Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer

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Where the Lines Overlap

Final Season - We are Broken

The Best is Over (and the worst is yet to come)

I stepped out of Carlisle's car, my legs sluggish from the long flight and my chest heavy with the cocktail of emotions brewing inside me. Exhaustion clung to me—not just from travel, but from everything.

Edward's growing distance lingered in my mind, an unwelcome shadow. I kept replaying his coldness, searching for answers in moments that refused to give them.

The automatic doors whooshed open, the sterile scent of disinfectant and hum of fluorescent lights meeting me like an old, unwelcome friend. Carlisle walked beside me, calm as always, a contrast to the storm in my head. He'd picked me up from the airport, and though I appreciated the gesture, I'd been in no mood to talk. Thankfully, he hadn't pushed.

My phone buzzed in my pocket—a reminder of the messages I'd been avoiding. The thought of opening them twisted something inside me, anxious curiosity warring with guilt. I hadn't checked during the flight, too afraid of what those words might stir.

"Why don't you wait here?" Carlisle's voice broke through my thoughts, gentle but firm. We'd stopped by the elevators, and he gestured to the chairs along the wall. "I'll handle your ICU entrance. It won't take long."

I nodded, grateful for the reprieve. He offered a reassuring smile, his hand briefly resting on my shoulder before he walked away, leaving me with my thoughts.

I sank into one of the chairs, my hand hovering over my pocket, tempted but hesitant. The messages waited, and I wasn't ready to face them—or the feelings they might unravel.

I exhaled sharply, trying to steady myself, but my thumb still brushed the edge of my phone.

Mark's voice, warm and full of quiet understanding, slipped into my mind.

They were just messages. Just words.

But words had power, and I wasn't sure I was ready for theirs.

I leaned back in the chair, the chill from the hospital air creeping under the large coat I was wearing and settling into my bones. It wasn't just the sterile cold of the place—it was inside me, too. Edward's voice from our last phone call still rang in my ears, sharp and clinical.

I'd agreed with his words at the time, though they hadn't sat right with me. Edward always had a way of making distance sound practical, even when it wasn't. And here I was now, alone in a hospital chair, staring at the floor and trying to make sense of the pieces that refused to fit.

Mark had never needed convincing.

The thought of him nudged at me again, unbidden and impossible to ignore. He'd been there without hesitation—no questions asked, no careful reasoning about what made sense. Even when I'd told him I didn't want things to change between us—things that should have, things that needed to—he hadn't pushed back.

"I don't want you to tone it down," my voice came out softer than I'd intended. "Or distance yourself from me. I…" The words faltered, but I forced myself to continue. "I feel bad for wanting to keep you like this, I know we're friends—I know we promised to stay friends—but I can't help how I feel. And… even though I don't know how to deal with all these feelings I have for you, I know I don't want our bond, our dynamic, to change."

I paused, frowning as I searched his expression for clarity and found only ambiguity.

"I'll understand if you disagree," I said despite the turmoil inside my chest. "I know it's unfair. If you think we should keep the boundaries we had before, I'll… I'll deal with it. I'll try to accept your decision. But that's not what I want." I shrugged, exhaling the anxiety that had been building inside me. "I'm sorry. I just needed to be honest."

Instead of retreating, he accepted it. With a placidity that puzzled me, as if he truly believed my needs outweighed the hurt I was putting him through, he simply accepted it.

The leather jacket around me felt impossibly large, the sleeves swallowing my hands as I tugged it tighter.

It was Mark's. He'd offered it so spontaneously, so tenderly, that refusing it hadn't been an option. Wrapped in it, I could still catch the faintest trace of his scent—clean and warm, like the earth after rain.

I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply, and for a moment, the hospital melted away. His smile came back to me, quiet and knowing, his eyes holding something unspoken, his voice dipping just slightly as he told me it was okay to take what I wanted.

But it hadn't been okay. Not really. Sadness had seeped through his reassurance, his hurt bleeding into the spaces he tried to fill with kindness.

I pressed my hands into the jacket, seeking the warmth it offered, though I knew it wasn't enough.

Mark had given me everything I'd asked for, even when it cost him. Edward, on the other hand, seemed to retreat more with each passing day—caring less, fading further away.

The contrast cut deep, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

And then the vivid and still fresh memory of how uncontrollable my impulsiveness could be tightened around my chest, making it nearly impossible to sit still.

I hadn't really meant to type it. I'd only wanted to let Mark know I was okay—that I'd made it through security and boarded the plane. Just a kind gesture after he'd taken the time to drive me to the airport and spent nearly two hours keeping me company until I boarded.

It was supposed to be simple, direct. But my fingers had betrayed me, tapping out a truth I had no right to expose.

"In the plane. Safe. I wish you were here."

I'd stared at the message for too long, my thumb hovering over the send button. The words felt like a confession, a crack in the wall I'd worked so carefully to keep intact. My mind had raced, admonishing me until it became unbearable, and I'd scrambled to change it.

"In the plane. Safe. WYWH."

It was laughable, really—a feeble attempt to smooth over the impact, to hide the rawness of what I truly meant. But even as I hit send, a part of me hoped Mark would see through it. I wanted him to hear the unspoken truth buried in the letters.

The thought of his response—it had been gnawing at me ever since. My restraint, already frayed, finally gave out. I couldn't take it anymore.

I pulled out my phone, the screen lighting up in the dim hospital hallway. My thumb swiped to the message app, and there it was, sitting in the thread like a silent challenge:

"Same. WICLY."

My breath caught. The acronym sat there, stark and unassuming, but it hit me with the force of something much heavier. My thumb hesitated above the screen as if touching it would somehow make it more real.

WICLY.

I repeated it in my head, turning it over and over, feeling the pieces start to click into place.

"Wish I Could Love You."

The words sliced through me, sharp and precise. A lump formed in my throat, and I pressed my lips together, trying to steady my breathing.

I didn't know what I'd expected, but it wasn't this. Not Mark putting his heart into something so simple, so quietly devastating.

I sank deeper into the chair, the phone trembling slightly in my grip. Mark had always been honest, even when I hadn't. And now, in a handful of letters, he'd managed to say something I couldn't.

The ache in my chest spread, filling every corner of me as I stared at the screen.

I didn't know how to respond.

Before I could think of it, I finally realized there was more. My chest tightened, my heart hammering loud enough to drown out the hum of the hospital around me.

My thumb hovered over the next message he'd sent a while later:

"I'll be standing by… Always."

A sharp breath caught in my throat. The solace in those words spread through me like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds, but it carried something else too—a shadow of unease, raw and unrelenting.

The realization hit me like a wave crashing over jagged rocks: my feelings for Mark weren't fleeting or easily compartmentalized, they weren't something I could rationalize away. They weren't passing. They were solidifying, taking root in places I hadn't been ready to confront.

I gripped the phone tighter, as if the device could anchor me against the swell of emotions rising inside. Warmth flushed through my chest, and with it came a pang of something darker—fear. Fear of myself. Fear of what I might do.

Because I knew how dangerous these feelings were. They made me want things I shouldn't. They made me crave Mark's presence, his closeness, his support in a way that felt uncontrollable.

And if I wasn't careful—if I let myself act on them—I'd hurt not just Edward, but Mark too.

The thought sent a shiver down my spine. I pressed the phone against my chest, as though I could push everything back inside, back into the place where it didn't threaten to spill over.

I couldn't do this. I couldn't let myself become the person who destroyed everything because I couldn't hold it together. Not now, not when everything felt so fragile, as if one wrong move could shatter everything.

I closed my eyes, the significance of the messages settling over me. Mark's words echoed in my mind, gentle and unwavering:

"Wish I could love you… I'll be standing by… Always."

And all I could think was how much I wanted to stand by him too, even though I knew I couldn't.

My elbows found my knees as I folded over, pressing my head into my hands. The promise in those phrases, Mark's unyielding care, and the mess I'd made of everything churned in my mind like a hurricane.

Mark deserved better than this—better than me leaning on him when he was clearly hurting. He was trying to give me what I said I needed, even when it was tearing him apart. The way he'd looked at me during that conversation at the airport restaurant, his quiet 'okay' after I poured out my selfishness, replayed in my head like a broken record.

I'd asked too much of him. I'd let my feelings spill over, knowing they'd seep into places they didn't belong. And Mark, being Mark, hadn't pulled away. He'd stayed, even though I was sure part of him wanted to run.

But how long could I keep doing this to him? How long before he realized I was dragging him into something that couldn't end well?

And Edward—Edward didn't even know. The thought twisted in my chest. He didn't know how far I'd strayed emotionally, how I was clinging to someone else while he was still my boyfriend. Sure, he'd been distant, cold even, but he didn't deserve this.

None of it was fair. Not to Mark, not to Edward, not to anyone.

My breath hitched as I pressed my palms harder against my temples, trying to shove the thoughts back into the chaos where they belonged. I couldn't untangle them now, not here.

I didn't realize how long I'd been sitting like that until a hand rested gently on my shoulder.

"Jay," Carlisle's voice broke through the fog in my head, steady and calm like always—a lifeline against the turbulence. "Hey, it's okay."

I sat up too quickly, blinking at him as my spiraling thoughts lurched to a halt.

He must've thought this was about my father. And for a moment, that fear crept back in, pushing aside the whirlwind of guilt and confusion.

"He's awake," Carlisle said softly, kneeling slightly to meet my gaze. "But we don't have to rush this. You can take a moment if you need it. No one's expecting you to walk in there perfectly composed."

I nodded, swallowing hard, his words pulling me back to the here and now. My father was awake. After all the uncertainty and days of wondering if I'd ever get the chance to speak to him again, he was awake.

And I had no idea what he would say—or what I would say to him.

"I'll take you when you're ready," Carlisle added, his hand still firm on my shoulder. "But you don't have to go through this alone."

I nodded again, biting down on the inside of my cheek. My guilt and confusion over Mark and Edward had to wait. For now, all I could focus on was the fear coiling tightly in my chest as I braced myself to face my father.

"I'm as ready as I can be," I murmured, my voice steadier than I felt.

Carlisle studied me for a moment before offering a soft, understanding smile.

"That's all anyone can ask," he said, straightening. "Come on. I'll take you in."

The walk to the ICU was shorter than I expected, the fluorescent-lit hallway closing in as my heartbeat pounded in my ears. When we reached the window outside my father's room, Carlisle stopped, giving me space to take it all in.

Through the glass, I saw him lying in the hospital bed. Machines beeped steadily around him, their rhythms both reassuring and unnerving. Tubes snaked from his arms, and the faint hiss of oxygen filled the small space.

He looked… fragile. It was a word I'd never associated with him before. My father had always been a looming presence in my life, his silence heavy and his judgment sharper than any words he rarely chose to speak. But now, lying there, he seemed so small. As if the wrong gust of air might shatter him.

My chest tightened as the memory of that night came rushing back.

I'd stood there, trembling but determined, as I told him the truth about myself. I'd braced for his reaction, for the anger, the disappointment, the icy dismissal I'd feared my whole life. And he hadn't disappointed. His words were clipped, cold, and sharp enough to cut.

But I'd tried to stand my ground. I'd tried to hold onto the fragile piece of myself that had dared to hope for acceptance.

And then he collapsed.

I swallowed hard, my hands curling into fists at my sides.

What if it happened again? What if my presence—my very existence—was too much for him to handle?

"You're not alone," Carlisle's voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. I turned to see his steady gaze on me. "I'll be right here with you."

I nodded, taking a shaky breath as he opened the door.

The air inside the ICU was cooler, sterile, and thick with the hum of machines. Each step closer to the bed sent my heart racing faster, emotions tangling into something I couldn't name.

As I approached, my father's eyes fluttered open. For a moment, I froze, unable to do anything but stare.

He turned his head slightly, his gaze finding mine. And then, to my utter disbelief, the faintest smile curved his lips.

My breath hitched. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him smile at me. Or if he ever had.

It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

The years of coldness, the harsh words, the distant looks—they all came rushing back in an instant, a tidal wave of resentment and hurt. But beneath all of that, another feeling crept in.

I didn't want to lose him. Not like this. Not before we had a chance to fix what had been broken for so long.

My feet moved forward almost on their own, and as I reached the edge of the bed, his eyes stayed on me, that faint smile still lingering.

"Hello, Father," I said softly, my voice trembling.

He looked at Carlisle.

"Thank you," my father said, his voice rough but steady. "For bringing my boy."

Carlisle nodded, remaining at my side as promised. His presence was reassuring when I wasn't sure I could face what came next.

My father's gaze shifted back to me, and I saw something unfamiliar in his eyes—vulnerability. His frail frame lay against the hospital bed, the slight rise and fall of his chest a stark reminder of how delicate his condition still was.

He cleared his throat, the sound heavy in the quiet room.

"Alexander," he began, his voice faltering as though searching for strength, "I know I've always been… distant. And demanding. I raised you the way I thought a boy should be raised. The way my father raised me."

His words hung in the air, each one digging into the cracks I'd tried so hard to seal over the years.

"I thought it was the right way," he continued, his eyes fixed on mine. "It was all I knew."

I didn't move, couldn't speak. But I could feel Carlisle at my side, his quiet presence offering me comfort and steadiness. My father's eyes, however, held mine, pulling me into a moment I hadn't dared to ever hope for.

"When I was lying there," my father said, his voice dropping, "when I thought it was the end, all I could think about was you, your mother, your sister. And how close I came to losing my family forever." He swallowed hard, his frail hand gripped the edge of the blanket covering him. "I realized I'd been wrong. About everything. All these years… I've been wrong all along."

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. The room seemed to shrink around us, every sound muted except for the soft hum of the machines and the fragile sincerity in his voice.

"I don't want to lose you, son," he said, his voice cracking. "You're my first-born, my boy. And I don't care if you believe that right now. I just need you to know it."

I saw something unmistakable in his eyes. Sorrow. And love.

I couldn't breathe. The impact of his words lodged itself in my chest, but it wasn't the crushing kind of weight I'd come to associate with him.

"I'll admit," he went on, his tone softer now but laden with emotion, "I don't understand… about you and Edward. I don't know how to make sense of it. But I don't care about conventions or what people think anymore. All that matters is this chance—this chance to fix things with you."

His hand clenched weakly at his side, his gaze steady despite the tears gathering in his eyes.

"I love you, Alexander. I know you might not believe that. And if you can't forgive me, I'll understand. I'll deserve it. But I just… I had to make sure you heard it from me."

I blinked, and that's when I felt it. The humidity trailed down my cheeks. Silent tears I hadn't realized I'd been crying. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I saw him—not the imposing figure I'd grown up fearing, but a man stripped bare, his flaws and regrets laid out before me.

I didn't know how much I needed to hear those words until now. It was like a heavy, invisible burden had been lifted from my shoulders, one I'd carried for so long I hadn't even noticed it anymore.

He drew in a shallow breath, his expression tense.

"Can you forgive me, son?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, fragile yet resolute.

I looked down, steadying myself before I could answer him. Then I felt Carlisle's hand on my shoulder, his calm, unwavering presence giving me the strength to meet my father's gaze once more. The answer lodged itself in my chest, waiting for the moment I could find the words.

I opened my mouth to speak, but a sob broke free before I could say anything. My shoulders trembled under everything I was feeling. Carlisle's arm wrapped firmly around me, his grip centering me, helping me hold myself together.

My father's face crumpled, and he started to cry silently, tears tracing lines down his skin. He extended his hand weakly toward me, the gesture both tentative and desperate. Without hesitation, I reached out and took it, his fingers rooting me in a way I hadn't expected. I stepped closer, my sobs shaking my chest as I struggled to speak.

"I love you, Father," I managed, my voice breaking with every word. "All I ever wanted was for you to love me back."

His fingers squeezed mine, faint but deliberate.

"I do," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I love you, Alexander. I always have. I just never knew how to show it." His eyes glistened as more tears fell. "I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me."

The sincerity in his voice broke something open in me, and I nodded, my sobs hitching.

"I forgive you." I managed to say.

His lips trembled before curling into a smile, a pronounced one this time, laced with relief and sorrow all at once. It was a smile I couldn't remember seeing before, a part of him I'd never known but had always wanted.

A chuckle escaped me, incredulous and shaky.

"You're smiling," I said, my voice thick with disbelief. "I didn't think I'd ever see you smile like that."

He let out a faint laugh, a sound so rare it almost felt surreal.

"It's because of you, son," he whispered. "Thank you."

The door opened quietly, and Dr. Welsh stepped in. He greeted Carlisle with a nod before turning his attention to my father.

"Good morning, Major," he said with a warm, professional smile. Then his eyes landed on me. "Hello, Jasper. It's good you're back."

I gave him a small nod, my throat still tight.

"Your father's condition is still delicate," the doctor continued, "but he's improving. If he remains stable over the next 48 hours, we'll be able to move him to a regular room."

Relief coursed through me, though it didn't completely chase away the tension gripping my chest.

My father let out a soft breath and met my eyes.

"I'll get there," he said, his voice quieter but carrying determination. Then he added, "You should go home to your mom and sister for now. Come back with them later."

I hesitated, my hand still resting on his. I didn't want to leave him, not after everything, but the gentle insistence in his expression made me nod.

"Okay," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

As I let go of his hand and stepped back, he turned his attention to Carlisle.

"Thank you again," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "For bringing him here. For… everything."

Carlisle smiled and nodded.

"Just focus on resting. We'll see you this afternoon."

The quiet of the hallway felt heavier as we walked toward the exit. Carlisle placed a hand on my shoulder.

"I'll take you home," he said gently.

"Thank you," I managed, though the words barely scratched the surface of the gratitude I felt.

As we reached the car, an unexpected thought struck me. I wanted to tell Edward. I wanted to share that my father was improving, and that he seemed okay with… us. But as quickly as the thought surfaced, I shoved it back down.

Edward's coldness, his distance—it lingered like a shadow, and the urge to reach out evaporated as quickly as it had come. Instead, I slipped my phone back into my pocket, exhaling a sigh that felt heavier than I'd expected.

Carlisle didn't say anything, and I was grateful for the silence as we started the drive home.

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The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the yard. I sat on the edge of the grass, my knees drawn up, my arms resting loosely on top. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth, but it did little to ease the restlessness gnawing at my chest.

I had spent most of the afternoon back at the hospital, helping Mom with the endless paperwork that seemed to pile up around Father's condition. We'd visited him briefly, long enough to hear the doctor repeat his cautious optimism, and then left so he could rest. Now, the silence of the yard felt heavier around me than it should have been.

My phone was in my pocket, an anchor I couldn't ignore. I hadn't heard from Edward since the day before—since after that phone call, actually. He hadn't called or sent even a single text, and the absence of his voice felt strange and sharp, like a wound I couldn't quite see.

I thought about calling him, about dialing his number and breaking this weird, suffocating distance. But every time my hand moved toward my pocket, something stopped me. Pride, maybe. Or fear. Both felt too tangled to separate.

Instead, my thoughts drifted to Mark. I hadn't answered his messages yet, though I'd read them more times than I could count. I didn't know how to respond, didn't know what I wanted to say—or what I even could say. But the idea of hearing his voice, of feeling that steady calm he always seemed to carry, tugged at me harder than I wanted to admit.

I let out a low sigh, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. The heaviness of it all—Edward's silence, Mark's messages, Father's fragile recovery—settled over me, leaving me feeling trapped in a place I didn't know how to escape.

A gentle touch startled me, and I jerked my head up to find my mom standing behind me, her hand on my shoulder. Her eyes were soft, filled with the kind of understanding I wasn't sure I deserved.

She didn't say anything as she eased herself down onto the grass beside me. She didn't need to.

The silence stretched between us, her arm brushing against mine. For a long moment, neither of us spoke, the quiet filled only by the faint rustle of the wind and the occasional chirp of a bird in the distance.

But I couldn't hold it in anymore. It spilled out of me before I could stop it.

"I think I'm losing Edward, Momma," I said, my voice rough and too loud against the stillness.

Mom didn't react right away, didn't jump to reassure me or offer platitudes. She just stayed there, placid, her gaze fixed on some distant point in the yard. It was her silence that pushed me to keep going.

"He's been… different. Since that night. Since I came out, and Father…" My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard. "He's been pulling away from me, little by little. And no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try to fix it, nothing changes."

I glanced at her, desperate for a sign of understanding, but she still didn't say anything. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, as though weighing her words carefully.

"Jayjay," she said finally, her voice gentle, "if it were you in Edward's place, how would you feel?"

I dropped my gaze, staring at the grass as her words sank in. How would I feel?

I thought back to that night, to the impact of my father's collapse, the ambulance, the hospital. I'd been drowning in guilt, in fear, in everything I hadn't been able to say. And Edward—Edward had been there, pulling me back to the surface when I couldn't find the strength to do it myself.

"I know he feels responsible," I murmured, the truth sitting heavily in my stomach. "As if it was somehow his fault. I've told him over and over that it wasn't, that it isn't, but he's not listening."

"Would you…?" she asked gently, her brows lifting with quiet encouragement.

The answer came without hesitation.

"No…"

Mom placed her hand on mine, her touch firm yet comforting.

"Be patient with him," she said softly. "He went through your father's reaction and its consequences right alongside you, baby… and his love for you probably made it even harder. He's still processing, just like you are." She smiled faintly, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "Right now, your father needs you, and we need you to be here—for him, for us. And I know you and Edward will be okay."

Her certainty should have been comforting, but instead, it twisted something inside me. Because I wasn't sure if she was right.

"I don't know if we will be," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. The words burned as they left me, dragging a fresh wave of guilt in their wake. "There's… there's something else."

My mom turned to me, her expression calm, though her eyes searched mine. She didn't ask, just waited, and somehow that made it easier to admit what I'd been keeping locked away.

"I have feelings for someone else," I confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "His name is Mark."

Her gaze didn't waver, didn't fill with judgment or disappointment. She just listened as I laid it all bare—Mark, my feelings and fears, the confusion and the pull I couldn't ignore, the selfishness, and the guilt that felt like it might tear me apart.

When I finished, I couldn't bring myself to look at her. My head dropped, my hands knotting in the grass.

"I don't know what to do," I admitted, my voice cracking.

Mom exhaled softly and reached over, brushing her fingers through my hair like she used to when I was a kid.

"Jayjay," she said, her voice steady, "you'll have to find your way through this. No one can decide for you or tell you what's right or wrong in your heart. But whatever happens, I'll always be here for you. Always."

Her words didn't solve anything, but they gave me something to hold onto. And for the first time in days, the tightness in my chest eased, just a little.

The faint buzz in my pocket shattered the fragile quiet between Mom and me. My heart leaped, the instinct as automatic as breathing: Edward.

I quickly fished the phone out, not even glancing at the screen. Mom noticed the shift in my expression, her lips curving into a soft smile.

"I'll give you some privacy," she said, rising from the grass. "But don't take too long—it's dinner time."

I nodded, managing a weak smile of my own.

"Okay. Thanks."

She lingered a moment longer, her hand grazing my shoulder briefly before stepping away and disappearing inside.

I brought the phone to my ear, my heart still pounding with hope as I answered.

"Edward," I said, his name almost a question.

The silence that greeted me on the other end was thick and hesitant, and it made me pause.

My heart jolted. I yanked the phone away from my ear, my eyes darting to the screen.

The name glowing there hit me like a punch, and my chest tightened painfully.

Closing my eyes, I clenched my jaw and cursed myself silently.

Stupid. So stupid.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, returning the phone to my ear. "Mark, I—"

"It's okay," he interrupted, but the sadness in his voice made the words ache.

It wasn't okay. Not even close.

"I just wanted to check if you got there okay," Mark said softly, the uncertainty in his voice evident. "I'm sorry to bother you."

His words sent a pang of guilt straight through me.

"No, you're not—" I stopped abruptly, the realization hitting me that assuring him I was fine mattered more than addressing the hurt I was causing. I swallowed, forcing the next words out. "Everything's fine. I'm fine."

A beat of silence.

"Good." His tone was faint, uncertain. "I'll let you go. I know you're busy."

"Wait—" The word escaped me before I could think better of it. I gripped the phone tighter. "I… I'm sorry. I didn't check who was calling before I answered."

"It's okay," Mark said again, quietly. "I get it."

But I shook my head, even though he couldn't see it.

"It's not okay," I murmured, the guilt knotting in my chest. "I know I'm hurting you and I hate it."

The other end of the line went silent. My stomach twisted.

"Mark," I said softly. "Please… say something."

His voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.

"What do you want me to say, Jay?"

I didn't have an answer. My throat tightened, and I stared at the ground, willing the words to come. But nothing did.

Mark sighed, the sound carrying a gravity that made my chest ache.

"Don't feel bad for me," he said. "I'm the one expecting too much when I know I should expect nothing."

His words hit harder than I expected, leaving me breathless.

"No," I said quickly. "No, Mark. I'm the one who's being selfish. I—"

"Jasper." He cut me off gently, his tone softer now. "Stop taking it all on yourself, please?" He let out a faint sigh, laced with sadness. "I told you I'd be here, no matter what. I'm a man of my word. And it's my choice, one I'm making consciously."

I hated myself for putting him through this, for the way I kept pulling him closer when I should've let him go.

"You should go," Mark said after a moment, his voice quiet. "I shouldn't keep you."

I stayed silent, my lips parting but no sound coming out. The pause stretched between us.

Finally, Mark sighed again.

"Bye, Jay," he said softly, his voice a whisper of what it usually was.

I squeezed my eyes shut, the guilt and helplessness clawing at me. Before I could stop myself, the words spilled out.

"I wish I could too."

The line went quiet once again, and my heart hammered in my chest.

"Sunny?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Did you hear me?"

"Yes," he said after a moment, the word faint, almost lost.

"Did you… understand what I mean?" I pressed, my throat tightening.

"Yes," he said again, even softer this time. And in that one word, I could hear the sadness he didn't try to hide.

I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut as the guilt clawed at me.

"I shouldn't do this," I murmured, barely audible. "I should let it go, let you go. I shouldn't be stringing you along like this, dragging you into this mess."

Mark's voice came firm but gentle, steadying in a way that almost broke me.

"I don't want you to let me go, Jay," he said. "I'm here—I'll be here for as long as you need me. As long as you want me to be."

I opened my mouth, but the words didn't come. My throat felt tight, constricted.

"I hate that I'm hurting you," I finally managed to repeat, my voice cracking.

"I hate that you're hurting," Mark countered softly. "But if I can bring you even the smallest relief, I will. No matter the cost."

His words hit me with a force I wasn't ready for. My chest ached, my heart swelling with emotions I couldn't name—gratitude, guilt, something deeper I didn't dare define.

I didn't know how to respond, so I didn't.

"Jazzy!" Rosalie's voice broke through the moment, calling from the house. "Dinner's ready!"

I flinched, my head snapping toward the sound. Mark must have heard her through the line because his next words came quickly, gently.

"You should go."

I hesitated, clutching the phone tighter.

"Mark—"

"I'll be okay," he interrupted, his voice softer now. "Go. Be with your family. Don't worry about anything else right now. Just… focus on them."

The lump in my throat grew, making it hard to speak.

"Okay," I whispered, barely audible.

"Take care, Jay." His tone held a faint warmth, even though I could still hear the sadness beneath it.

"You too," I said quietly, the words catching in my throat.

As the call ended, I stared at the phone in my hand, a deep emptiness taking me over, leaving me unsettled and lost.

.

.

.

After dinner the night before, I'd sent Edward a message. I'd kept it short, summing up what the doctor had told me about my father—how he'd remain in observation for another forty-eight hours before they could move him to a room—and that I intend on staying until everything was settled. I'd hoped he might respond, even with a simple "okay," but he didn't.

As I walked into the hospital, my chest tight, I spotted Carlisle waiting for me in the lobby. He greeted me with a warm smile, though his eyes seemed to study me a little too closely. After a brief exchange, he led me to the ICU.

The visit went as expected—my father was stable but weary, his voice quieter than usual as he spoke about following the doctors' instructions. Despite his faint smile, the fragility in his face gnawed at me, the unease lingering in the pit of my stomach.

After we said goodbye and stepped out of the room, Carlisle turned to me.

"Have lunch with me?"

I blinked, surprised by the invitation, but nodded.

"Sure."

We found a small café nearby, quiet enough for conversation. Carlisle ordered something light and gestured for me to do the same. Once the food arrived, he wasted no time getting to the point.

"Feel free to disregard me if it's too much, but I do need to ask... what's going on between you and Edward?"

I froze mid-bite, lowering my fork slowly.

"Why do you ask?"

Carlisle leaned back in his chair, folding his hands on the table.

"Because he's not here," he said simply. "And that's not like him. He'd usually insist on being by your side."

I swallowed hard, my appetite gone.

"Have you talked to him these past few days?"

He sighed, shaking his head.

"Not really. He's been avoiding my calls since you got back to Providence. When he does respond, it's only through messages—and even those are brief."

The knot in my chest tightened. It wasn't just me, then. Whatever was going on with Edward was affecting more than just our relationship.

I pushed my plate aside, rubbing a hand over my face.

"I don't know what's happening," I admitted quietly. "It's like… ever since that night, he's been pulling away. No matter what I do, I can't reach him."

Carlisle's expression softened, but he didn't say anything, just waiting for me to continue.

I looked down at the untouched food on my plate.

"I think he's doing it on purpose," I said finally, the words heavy. "Distancing himself, I mean. It feels like he's preparing to leave me, Carlisle."

Carlisle leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped together on the table.

"Edward loves you very much, Jasper," he said gently but firmly. "I know that for a fact. He might just be trying to process everything that's happened in his own way—without burdening you."

I swallowed, trying to push back the wave of doubt that had been building over the past few days.

"I don't know," I murmured. "I've tried to get through to him, but he's just… closed off."

Carlisle gave me a small, understanding smile.

"Then you'll need to make him sit down and talk as soon as possible. Clear the air. You both deserve that."

I sighed, leaning back in my chair.

"I'll keep trying," I nodded. "Just not as quickly as I'd like. I can't leave until I know my father is out of the ICU and settled into a room."

His smile grew warmer, and there was a flicker of something—amusement, maybe—in his eyes.

"Well, I was planning to tell you after we finished eating, but your father is actually being moved to a room as we speak."

I blinked, the tension in my chest loosening slightly.

"Wait, really?"

Carlisle nodded.

"He's stable enough for the move. Your mom and sister are already making arrangements with the staff. We'll meet them in about half an hour to head up to his room."

A rush of relief flooded through me, the weight of the past few days momentarily lifting. For the first time in a while, I felt something close to happiness.

Carlisle gestured toward my plate.

"Now, eat. You'll need your energy for the rest of the day."

I couldn't help but chuckle faintly at his tone—gentle but with just the right touch of authority. Picking up my fork, I nodded.

"Alright, alright. I'll eat."

.

.

.

The relief of seeing my father in a proper room, not the sterile ICU, hadn't fully sunk in until I caught the subtle smile on my mom's face. It was a crack in the armor she'd worn since everything began. My sister seemed lighter, too, her voice less strained as she filled the room with warmth. He looked better—still pale, still fragile, but better.

Father had insisted I go back to Providence.

"You're losing too much, Alexander," he'd said, his voice raspy but firm. "Carlisle's here. He'll take care of your mom and sister. You'll be back in three weeks for the break, won't you?"

I tried to argue, but Carlisle's quiet support tipped the balance.

"Your father's right. You have things in Providence that need your attention, too."

He didn't elaborate, but the meaning was clear.

I'd hesitated, scanning their faces—my father weary but determined, my mom understanding, Carlisle steady as always. They would be fine. I wasn't so sure about everything else in my life. But I'd nodded, promised to leave that night, and hugged them before heading home for dinner with Mom and Rosie.

Now, standing in the elevator of my building, I felt the heaviness of the past two days pressing down. I hadn't slept much. I hadn't even unpacked the mess of emotions still churning in my chest. But I was here, back in Providence, and determined to confront what had been unraveling between Edward and me. He couldn't keep shutting me out, not if we had any chance of moving forward.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and I stepped into the quiet hallway. My footsteps barely made a sound against the polished floor as I made my way to the apartment. Dawn was breaking, the faintest gray light creeping through the building's windows. My hands shook as I unlocked the door, careful not to make too much noise.

Inside, the space was still and silent. I dropped my bag by the entrance and walked straight to Edward's bedroom. My pulse quickened, a mix of anxiety and resolve fueling each step. It was damn early but I couldn't wait. I reached for the doorknob, turning it as quietly as I could, and pushed the door open just enough to slip inside.

I planned to slide quietly into his bed, wrap my arms around him, and snuggle close before waking him with kisses and a soft plea for closeness.

But the sight stopped me cold, shattering every intention I had.

Edward was sprawled across the bed, naked, his chest rising and falling in the soft rhythm of sleep. Beside him, Luke's equally bare form was draped against his side, one arm slung possessively over Edward's torso. Their legs tangled beneath the sheets that were covering very little, and the intimacy of their position hit me like a physical blow.

I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

The room felt too quiet, the air too heavy. My hand tightened on the doorknob, and for a moment, I thought I might crumble right there. A sharp, bitter taste rose in my throat, and I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the image to disappear. But when I opened them, nothing had changed.

They were still there.

And suddenly, everything else—the fight to keep my family together, the chaos of my father's health, the endless knots I'd tied myself into over Edward and Mark—faded into the background. I had tried so hard to hold it all together, but now, seeing what was in front of me, the truth was undeniable.

Edward had always been my choice, but it didn't seem I was his anymore.

And that was the exact moment everything came crashing down.