Alice and Jasper
The hotel room in Biloxi held a deep silence, only punctured by the soft sound of Jasper gently turning pages of the book he was currently reading, and the scrabbling of Alice's pencil as she drew. The heavy curtains to the room had been pushed wide to let the last of the fading light in.
Alice sat cross-legged on the bed, a sketchbook balanced on her lap. Its pages were filled with quick, abstract renderings of Bella's face—her eyes, her smile, her quiet intensity. Alice had drawn her a hundred times before, but no matter how many lines she put to paper, she could never quite capture Bella's likeness the way she wanted.
Her pencil hovered over the page, the image blurring in her vision. It wasn't enough. None of it was enough.
Across the room, Jasper sat in an armchair, a book resting in his lap. He had stopped reading some time ago. His golden eyes stayed fixed on her, his expression unreadable but warm, patient.
Finally, he spoke. "You're thinking about her again."
Alice sighed. "I am. You know, after you, she was the first one I wanted to tell about what we found here."
Jasper didn't respond right away. She could feel the weight of his emotions brushing against hers—concern, empathy, guilt. It wasn't suffocating, but it was steady, like an anchor.
"Do you think she hates me?" Alice asked suddenly, her voice soft but sharp.
Jasper set the book aside, leaning forward slightly. "No."
She finally looked at him, her golden eyes shadowed with doubt. "Do you think she'll ever forgive me?"
Jasper hesitated. He didn't lie—not to her, not about this. "Is that something you want?"
The question made her flinch, and her pencil stilled over the page. "Of course it is," she said, but her voice wavered.
"Are you sure?" Jasper pressed gently. "Forgiveness isn't just about her, Alice. It's about you, too. What are you looking for—her forgiveness, or peace with yourself?"
Her shoulders sagged, and she let the pencil fall into the crease of the sketchbook. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think… I think I just want her to understand. To know why we did it. To know it wasn't because I didn't care."
Jasper stood, crossing the room and sitting beside her on the bed. He reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. "She knew how much you cared, Alice. I saw it every time you were together."
"But I still left," Alice said, her voice cracking. "We all did. And I don't know if that's something she'll ever be able to move past."
Jasper's thumb brushed against her knuckles, his touch a quiet reassurance. "Maybe not," he said honestly. "But you left because you thought it was the best way to protect her. That doesn't make you a bad person. It just makes you human."
The irony of his words made her smile faintly, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Not quite human," she murmured.
"You know what I mean," Jasper said, his tone soft but firm.
They sat in silence for a long moment, the weight of their shared guilt filling the space between them. Alice stared down at the half-finished sketch in her lap, the lines blurring again as her vision swam.
"I saw her today," she said suddenly.
Jasper stilled, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. "In your visions?"
She nodded, her voice trembling. "She wasn't alone. Tanya was with her."
Jasper's brow furrowed, but his expression remained calm. "How did she look?"
Alice swallowed hard. "Happy. Safe. Like she wasn't carrying the weight of everything we left behind."
"That's good, isn't it?" Jasper asked gently.
"It is," Alice said, though her chest ached as she said it. "But it still hurts. Because she's happy, and I wasn't there to help her get there."
Jasper shifted closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You wanted what was best for her, Alice. And maybe this is it."
She leaned into him, letting his steady presence ground her. "I just wish I could tell her… tell her how sorry I am. How much I miss her."
Jasper pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his voice low and steady. "Maybe one day you will. But for now, knowing she's safe? That has to be enough."
Alice closed her eyes, her fingers tightening around his. "Yeah," she whispered. "It has to be."
For the rest of the night, the sketchbook lay forgotten on the bed as Jasper held her. The snow continued to fall outside, a quiet reminder of the world moving on—whether they were ready for it or not.
Emmett and Rosalie
"Let's get married again babe," Emmett announced casually, he was completely naked, and was currently sprawled across their suite's oversized bed, his grin wide and boyish.
Rosalie Hale, standing by the window overlooking the Amalfi Coast, arched an elegant brow as she adjusted the silk robe tied around her waist. "Again?"
"You'd love it," Emmett said with an easy shrug, his broad shoulders lifting like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We could have the ceremony on top of a mountain. Or in a hot air balloon. Or in an aquarium. Something novel. Something romantic."
Rosalie rolled her eyes, though her lips curved into a faint smile. "Or we could keep it simple. Private. Just for us."
Emmett sat up, resting his elbows on his knees as he grinned at her. "Simple, huh? Does that mean I don't have to wear a tux this time?"
She turned to face him fully, her golden hair catching the light as she arched a brow. "Oh, you're wearing a tux," she said, her tone imperious but laced with teasing. "But maybe—just maybe—I'll let you skip the tie."
Emmett laughed, pushing off the bed to cross the room in a few easy strides. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "You drive a hard bargain, Hale. But deal."
Rosalie's sharp smile softened as she rested her head against his chest, her voice quieter now. "You're lucky I love you, McCarty."
"I know," Emmett murmured, his voice low and warm. "Come back to bed".
Esme and Carlisle
Esme Cullen ran her hand along the smooth wooden bannister, her touch light but lingering. The house was nearly done—it was a beautiful, airy retreat, hidden in the woods of New Hampshire. She had poured herself into its design, every detail carefully considered.
As she moved from room to room, her steps slowed in front of one door. The room she had designed for Bella.
It was simple and warm, with soft earth tones and a cosy window seat overlooking the forest. Plenty of space for bookshelves. Esme had furnished it with Bella's preferences in mind, even though she knew Bella would likely never see it.
"Esme," Carlisle's voice called gently from downstairs.
She turned, and descended the stairs to find him seated at the kitchen island, a stack of medical journals spread out before him. His brow was furrowed, his expression thoughtful.
"You've been working too hard," she said softly, brushing a hand over his shoulder.
Carlisle glanced up, offering her a faint smile. "And you've been building too many rooms."
Esme laughed lightly, though the action didn't quite reach her eyes. "I can't help it. It's easier to stay busy."
Carlisle nodded, his gaze drifting to the fire crackling in the hearth. "Do you ever wonder if I'm not the coven leader I need to be?"
Esme's brow furrowed, her golden eyes searching his face. "Carlisle—"
He leaned back slightly, his hands resting on the edge of the counter. "We've stayed together for centuries, Esme. But now… we're fractured. Edward is isolating himself. Alice and Jasper have gone wandering, searching for answers. Rosalie and Emmett are honeymooning, living like none of this ever happened. And us? We're here, holding the pieces together, but barely."
"You've held us together for centuries," Esme said firmly. "That doesn't happen without strength."
"I've done my best," Carlisle murmured. "But I wonder if I've allowed too much distance, too much freedom. Aro, Siobhan, Tanya—they all lead their covens differently, and yet their families remain intact. I want to understand their perspective."
Esme's hand tightened on his shoulder when he mentioned Aro. "If you think reaching out to them will help, then do it. But Carlisle, you have held us together for a long time. Your compassion, your respect for us as individuals—that's what makes you the leader we follow. Not control. Not force."
Even though he had no need to breathe Carlisle exhaled slowly, nodding. "Thank you, love. I'll speak to Siobhan and Tanya. I trust their insight. And… perhaps I'll even consider Aro's perspective, though cautiously."
Esme smiled, her golden eyes steady. "Whatever happens, we'll figure it out together."
Carlisle reached for her hand, his touch warm and grounding. "Together," he agreed.
Edward
The snowy expanse of Scandinavia stretched before Edward, endless and unforgiving, a frozen wasteland that seemed to mock his aimless wandering. His boots were soaked from the soft ice beneath him, but he barely noticed.
For two years, he had lived like this—wandering, searching, hiding. Barely existing. Barely hunting. Stuck in some kind of hellish limbo.
This place should have been comforting—the solitude, the relative silence. But instead, it only made the chaos in his mind louder. It made her voice louder.
Bella.
Her warm laughter echoed in his perfect memory, sharp and clear. Her infuriatingly sweet scent lingered as vividly as it had been that first day in the biology classroom. Every memory of her was a dagger, twisting deeper into his gut with every step he took away from her.
He had done the right thing. Hadn't he?
Leaving had been for her own good.
He had wanted to protect her, to give her the chance at a normal life. But the more he repeated the lie, the more hollow it sounded.
Edward raised an arm, pressing it against his eyes, as if blocking his vision of the endless snow could stop the torrent of memories. How had he thought he could endure this? He had believed his love for Bella would sustain any distance.
But he wasn't enduring.
It wasn't sustaining.
He was breaking.
Time hadn't dulled the ache. If anything, it had sharpened it, carving deep into the hollow space she had left behind. Bella wasn't just his love—she was his mate. The one person in all the world meant for him. And he had let her go.
The logical part of his mind knew it was too late, that the damage was done. She deserved better than the life he could offer her. But the rest of him—the part that belonged to her, the half of his heart he had given her to carry—screamed that he was a fool for staying away.
He stopped his endless walking abruptly, his gaze lifting to the darkened sky above. Snowflakes drifted lazily through the air, their delicate patterns dissolving as they touched his skin.
He thought of Bella's smile, the way her eyes lit up when she was happy. He thought of the warmth in her voice, the way it had steadied him in ways he hadn't realized he needed until it was gone.
And for the first time in two years, Edward allowed himself to entertain the possibility.
Maybe he didn't have to stay away.
