26.

I don't really want to call him. Our relationship has been strained since Edward disappeared. But Alice convinces me it's a good idea.

"It's his granddaughter," she pleads. "He should at least meet her."

"What's her name?" Charlie asks, peering over my shoulder.

"Marisol Elizabeth," I say softly.

"Marisol?"

Not taking my eyes off her, I smile. "It means sunflower."

"And I guess Elizabeth is after Edward's mother?"

I nod. It was one way to honor the woman who raised him all on her own before she was taken away from him. "Yeah."

"She's real pretty, Bells."

"She's beautiful."

"I wish you'd have told me sooner. I could've … I don't know, I could've done something. You had her without anybody here but the nurses for god's sake. I should've—"

I can't help it; I giggle. "What? Were you going to coach me? You wouldn't have wanted to be there for that." I look up and see regret in his eyes. Regret for so many things. I reach for his hand. "It's okay, Dad."

I wring my hands as the nurse places a swaddled Marisol in the portable bassinet.

"I really don't want her to go to the nursery."

"Oh, sweetheart, you need the rest. Your chart says you'll be taking this little angel home by yourself. You're going to need to be well rested, and you can't be rested if you don't get some sleep." She places a hand over mine. "We'll wake you when she needs to nurse again."

She disappears through the door with the center of my world, and I lie back in the lumpy bed. Tossing and turning, I'm unable to get comfortable. The constant beeping and hallway noise makes it impossible to sleep.

Even though I'll probably be caught and scolded, I slip out of bed and into the hallway to walk toward the nursery. I'm slow, and by the time I round the corner, I'm grasping onto the hallway rail. But when I look down the corridor, toward the wall of windows surrounding the nursery, a tall figure dressed in a dark hoodie stands there, familiar long fingers splayed against the glass.

My breath catches.

He flinches.

"Please don't go," I whisper, knowing he can hear me. "Please."

I inch closer, and with every step, his body tenses. There's no doubt he's fighting the urge to flee.

"Her name is Marisol," I say quickly, before he can run away again. "It means—"

"Sunflower," he says, his voice gruff.

"Yeah."

"Marisol." This time, he speaks softly, more to himself.

"Marisol Elizabeth, after your—"

He whips his head around to face me. "My mother."

For the first time since June I meet his eyes. But instead of the evil blood-red I expect to see, deep, burning gold stares back at me.

Time stops as we stare at each other. I have no way of knowing if he's aware of how much I know about what he's become. But seeing those fiery golden eyes … it changes everything.