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Loved her. They loved her. Her pancake man, the pretty Esme, her Rosie and Emmett, Jasper and Alice, Uncle James — they loved her. Edward loved her. But what did that mean? Really mean, because he said he loved her all the time. Loved to make her cry, loved the feel of his body on top of hers, the feel of his hands against her skin, the way she begged for him to stop, to leave her baby with her, to let her go. Yeah, he loved her, too. So what did love really mean?
"Did you fall asleep?" Edward asked.
They were laying on the next bed, the pile of blankets he'd put in the closet for her, their hands entwined together, letting the silence fill the air.
"No," she whispered, lobbing her head to the side. "You told me about your mom, but what was your dad like?"
Edward smiled. "Dad was . . . was strict, but fair. He expected a lot out of us. Always told us that if we weren't prepared to give it one hundred percent, we shouldn't bother wasting our time. He wanted us to find our own path, like Carlisle and medical school, or Emmett and football, Jay and the police department. He said our passion in live is what defined us, and it was important to find our place in the society."
"What is yours?" she asked. "You talked about Carlisle, Emmett, and Jasper, but not about your passion. What is it?"
"I, um, I don't know anymore. Before they died, I used to be obsessed with art. I can't draw for shit, but I loved diving into the deeper meaning of paintings and sculpture, but after they died, I don't know, I couldn't do it anymore."
"Tell me more about them," she whispered.
"He was quiet, but of course, Mom was so flamboyant and full of life, I think he just liked watching her. He loved her," he whimpered, folding his free arm under his head. "Sometimes I'd find them dancing in the middle of the living room, only the glow from the fireplace surrounding them."
"To Claire de Lune?" she asked.
He nodded. "It was her favorite, and he gave her everything she wanted. She'd make him go play in the rain, and when he would try to refuse, she'd give him little pout," Edward laughed. "Always worked on him, and on us, too. He loved her so much, Bella."
She smiled and looked away from him. "I like it when you tell me about your family."
"Why?" he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't really remember Rosie or our parents anymore. I guess when you tell me about your mom and dad, your brothers, I kind of feel like . . . like I can remember mine. Stupid, I know."
"It's not stupid," Edward murmured, rolling onto his side. "But you know, there is someone who can help you remember your mom and dad."
"Who?"
"Rosalie," he said, smiling. "You could ask her to tell you about them. I bet she has loads of memories to share with you."
"I make her cry," she whispered.
"Because she missed you so much."
She shifted so that she was sitting up, her knees pulled to her chest. "Why?"
"Why what, sweetheart?" he asked, matching her position.
"Why would anyone miss me? I'm a nobody, a nothing."
"I don't know how anyone could not miss you, love," he whispered, and when she looked back at him, she saw only truth in his eyes. "I know I would miss you, if you weren't here anymore."
"Why are you here with me, Edward?"
Edward sat up, placing his hand against her cheek, whispering, "Because you let me."
Biting her lip, she turned away to keep from smiling. She wasn't sure why his words made her insides feel funny, like he was saying more than he was really saying, if that made sense.
"Come on, sweetheart," he laughed as he scrambled to his feet and held his hand out to her. "I'm hungry. How about we make some more grilled cheese?"
She nodded and placed her hand in with his, letting him pull her to her feet. As always, Edward kept her hand in with his as they walked out of the closet, through the bedroom, and downstairs. Carlisle and Esme were seated on the couch with Beth in Carlisle's arms. Emmett and Rosie were on the other couch, and she looked up at Edward, thinking about what he had told her. Maybe her Rosie could help her remember their parents, but was she ready for that?
"Rosalie," Edward said, causing Rosie to tense as she stood up. "Bella and I are going to make some grilled cheese, but I just realized that we need more cheese. Can you, maybe, help her butter the bread while I go get some?"
"Yeah, of course," Rosalie stammered, slowly reaching her hand out toward her. "Do you mind if I make one for myself, Bella?"
She shook her head and placed her hand in her sisters, feeling her fingers wrapping tightly around hers.
"Thank you," Rosie whispered. "I'm starving, and I loved the grilled cheese you made the other day."
"You did?" she asked, and followed Rosie through the living room and into the kitchen.
"I did," she confirmed. "Better than the ones Mom used to make us when we were little. Do you remember?"
She shook her head. "Tell me about them."
Rosie smiled and gestured toward the table, where they both sat. "She used to put a lot of butter on them, and she'd always brown them just the right amount. Then she would cut them in triangles. When it cold outside, she'd make her homemade chicken noodle soup to go with the grilled cheese."
"Tell me . . . tell me more about . . . about Mommy and Daddy," she whimpered.
Rosie smiled, reaching out and wrapping her fingers around hers. "Daddy used to sneak us downstairs every Sunday morning before Mommy got up. He said we had to be quiet and he'd make us help him cook breakfast for Mommy."
"What would we make her?" she asked, pulling her knees to her chest.
"Every week was different," Rosie said. "Omelets, breakfast casseroles, but Mommy really loved pancakes. Maybe that's why you like them so much."
"Did she like syrup on hers?"
Rosie nodded. "You never did, though. Always said it was too sticky. Usually, we'd surprise her in bed, but sometimes, she'd walk in on us when we were cooking. She'd laugh and swoop the two of us in her arms, kissing and hugging us." Rosie whimpered. "Mommy always brushed our hair before we went to bed. She'd sit on the bed behind us, and we'd tell her about our day, what we did at school, or with our friends. She'd tuck us in, kiss our forehead, and tell us . . . she'd tell us to dream big."
"What'd they look like?" she asked, feeling her tears slip down her face.
"I have a picture. Would you like to see it?" Rosie asked.
She nodded, so Rosie hurried out of the kitchen, coming back at minute later with her purse in her hands. She sat back down at the table and opened it, pulling out a picture.
"It was taken a few months before . . . before that night," Rosie whispered, turning it over and holding it out to her.
Her fingers were trembling as she took it, holding it up in front of her. Daddy was big, strong-looking. He had the same brown hair that she and Rosie both had, his eyes dark yet full of love and happiness. He stood next to Mommy, who had blond hair and bright blue eyes. Rosie was standing in front of him. Her hair was long than it was now, but Just as brown. But it was the little girl next to her that she didn't recognize. The little girl with red cheeks and huge smile, eyes full of love and hope. No, that little girl was dead and gone.
"Can . . . can I have this?" she heard herself asking before she looked over at Rosie. "So maybe I can remember them?"
"Of course you can," Rosie said. "I have more, too. At my apartment. I can bring them to you, if . . . if you want. Pictures of our birthday parties, and Christmases, and vacations and stuff. Would you like me to bring them over?"
She nodded. "If . . . if you don't mind."
Rosie smiled and brought her hand up to Bella's face. "I don't mind, Bella.
Now, we'd better start buttering the bread, don't you think? I'm hungry."
"Me too," she whispered, and followed Rosie over as she started pulling the stuff out of the fridge.
She wondered if there would ever be a time when she didn't feel like a nobody and a nothing. Would she ever the someone special Edward claimed she was?
—SfH—
Jasper walked into the break room and slammed his travel mug on the counter before reaching for the glass pot, filling the mug to the top. His head hurt, his eyes burned from staring at the computer screen for hours, and the more he thought about Bella Swan, the more pissed off he got. That girl suffered through more hell than anyone he had ever known, yet there was a good chance Sam Uley would get away with it. Sure, they still had the assault charges against him after he went after James Swan, but a simple assault wouldn't put him away for more than a few years. And seeing as he didn't even have a single traffic violation against him, the odds of a judge holding Sam Uley without bail weren't high. If he made bail, he would go after Bella Swan again, that much Jasper was sure about.
Garrett muttered under his breath and he walked into the break room, refilling his own coffee.
"He say anything?" Jasper asked, knowing he'd been trying to break Sam Uley for the last six hours.
"Not a fucking word," Garrett groused. "Just sits there with a smug-ass smile on his face. Hadn't even asked for a lawyer, just refuses to say Goddamn word."
"Slimy bastard," Jasper quipped, turning and leaning against the counter. "How'd he do it, Cap? How'd someone like him get away with so much and never, ever getting caught?"
"I don't know," Garrett admitted. "Either he's the luckiest son-of-a-bitch, or too fucking smart. My guess is the later." Garrett sipped his coffee. "Find the kid yet?"
Jasper shook his head. "Got a few hopefuls, all alive thank God, but I don't know. Three adoptions of little girls around the same age as Hope. I don't know, Cap, just feels like we're grasping at straws."
"Let's go check them out together," Garrett suggested, and when Jasper started to argue, he held his hand up and said, "I gotta get out of here, Cullen, before I finish what you started with Yorke, Newton, and Crowley. Motherfuckers keep glaring at me, like it's my fault they're shitty detectives."
Jasper laughed and then nodded. "All right. Suppose I get that, Cap."
Once they had refilled their coffee, Jasper grabbed the information he had gathered over their three possible, but unlikely, hopefuls and lead Garrett passed Newton, Crowley, and Yorke, all of whom looked bored. Just another reason they pissed him off. They didn't care if they nailed Sam Uley to the wall, as long as they could take credit for finding the long, lost Isabella Swan. Who cared what that monster had put her through, as long as she was alive, right?
Four hours later, Jasper and Garrett pulled up in front of a large brick house with a big porch and a couple cars parked in the driveway. This was their third stop, and Jasper was beginning to get frustrated. Neither of their first two stops were close to being their missing girl. The first was a little blond girl who had been born via surrogacy, and the second was a little dark haired girl, who had just turned three. Their last bit of . . . Well Hope . . . was in the hands of their last family.
Jasper and Garrett shared a look before they climbed out of Jasper's truck and headed up to the front porch. Jasper pressed the doorbell before shoving his hands into his pockets and looking around the neighborhood. It seemed like a nice area, he thought.
The door opened and he looked back, finding a man around Carlisle's age. He had dark hair and eyes and a pair of thick, black plastic framed glasses on. He smiled as he looked from Garrett to Jasper and back.
"Can I help you?"
"Benjamin Cheney?" Jasper asked.
"Call me Ben," he said, smiling bigger. "Um, who are you?"
"Detective Jasper Cullen, Seattle P.D. This is my boss, Captain Garrett Mitchell," he said, before taking a deep breath. "We're sorry to just stop by unannounced like this, but we understand you and your wife adopted a little girl about a year and a half ago."
"Yes, we did," he said, folding his arms in front of him. "What's this about? We followed the law to the letter."
"We know," Garrett confirmed, clearing his throat. "Have you been watching the news, sir?"
"Heard something on the radio on my way home from work," he admitted. "Are you talking about the missing girl that was just found? A girl from over in Forks, wasn't it?"
Jasper and Garrett shared another look before they both nodded, and Jasper said, "Sir, we have reason to believe your daughter might be . . . might be her biological daughter."
Ben shifted his eyes between each of them before he turned and yelled, "Angela, come here."
A moment later, a tall, thin woman with long black hair and dark eyes came hurrying downstairs with a little dark haired girl on her hip. Her skin was a creamy tan, her eyes dark, and she was clutching an old teddy bear against her chest.
"Ben, what's wrong? Is it my dad?" Angela asked, cradling the baby against her.
"Cap," Jasper whispered, and when Garrett looked at him, he tilted his head toward the little girl. "The bear. It has a blue nose. A little girl might name him Blue, don't you think?"
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