Bella's Point Of View

It will be as if I never existed.

He had never been so wrong.

The nightmares still plague me in my sleep—dark figures shifting through the haze, a voice I'll never hear again whispering my name like a ghost. I wake up gasping, clutching at the empty space beside me, feeling the coldness of reality settle in my bones yet again. I was alone here, just as I had been when I first came to Forks, but this time with the heartbreaking knowledge that I'd lost my family in the Cullens, and they were out there, never to be seen again.

I miss them with every aching part of my being.

I wish he had been right. I wish I couldn't remember. I wish my mind was as empty as the space he left behind, but it's not. It's full of him. Full of them.

I wish I couldn't recall how his favorite composer was Debussy, how his fingers would absently trace invisible notes along my skin as we lay together, lost in the serene quietness. How he hummed along with the music, soft and just under his breath, a sound only meant for me.

I wish I couldn't remember his eyes, golden and endless, topaz swirling in a sea of liquid fire. How they darkened when he was thirsty, deep pools of black that should have frightened me but never did.

I wish I couldn't remember the way he looked standing in the snow, the wind lifting his bronze hair as if the world itself reached for him. The way his lips curved into a knowing smile, snowflakes melting against his skin before they had a chance to settle.

Winter was his favorite season.

I wish I couldn't remember his family.

Alice, a whirlwind of energy, forever keeping her tormented mind occupied with colour swatches and shopping bags, home decor and cozy fabrics. The way her short, spiky hair bounced as she danced barefoot through the house, orchestrating Christmas decorations with precision only she could master.

That Christmas—our first Christmas—I hadn't expected to actually love a purple tree. But there was something mesmerizing about it, a kind of beauty found in things that don't belong but somehow do.

Jasper, always reading, his fingers ghosting over the same page as if searching for something he had missed. His perfect memory made it unnecessary, but he read anyway, lost in thought. And then Alice would walk in, and I felt the shift, even without Jasper's gift. A quiet warmth would settle in the room as she placed a Santa hat atop his head, his golden eyes softening as he let her. Just being in the same room as them was to feel their love emanating off of them.

Esme in the kitchen testing out a new recipe as she fluttered around the kitchen. Though she would never get to taste her creations properly, she was somehow the perfect baker, and an even better chef. The scent of apples, flour and sugar hanging in the air, the warmth of the oven making the house feel less like a place they were just passing through and more like a home - it was precisely what Esme wanted. How she would flick a handful of flour at Carlisle, and how his laugh—deep and unguarded—would echo through the walls.

I miss those days.

I miss the brother and sister I lost.

The three of us gathered around a chess table, taking turns while we talked, sharing stories from both their lives and mine. Stories that stretched centuries and ones that had barely begun.

I miss them.

I miss him.

May

"Bells?"

The same worry, every morning. As if one day, I might not answer.

"I'm here, Dad!" I call back, forcing my voice to sound stronger than I feel.

I push myself up off the floor. The blankets are tangled at my feet, twisted in the restless sleep that has become my only constant.

Charlie stands in the doorway, holding a plate of bacon and eggs. The scent follows him in, warm and homey, but it only makes my stomach twist.

For the first few months after Edward left, Charlie burned more food than he cooked, clumsy hands trying to navigate a kitchen he barely used. He never said it outright, but I knew. I knew he was trying, learning through trial and error because he didn't know what else to do with a daughter who barely spoke anymore.

I take the plate, forcing a small smile. "Thanks, Dad."

He nods, hesitating like he wants to say more, but then he turns away, grabbing his jacket as he leaves for work.

August.

The rain has finally relented, just for a while, leaving the sky an unsettling shade of gray. It's quiet, but the kind of quiet that feels unnatural—like the forest is holding its breath, waiting.

I walk through the trees, my boots sinking slightly into damp earth, the scent of moss and rain still lingering. Somewhere nearby, a river runs, its soft murmuring a constant whisper in the distance. I think I remember where I'm going. I think my feet still remember the way.

I just want to find it.

Our meadow.

But the deeper I go, the more I realize how much time has passed. The forest feels different, unfamiliar in ways it shouldn't. Had it always been this dark? Had the trees always leaned this way, their branches reaching like skeletal fingers?

I press on, ignoring the unease curling in my stomach.

And then—my phone vibrates in my pocket, pulling me back.

Jake.

I hesitate before answering. "Hey."

His voice is lighter than mine, full of something I haven't felt in a long time. "Where are you? You coming over?"

I exhale, glancing ahead—just barely in sight, beyond the trees, I can see the cliffs. A longing tugs at my ribs, but it's too late now.

"Yeah," I say, turning back the way I came. "I'm on my way."

The sky was overcast, but the rain held off for now—a rare gift from the Forks weather. The road to La Push was familiar, winding through dense forest, the scent of saltwater growing stronger the closer I got.

Jacob was already waiting outside when I pulled up, grinning as if he had been standing there for hours just waiting for me. His hair was longer now, brushing past his shoulders, and his tan skin stood in sharp contrast to my own ghostly complexion.

"Hey, Bells," he called, bounding down the steps with an ease that made me envious. "I was starting to think you forgot about me."

I rolled my eyes, stepping out of the truck. "You texted me fifteen minutes ago."

He shrugged, hands stuffed into his pockets. "That's a long time in Jake minutes."

Billy's voice cut through our bickering. "Well, if you two are done arguing, how about we head inside before lunch gets cold?"

I smiled, following Jacob up the ramp into the small, cozy house. It always smelled the same—wood, sea salt, and something faintly like sage.

Billy had already set out lunch— cheeseburgers and chips. Simple, but more than enough. I wasn't sure when I had last eaten properly, but I forced myself to sit down, even if my appetite was unreliable.

"Eat," Billy said pointedly, giving me a look that reminded me too much of Charlie. "You're already skin and bones, kid."

Jacob plopped into the chair beside me, grabbing two burgers for himself. "Yeah, Bella, don't you know? You need muscle." He flexed dramatically, grinning. "Like me."

I snorted, trying to force out a laugh. "Are you planning to wrestle a bear anytime soon?"

He wiggled his eyebrows. "Maybe. You never know what kind of dangers lurk in the woods."

Billy rolled his eyes at his son's antics but didn't comment. Instead, he turned his attention to me. "Charlie hasn't called today, has he? I tried to call earlier and it went to voicemail."

I blinked, pausing mid-bite. "No."

Billy frowned slightly but said nothing. It wasn't completely unusual—Charlie had long shifts at the station, and sometimes he forgot to check in if things got busy. Still, the thought nagged at me.

Jacob, oblivious or simply ignoring the slight tension, nudged me under the table. "So, I was thinking we could work on the bikes today. You still remember how to hold a wrench, right?"

I sighed, shaking my head. "You act like I'm helpless."

He grinned. "Only a little."

After lunch, we headed to the garage, where the two rusted-out motorcycles sat, still waiting to be fully restored. Jacob had already made more progress than I expected, the metal polished, the parts neatly organized.

He tossed me a wrench, and I caught it clumsily.

"Okay, grease monkey, let's get to work."

Hours passed in a blur.

Jacob's hands were steady as he worked, explaining each step in a way that made sense even to someone as mechanically challenged as me. The sun peeked through the clouds now and then, sending slivers of gold across the dirt floor.

I forgot about the ache in my chest.

I forgot about everything but the sound of Jacob's laughter, the warmth of the sun on my skin, and the feeling of my hands gripping something real, something solid.

It was only when Billy rolled out to check on us that the nagging worry in my stomach returned.

"You two better clean this up before dark," he warned. "Roads can get slick, and I don't want Charlie wondering where you are."

I nodded absently, pulling my phone from my pocket. No missed calls. No texts.

Charlie should have called by now. Even if he was busy, he would have at least left a message or asked me when I'd be home.

Jacob must have noticed the change in my expression. "You okay?"

I forced a smile. "Yeah. Just tired."

It wasn't a lie, exactly.

By the time I climbed into my truck, the sky had darkened, the familiar stretch of road leading home lined with looming trees that seemed to press closer in the dim light. The weight in my chest grew heavier with each passing mile. I gripped the steering wheel, feeling myself becoming unsettled with every moment that passed.

Something wasn't right today.

Charlie always called.