to live many years without fear of being found by others who would not take kindly to the fact that I had disappeared.

To say that I am full of regret is an understatement. If I could go back, there are many, many steps that I took that I would have done differently. No matter, it seems we must leave time travel to science fiction, and focus on the present to reward us in the future.

But I do not regret that I met you on the road last night. I am sorry that I approached you in the manner in which I did, and I hope you can understand that I am not accustomed or welcoming to strangers walking at night on our property. I truly did not realize it was you. But in the end, I'm glad I didn't know. Had I known, I don't think I would have had the courage to approach you.

I took a minute to ponder her first words. She felt she made mistakes. She didn't regret meeting me, even if it was by accident. However this only concluded that she had no intention of contacting me. As we had a mutual acquaintance in Carlisle, it wouldn't have been difficult for her to know of me, and know how to contact me. Scanning the last few lines, I didn't like how she referred to the property as "ours" with whom did she share it? Did she speak of her husband? As I thought of that, I began to crumple the edges of the paper in my hands, so I forced myself to relax and continue reading.

I am very different from the girl you knew. It's difficult to explain all the ways that I, and my way of living would be foreign to you. I don't live a bad life, but for someone of your status it may not seem adequate. I can assure you that I have all I need, and no reason to ask for more.

I did not take the decision to disappear lightly. It is a choice that has weighed on me for the past 12 years. It is, however, a choice I would make again if I needed to. I can't explain more in this letter, but perhaps I can share with you in person.

I am fully aware that I am in no position to ask you for favors, but I must. I must ask that you keep my existence a secret from everyone you know, save Dr. and Mrs. Cullen, Alice Cullen, and Jay Whitlock. Until this morning, they did not know of my true identity and history, and they are the closest people in my life. It is imperative that I remain hidden, or I may be forced to run again. I don't know how I would do that, but only that I would succeed, as the consequences of failing would be too dire.

"No. No, no, no. I've found you, I'll never risk you leaving again," I mumbled softly, sadly.

I would like to sit and speak with you. I am sure you have lots of questions, and from what Lt. Whitlock and Alice said, you were quite distraught. I truly apologize for how this has come about, but I would like to be able to sit and offer you some sort of explanation.

I don't know what time or day is best for you. I feel badly about asking you to return to Vermont from New York City, but I simply do not have the means or opportunity to travel at this time. I hope you understand that if you would like to meet, it would need to happen here.

Please consider my request. I would forever wonder if you simply moved on with your life and made no attempt to sit with me, although I would understand the reasons that you may not be interested in seeing me again. You can contact me through Mrs. Esme Cullen to arrange a time at your convenience.

Sincerely,

Marie Black

P.S. Please burn this letter when you are finished with it. I cannot afford to have it fall into the wrong hands.

With my hands shaking, I folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. I glanced at the fireplace that still had embers smoldering its depths, but instead I placed the letter in my vest pocket. I had read the letter, but I was in no way finished with it.

Taking a deep breath, I realized that I was as ready as I ever was to see Isabella. I don't think one is every truly prepared to face someone under these circumstances, but having read her letter I could hear the honesty in her voice. She allowed herself to appear dead for a reason I do not yet know, but I know that it was important to her. The Isabella that I knew would not have done something so extreme unless circumstances called for it.

I allowed my mind to wander back to the feelings I had. The anger had dissipated some. I still felt jealous for the man I would never meet; the man who was given the chance to make a family with Isabella. That was supposed to be my family. I briefly pondered how much his influence prevented her from contacting me. I shook my head to clear my negative thoughts.

No, If I were to meet Isabella – er, Marie- I shouldn't go in there with negativity. I was being given a second chance at something I never had – closure. Perhaps after I saw her, I could close that chapter on my life and carry on in a more genuine fashion. Maybe I could even allow myself to feel something for another woman, like Tanya for example.

It tore my heart, but I had to be resigned to the fact that I couldn't hope for anything more than an amicable reunion. I lived in New York, I worked in the best hospital in the state – possibly the country – and I had social obligations that needed to be fulfilled. Isabella lived on a farm in Vermont as a widow with an assumed name. But beyond all that, she didn't seem interested in anything more than a chat.

No, my Isabella was no longer. Instead, I would be meeting Marie Black, and coming to terms with the fact that although the love of my life was not dead, she no longer existed. Perhaps now I could give her a proper good bye.

I headed downstairs and found Esme milling about in the sitting area dusting lamps and shelves. I briefly wondered where their help, Angela, was at this time of day. Regardless, I knocked on the doorframe to the sitting room and Esme whirled around with an excited, though not surprised, look on her face. I believed that she was waiting – no hoping – that I would descend and speak with her.

"Edward, so glad to see you are feeling better. How's your head?" Esme touched her own temple in reference.

"It's fine, thank you Esme. I was actually looking for you. I received a letter from…Ms. Black. It asked that I speak with you if I would like to meet her." Esme nodded and motioned for me to sit on the divan, to which I complied.

"I don't know what details you know," I began, "But I know that I can't return to New York until I see her." Despite my own pep talk, the thought of returning to New York after seeing her sent a shot of pain through my chest. I cleared my throat to loosen the tightness, to no avail.

"I would like to meet her as soon as possible. Do you know when she would be available?" I looked up expectantly at Mrs. Cullen, willing her to tell me that I could meet her right away.

"I believe Ms. Black said that supper time today would suffice, Edward." I felt a shock of excitement and nervousness at these words, as supper was less than an hour away, "So long as you are willing to wait that long and stay the night?" I nodded to her question. I knew I would stay all year if it meant I could see her. I couldn't leave her behind again.

"Very well, Ms. Black sups at 8pm." Esme finished with a smile, which turned to a chuckle at my confused expression. My heart sank in realization that I would have to wait another 2 hours to meet with her. "Yes, it seems late. Ms. Black does the chores on the farm before she eats. Such is farm life," Esme shrugged her shoulders, "I have saved some supper from last night for you, by the way."

"Very well, thank you Esme." I liked Esme. She reminded me of the good parts of my mother. She made me think of my childhood, when my mother would read to me from books before bed time, and would make sure that supper was saved when I was occupied with school work and the antics of my youth. Her smile was genuine and I could tell she really cared.

Just then, Jasper and Carlisle walked in, and nodded as Esme informed them that I would be meeting Ms. Black for supper. Carlisle then followed Esme into the kitchen, and there proceeded a string of murmurs and giggles that I tried my best to block out of my mind.

Jasper, however, was stilling hanging around awkwardly at the doorway to the sitting room. I looked up at him with a raised eyebrow in question as to what was on his mind, "A franc for your thoughts, Lt. Whitlock?" This had been a common phrase between the two of us in France when it seemed that something was weighing on the other's mind.

Jasper grinned, and then his features sobered. He exhaled sharply and then took a seat opposite to me. He perched on the edge of the divan and rested his elbows on his knees, staring at an unknown object on the floor. His eyes then looked up at me, though his head never moved.

"You know, Alice is the love of my life." I nodded my head figuring as much. As happy as I was for them, I couldn't ignore the envy that raced through me. "She sees Bells as a big sister of sorts. She was the first person who gained Alice's trust after her mom died and she was sent here." I stayed silent, as I was sure there was more to this story. "Because of this, I have a deep respect for Ms. Black. She is central to Alice's life, so she is to mine as well.

"You and I go way back, and we've been through a lot," He paused and looked out the window, "So I am hoping you'll respect my wishes and be gentle and kind with Bells, no matter what. I feel protective of her, especially since Jacob...well since she's been widowed." He looked up at me with a challenge in his eyes, "I can't let you hurt her."

I didn't know where this speech had come from, or what impression I gave that I was out to harm Isabella, but anger flared inside of me at him implying that I was capable of such a thing.

Unclenching my jaw I stated in a steady voice, "I can assure you Lt. Whitlock that I have no intention whatsoever of hurting Ms. Black. I don't think I can fully express how important she was to me. I won't hurt her."

"I believe you, Edward," Jasper looked me straight in the eye, "and I hope it's not just guilt coming through when you speak, but something in your voice tells me you will be good for her."

"Guilt? Why….?" I trailed off, not knowing why I would be guilty, but perhaps thinking that Jasper assumed I felt guilt over her death. I supposed a part of me did. Had I told her to stay in Seattle and made arrangements for her to stay, she would have never been on the train that had the accident. I closed my eyes at this realization. Another emotion to deal with.

Eight O'clock couldn't come fast enough. I was almost afraid of wearing out the hinges on my pocket watch for all the times I checked it. I eventually retired to my room, pacing and leaving the watch face open on the desk.

At a quarter to eight, Jasper knocked on my door. He had agreed to escort me to Isabella's home. Alice was waiting with her, but I was assured that we would be offered privacy.

In the depths of my dreams I had imagine meeting Isabella in a hundred different scenarios, but never like this. I dreamed of turning my car around and running back to her in her garden and taking everything I said back and begging her to stay. I imagined her in a blue gown meeting me in a field on a sunny day, running into my arms. I imagined her in white as I waited for her at the altar. I imagined her knocking on the door of my penthouse and leaping into my arms when I opened the door.

I never imagined this, though. As I approached the farmhouse I was taken aback by how small it was. I knew that Isabella had children, but surely she couldn't possibly have more than one in this tiny space. The house itself couldn't be larger than my kitchen in New York. There was an attic with a small window, and a fairly decent sized chimney ran to the center of the roof and billowed out a thin stream of white smoke. Behind the house loomed a barn. The air hung heavy with the scent of hay and dung of animals. Beside the house was a freshly tilled garden plot with bare, dark soil. Twilight was setting in, so while the remnants of dusk left a bit of a rosy glow, most of the landscape was bathed in a cool blue. The first stars were visible around the moon that still hung low in the sky.

Jasper and I approached a bare wooden door and knocked. I realized I was shaking and it was not from the cold. This was the biggest moment of my life in more than a decade, and I felt utterly helpless and out of control.

Alice opened the door, much to my unexpected relief. She looked at me sympathetically and motioned for me to enter. As I passed she placed a hand on my forearm and whispered, "She's as nervous as you are," Before heading outside where Jasper escorted her back home.

I entered the small space and tried to calm my racing heart. I took in all the details of the room before I allowed my eyes to settle on the small figure standing at the opposite wall. A large fireplace dominated the space, and various iron pots and pans hung on hooks beside the hearth. There was a small wooden table that could seat six in the front, a small china cabinet with peeling paint in the corner, and an ancient wooden icebox that was at least forty years old. Thin yellow curtains billowed in the draft from the pane-glass windows, and next to a chair in the corner stood Isabella wringing her hands, looking down.

I immediately felt bad about making her nervous, but I didn't know what to do to put her mind at ease. She looked smaller than I remember, but her face was still as beautiful. My memory had not done it justice. Her hair was pinned back behind her ears. It wasn't a modern style, but it was flattering. She was wearing a blue flower print dress that ended just below the knee with a light gray shawl over her shoulders.

When she looked at me my breath hitched. Though they looked older, her eyes captivated me in the same way that they always had. Deep pools of the darkest brown: wide, questioning, apprehensive.

Though I tried to move closer to her, I was only able to walk a few feet before my legs weakened. I grasped the back of a chair for support, and continued to look at her. Now that I had found her, there was nothing that could stop me from drinking in her form.

"Isabella," I whispered it reverently, like a prayer. "It's really you. It's really, really you." I wasn't sure she'd heard me, until she nodded her head in a quick, nervous manner, and then stared at her hands.

"Edward," she replied, as her gaze returned to me. A few tears slipped from her shining eyes, and I longed to cup her face in my hands and brush them with my thumbs. She produced a handkerchief from her sleeve and surprisingly, walked over and handed it to me. Reaching up, I felt the wetness from my own tears, which I quickly dabbed away.

"Please," she began, "Let's sit. I cooked supper."

I sat down at the sturdy, yet worn table and took in the place settings. The table was set for two. The plates matched, as did the soup bowls though they were from a different set. It looked like each piece of cutlery was from a different pattern, and I noticed immediately that the place that Isabella took had tin cutlery. I had a steel soup spoon and fork, with a silver knife. A mismatched tea service sat off to the side on a silver tray.

Despite being unmatched and old, I did notice that the dishes looked clean and well cared for. Isabella caught me eyeing the place settings, and I saw a deep groove form between her brows while her face reddened. She looked ashamed.

"You, you have a lovely home." It was only a half-lie. On one hand, it was obvious that the house was clean and that a lot of effort was put into its maintenance. On the other hand, I would never had deigned to let my wife live here. Quite simply, my Isabella was too good for such a place.

"Thank you," Isabella responded quietly before clearing her throat and continuing, "Please, help yourself." She removed the lids and steam rose from a bowl of vegetable soup that could have fed three times as many people, along with mashed potatoes, carrots and roasted chicken. Though the fare was simple, it smelled heavenly.

I couldn't help but groan in delight when I took my first bite. The chicken was flavorful and moist, and the soup had a hearty flavor that I hadn't tasted the likes of in a long time. "This food is incredible," I gushed Isabella blushed again, and this time I could tell it was from receiving the compliment. She dipped her head in reception of the remark, but otherwise remained silent.

For a few minutes, nothing could be heard but the sounds of dinner amongst a thick cloud of tension between us. "I think we should talk," Isabella finally stated. She didn't look unhappy. She wasn't smiling, but her eyes were shining with a light I remembered too well. Behind the light, I saw fear and nervousness, which I'm sure was mirrored in my own gaze. I nodded dumbly, not trusting my own voice.

Isabella served us both tea, and I was delighted when I saw that she still knew how I took mine. She then looked up at me and sighed, "Thank you for coming to meet me," she said quietly. I wanted to assure her that my heart gave me no other choice, but I felt it was too early, so I simply nodded.

"Of course, Isabella, you know you were always important to me," I looked up when she huffed through her nose, and saw her look away. A darkness clouded her eyes. I realized that perhaps she didn't feel the same way, "I'm sorry…I mean, I'm not sorry that I feel that way, but I'm sorry that it bothers you that I loved you." A searing pain tore through my heart. She never felt what I had, it seemed.

Here eyes became stern, and when she looked directly at me there was a fire behind them, which she quickly disguised. "I guess we all have things we regret," she replied softly.

I was confused, and more than a little hurt by this sentiment, "Are you saying…I mean, I'm sorry if you didn't care for me, but I don't regret loving you. Not one day." As I looked her, the stern expression gave way to one of understanding, and then gentleness.

"Edward, I can understand how my…disappearance weighed heavily on your mind. Part of the reason I invited you here was to let you know that you don't have to feel guilty about me. Jay told me about what you told him during the war," I exhaled sharply, and Isabella continued, "What happened wasn't your fault. You simply moved on. No one can fault you for that."

"What exactly did Jasper tell you?" What was she talking about? She was acting as though I left her. Granted, I encouraged her to go, but I never moved on. Even when I wanted to, I couldn't.

"How you spoke of a girl you dated, that she died in a train accident, that you wish you hadn't sent her away. But you didn't! I could have, I should have fought to stay. I was naïve Edward; I didn't realize what would happen. I had too many ideals, I realize this now."

I was thoroughly confused, "I always felt bad that I didn't make arrangements for you to stay. You were my fiancée. I wanted forever with you and yet I was sending you across the country. Why would I not feel bad about that? But that's not what I meant when I said I loved you. Those feelings were not born of guilt."

"I don't understand, Edward. I don't understand how you can say you loved me, when it was clear that it was so easy for you to move on."

What?

"What do you mean by that? You think I moved on?"

"Well, it was obvious, Edward. People who are in love don't just drop the other way you did with me." Her eyes welled up and became distant in memory, "I waited," her voice cracked, "and it was obvious that you didn't feel the same, that you couldn't be bothered,"

"Couldn't be bothered? Couldn't be bothered?" My voice became louder, so I softened it immediately. This was not how I imagined this conversation going. "I thought of you every day. Every. Day. Every moment was torture. Isabella, you wouldn't even let me write you!" I had thrown my hands up in exasperation and then noticed the confused look on her face.

"Say that again?" Isabella asked.

"Which part? Which part don't you understand Isabella? That I died the day you left? That I spent every waking moment wishing for you to come back, just like I told you I would? Or that I respected your wishes and didn't try to write you? Or that I died again the day I found out about the accident. The accident that apparently didn't even kill you!" The anger was back, the anger that she had made all these assumption about me, and that those assumptions have kept her away from me. I was still steaming that she would be accusing me of these things. That she could sit there with a straight face and tell me that I was never in love with her.

Isabella opened her mouth to respond, but the anger that had rooted itself in there previous had been fed by these accusations. I got up from the table and paced the small room and continued, "Or maybe what it is you don't understand is how it feels to know that while I was dying inside, you were off with another man, making a family! Well, it's nice to know that one of us was happy!"

My rage was interrupted by a sharp slap on the table. I looked up from the floor and unwound my fingers that were tangled in my hair in frustration. Tiny Isabella had her hand flat on the table, and her whole small body shook as she glared at me. Her face was red in anger, her eyes were tight and her jaw clenched.

Isabella spoke low and steadily, "You will not speak of things you know nothing about, Edward. Especially in my home." She was so calm, yet so scary. Anger swirled about her and I fought the urge to take a step back. Hearing my name on her lips did strange things to my body. It unsettled me how I could find the sight both frightening and erotic at the same time. I chastised myself as I fought the urge to pick the small woman up and have my way with her. This was not the Isabella I had known – but damned if I didn't like it.

I slowly sat down, and as I slumped back, the emotional exhaustion of the day washed over me, "I'm sorry," I mumbled gruffly, and then cleared my throat. I looked at her in the eye and spoke clearly, "Please accept my apology, I…it's been an emotional day, and I have all sorts of feelings," I rubbed at the aching spot in my chest, "I didn't mean to offend you. I guess I just want to know, while you were away, why you wouldn't accept my letters. Why you didn't come to me if you were in trouble. Why you wouldn't communicate with me. I know I let you down, I just…I just thought you would have had more faith in me. In us."

She looked up at me with confusion and sadness, and as her anger dissipated she seemed so small and hunched once more.

Her voice was small, barely above a whisper, yet her eyes didn't waver from mine, "I never asked that of you." I looked at her with equal amounts of misunderstanding, "I never asked that you not write me."

I opened my mouth to tell her about the message my mother sent me, but the clatter of her teacup on the saucer silenced me. Isabella's hands were shaking with a strong emotion of some sort. When she spoke, there was a newfound fire in her eyes and steel in her voice. "I wrote you every day, at first." Her small fist pounded the table and I looked up at her in shock, "I couldn't handle the silence," she continued, "so I started to write twice a week. Then once a month, along with the phone calls –"

"Phone calls?" I whispered, flabbergasted.

"Once a week, for about 6 weeks," Isabella confirmed, "until Mrs. Mallory answered of course, and I was informed of your impending marriage." Her eyes clouded in sadness and her voice became bitter.

"What are you talking about? My wedding to you? Why would? I…I'm sorry I don't know what you are referring to." I laughed humorlessly. This was making no sense at all.

She reached across the table and grasped my hand, and despite the panic in her voice, I reveled in her touch, "Edward, please. Don't do this to me. I did receive that letter from you. I know all about your engagement. I mean, after I received it I didn't have much time to process it, and I know you've had girlfriends after, at least the papers say so, so I don't know why your engagement fell through. But I do know you were engaged to her while I was gone." She let go of my hand and I stared at her in shock and silence, so she continued to ramble, "Truthfully, I was devastated at the time, and angry, and scared, and sad. But there was nothing I could do, was there?" She sighed, "I forgave you in my heart long ago, even if I never understood how you could do it to me, or how it came about. For a while I thought maybe she was pregnant," her voice rose as she fought tears, "but I guess you would still be with her then, wouldn't you?" Her voice cracked as it rose in pitch, and tears slipped down her face and she batted them away.

I still stared at her in shock. I didn't trust my own voice.

Finally, I gathered my thoughts and opened and closed my mouth a few times before I found me voice. I looked at her and in prayed that my sincerity was apparent as I responded, "Isabella, there was only you. You were the only person to whom I've been engaged. You are the only person I had been with in that time…biblically, I mean," I cleared my throat, suddenly embarrassed of the subject. Frankly speaking with her about that brought back too many pleasant memories of that night, and I struggled to calm my body. "I was never engaged to anyone else, not even close." She looked at me quizzically so I continued to try and deny her statements, "I didn't court anyone. There was no one but you. In my heart, in my mind, for my body.

"So I have to ask you, to whom do you think I was engaged to marry? Because I can't for the life of me figure out how you got that impression."

Isabella regarded me silently and pensively for a few moments. After a long stretch without speaking, in which she tilted her head to the left, and then to the right, as though she were working out a puzzle, she sighed, and replied, "Well, you're either outright lying to me, or you never meant to send me that letter."

"WHAT LETTER?" I exclaimed a little too loudly.

Instead of responding, Isabella silently rose from the table and entered the small room to the right of the fireplace. She returned with a small wooden box and lifted the lid carefully, as though an animal resided inside. She pulled from it two sheets of yellowed paper, and some cream colored cardstock that bore my family crest on the back, along with an unfamiliar crest beside it. Wordlessly, she slid the items across the table.

Although I knew I shouldn't have, I surreptitiously took the exchange as an opportunity to graze my fingertips along her own. I shouldn't have wanted to touch her again, but like the desire to place my hands on her face, all rational thoughts escaped me and the desires of my body – and admittedly, my heart – took over.

I heard a soft gasp as my hand slid over hers, and I smiled inwardly. The lightness didn't stay for long however, as a heavy confusion and a large dose of anger settled into the bottom of my stomach.

On the top of the pile of papers was the single sheet of cardstock, decorated with a floral design embossed into the top and left side of the paper. The design flowed outward where, with gold leaf letters glaring at me, was printed my name in reference to a future I had never planned, nor had ever in my life entertained:

MR. AND MRS. ALISTAIR MALLORY ARE PLEASE TO INVITE YOU WITNESS

THE MARRIAGE OF THEIR DAUGHTER

LAUREN EILEEN

TO EDWARD ANTHONY MASEN

SATURDAY AUGUST 24TH, 1935, 10AM

AT THE FIRST METHODIST PROTESTANT CHURCH OF SEATTLE

DINNER AND RECEPTION TO FOLLOW AT THE CAMLIN HOTEL, SEATTLE

I was rendered utterly and completely speechless. My brow began to ache and I realized my jaw was slack. I schooled my features and looked up to see Isabella with a blank expression on her face. The only sign that I had that she was not as calm as she tried to make herself look was by the slight tremble of her chin. After all these years, I still knew her face. She wanted to be unaffected when showing this to me, but she was struggling to hold back her emotions. Her eyes also remained downcast, and I willed her to look up so she would show me what she was really feeling.

"Who sent this to you?" I had to know the person who spread these lies.

Isabella's eyes rose to mine, and the flames of anger sparked beneath them. "Does it matter? What matters most is that I received it, don't you think?"

My jaw clenched and unclenched. She had to know this was false, and I told her so. Again, the Isabella I knew was gone and was replaced by a woman who was deathly calm in her rage, "That doesn't explain the letter," she replied curtly, as she folded her arms across her chest.

After the shock of the wedding invitation, I had forgotten about the thin yellow sheets beneath the cardstock. I slid the card off the pile, and if I had thought that I was thoroughly shocked before, I was sadly mistaken.

It was my hand writing, but they were not my words. I could even tell that it was the blue ink that I had preferred, written on my paper with our family crest, on the top of a letter that I didn't write.

I registered the large breath that escaped my body, but I felt like it came from outside of me. As I read through the letter, my mind disconnected from my body, and I felt myself floating away. It was all too overwhelming, and my brain felt foggy. I faintly heard the clatter of the tea service as Isabella refilled our cups and waited for my response.

I read the letter once, twice. I didn't remember writing it. No, not in a thousand lifetimes would I have ever written this to my Isabella, yet the ink on the paper told a different story. I read the letter a third time, as though a hidden message could tell me from where and why this letter had been made. Was I drunk when I wrote this? No, impossible. Even at my most inebriated, I wouldn't have even remotely entertained the words on those pages. Short of being drugged…but to have been this drugged, I didn't think my penmanship…

Through the mist of confusion, I vaguely heard Isabella clear her throat. I looked up at her with questioning eyes and a baffled mind. When she caught my gaze her look of annoyance quickly turned to concern.

"Edward," She said, but her voice was a like a dream. "Edward!" She took my hand and my mind started to clear, "Are you alright?" She questioned me, "You…this isn't the reaction I expected," She drew back her hand and fiddled with her handkerchief, "You look…you look like you've seen a ghost…that just gave you a difficult math problem!" Isabella chuckled in her attempt to lighten the mood, but try as might I couldn't escape from my confused state.

"Edward, say something, please," She implored, "You've been staring at those pages for 15 minutes now, and haven't uttered a word." I began to recognize the nervousness and fear in her voice, so I willed myself to speak.

"Isabella…I…I mean, I never…I didn't." I huffed in irritation with myself and finally blurted out what I struggled to say. "I didn't write this. It looks as though I did, but I swear to you I have never seen or written these words before. I have spent the last 15 minutes trying to conjure up scenarios in which I might have written something, but never in a million years would I have written this to you. Short of being unconscious, I for the life of me fathom how it came to be. Of course if I were unconscious, could I write this neatly? Perhaps I had a bizarre dream and sleep-wrote? No, impossible. Neither lucid nor under the spell of sleep would I have ever thought what I see here. No. Never. I did not write this."

"But," Isabella proceeded, "With the invitation…"

"No." I cut her off. "I don't know what has happened here, but there has been a grave injustice committed. Not under any circumstances would I have broken our engagement to marry Lauren Mallory, or anyone for that matter. She has never held interest to me. I didn't even date her, and frankly I felt nothing but disdain for the way she treated you. I did not write this. It simply did not happen." I punctuated the last five words with my fist as it lightly pounded the table.

Isabella regarded me once more, and then with a strange expression across her face answered, "I think I believe you."


A/N reviews are always appreciated, and also help to remind me that I'm not just one of two people reading this story :)