As always, a lovely thank you to anyone who took the time to read these chapters.

I've decided to take a slightly different path to Esme's personality than we typically think.

I felt as though the books only painted her as a submissive mother who had little thoughts and feelings fleshed out besides being a mother. All women are more than this and I want to portray her as so, but without losing the traits that make her Esme - empathy, love, and patience.

Chapter II -

Esme's POV - Age 16 - Columbus, OH

"Somebody, please help me!" I screamed, my knuckles gripping the loveseat side as I sobbed. Our maid glanced over in pure pity before staring back at the entrance. She had called for a doctor hours ago, but the hospital informed her that there had been a number of accidents in the recent storm. The doctors were stretched thin, already at risk in these conditions, but they promised that an alternative doctor would arrive as soon as possible. In the background, thunder rumbled and rain poured while the house seemed a safe haven from the chaos outside. But it was no use - the storm had made it impossible for help to arrive, and I was left with no other option but to wait it out. Independence and self-reliance had been the cornerstones of my childhood, though I have never wanted, no needed, someone to come to my aide so badly.

I turned my attention to the maid in order to offer some sort of distraction, though I was thankful that the pulsating pain was reaching a threshold where my body rendered me numb.

Elizabeth was a breath of fresh air for my mother, who was bound by the traditional customs of her French heritage. Her beauty was envied by many and my mother was no exception, I had grown up despising my own soft features as I watched every farmhand's gaze linger on her as soon as she made her presence known. Despite Elizabeth's unmarried state and lack of children, I was certain that my mother saw her as a better alternative to me, her eyes full of admiration and envy whenever Elizabeth arrived. She wanted a daughter like her - a beautiful, obedient woman who followed the rules and stayed within the bounds of tradition. Instead, she received American curiosity, the epitome of America's resistance to European tradition and strict defiance.

Realizing my prolonged stare, she turned to offer me a smile out of simple kindness, pitying that my parents had retired to their individual tasks instead of waiting with their broken daughter. My father was off to entertain Louis, whose curiosity and sympathy were overwhelming for a small child who should not have been subject to such trauma. My mother, feeling ill from the ordeal, rested upstairs. I could envision her rolling eyes and pale skin, inconvenienced by my latest disobedience. With a heavy heart, I returned the smile, thanking her for her kindness even though I knew that she never would have been as dense as I.

A sudden knock startled me, and I jumped in surprise. Following my movement, I felt a sharp pain course through my body. Elizabeth uttered a few comforting words as she reached for the door. I gritted my teeth, trying not to show my discomfort. I had been trying to ignore the pain all day, but it had become unbearable as the numbness dissipated with my sudden movement. Taking a deep breath, I attempted to compose myself before Elizabeth opened the door.

"Welcome, Doctor. Thank you for coming in such dreadful weather; she has a badly broken leg. It's usual for her, I'm afraid." She shook her head, a small smile pulling at her lips despite the strange mix of disappointment and pity on her face.

"Usual?" He raised an eyebrow in question.

"She's quite adventurous, this one," she said, her voice still strained in a poor attempt to hide her conversation. "Brings insanity to her poor mother. Usually the injuries are quite mild, sprained ankles or bruised knees. A significant fall from a tree has left her with a badly broken leg."

He smiled in acknowledgment before turning to face me, finally in full view. My breath caught in my throat and every ounce of blood flooded back to my cheeks in tidal waves. His eyes were deep and dark, and a faint upturn played on his lips. I felt my heart pounding in my chest as I stared at him, unable to look away but flush in embarrassment for my misstep.

He was tall and slender, though his skin looked porcelain. It was if the most skilled artisan had taken considerable time to craft an angelic sculpture of a man, though I am unsure as to how they brought him to life once they stepped back and marveled at their masterpiece. I suppose he enjoyed a more privileged life than those bound to the earth, the sun being a constant companion to those in the fields. Golden hair framed his face, inevitably messy from the downpour but somehow styled neatly. Soft hands that never having toiled in the dirt or calloused by the labor of the land. He stood there, a stark contrast to the farmers, his clothes clean and pressed.

"Hello, I am Dr. Cullen; I'm here to reset your leg. I apologize for the delay Ms. Platt, but thank you for your patience."

Melodic with an hint of tenor, as though it was the last few chords at the end of a lullaby. He relayed his words gently, enough to break away my stare but not harsh enough to cause any discomfort or fear. The best that I could offer was a simple nod, afraid that if I were to open my mouth, nothing but sobs would overtake the room. He offered a great distraction from the throbbing of my left leg, but I was harshly reminded upon the most subtle of movements.

He approached cautiously, evaluating his next course of action as he witnessed the disaster of the young lady before him. I couldn't help but grin, feeling the dimples in my cheeks take hold as I sniffled a laugh. I supposed if he was from an aristocratic lifestyle, he had likely not seen very many adventurous women. He set one hand on either side of my twisted leg, undoubtably feeling for the position of the broken bone. His touch was unremarkably soft and cold, causing the blood to spread from my cheeks down my neck. It was already embarrassing for a man to see me in such condition, let alone the disgrace that I enjoyed the touch. I quickly raised my eyes to his before looking looking away just the same. He must have known I was embarrassed, but didn't make any mention of it. Instead, he quietly and gently propped my leg in a way that made the pain bearable.

"I'm very sorry, but I am fairly certain it will heal quickly." He offered comforting words before quickly aligning my bones. A scream erupted from my lips before I was able to process my audience, my back arching and hands gripping the soft cushions beneath me. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks, tasting of a mix of salt and rust, a mix of agony and shame.

While I sobbed, I could feel cold hands gently move from my calf to my ankle and gently squeeze. Not an action to heal, but an action of sorrow. While my body shook uncontrollably, an ounce of my conscious reveled in the pained expression on the doctor's face. It was silly to believe he cared, but part of me hoped that I was mistaken. I was thankful for his patience in that moment as I squirmed and shook, his hands keeping my leg in place as my body learned to accept its new position. It was a silent comfort that I couldn't have been more thankful for.

Elizabeth rustled, her skin turning a slight shade of green as she struggled to hold onto consciousness. She stood with a slight sway before excusing herself to the next room. I couldn't help but feel a wave of sympathy as she hastily retreated.

As the river of tears started to dry, the doctor moved to remove the dried blood covering my other leg. He took significant care to be gentle, though the longer than he remained by my side, the more I started to squirm from unrealistic daydreams. While my father was part of the local 'aristocracy', Columbus was still a developing city of mostly business professionals and farmers, my father being the later. The type of men in this town were very different than he, and I started to ponder whether my mother's suggestion of courtship would really be so terrible if it were with him.

"I was climbing a tree, watching the storm. As I descended, the branches had accumulated more water than I had anticipated, I'm afraid that I fell quite a ways." I tried breaking the silence, watching his face shift from focused to amused. My shoulders dropped as I realized that his expression likely wasn't an interest in me, but rather an amusement at my idiocy. Small, ordinary farmer's daughter breaks leg in streak of defiance. Just one of many cases he attended today. A check off a list before he waves his goodbye and attends many more.

"Climbing a tree?" Ah, he was hardly paying attention. Only a fool would assume that they could hold the attention of a respected individual such as he.

All I could muster was a nod in response.

He focused on cleaning my wounds, though his lips remained upturned, as though in deep thought. Likely relishing a home visit that wouldn't end in the crippling embrace of death.

"Why did you climb the tree?" He captured my gaze as he asked, though his hands still moved to clean away the remaining blood.

"Nature is soothing to the soul during times of hardship." I whispered. His eyes were full of compassion as he looked back at me, his hands stilling for a moment as he simply listened.

"I grew up in England; I would explore as a child often. I'm trying to become accustom to the different environment, though I enjoy a good adventure." Does he view me as a child?

It was rather odd that I hadn't heard an accent, though perhaps he had moved as a small boy. I noted that my mother's accent seemed to fade every year, her native tongue rivaling the American pronunciation. We all missed the soft lullaby of her French, but understood that she is incredibly alone regarding ability in a place such as Ohio.

"England seems very pleasant, though a long way to travel. I'd love to visit, perhaps when aeroplanes are accessible to people such as us."

Why was I thinking of watching the waves of an unfamiliar ocean with the man across from me? Blood flooded my cheeks. I looked away quickly, trying to hide my embarrassment.

"I pray that the hardship that you speak of is only temporary."

His response was so kind, so different from many of the men that my mother was pushing for courtship. None had shown an ounce of empathy. But here was someone who had taken the time to listen and to care.

I'm not sure that I believe in love at first sight. From my understanding, that belongs only in fairytales, novels, and to Jane Austen. But in this humid, dripping, aching living room, a deep curiosity burned like fire in my chest. The burn painted my throat with questions that were not meant to be heard outside the sacred union of God. If I were to open my mouth, amber would spill out in a reunion of sweet honey fanned by sultry flames.

Dr. Cullen stood up, finished with his tasks. With a lingering stare, he turned towards the door. My heart dropped at the realization that he would carry on with his life. This would be but a distant memory that would eventually be forgotten with time.