Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer
#
#
Where the Lines Overlap
Final Season - We are Broken
(I'll Believe In What You Say) The Only Proof That I Need Is You
Europe unfolded before us like a dream, each city a different shade of magic. We wandered through the cobbled streets of Paris, the golden glow of lamplight reflecting in Mark's eyes as he whispered about forever. We stood on the edge of the Eiffel Tower, the world sprawling beneath us, and he pressed a kiss to my temple like a promise. In Venice, we drifted through quiet canals, the water lapping gently against the gondola as I traced idle patterns over the tattoo on his wrist, marveling at the way he was mine. In Santorini, we watched the sun melt into the Aegean, his arms warm around me, his lips against my hair as he murmured that he'd never been happier. And neither had I.
Twenty days of stolen kisses at ancient ruins, of lazy mornings wrapped in hotel sheets, of laughter echoing down unfamiliar streets. Of Mark's hand in mine, steady and sure, of his eyes soft with love when he looked at me. I'd thought I knew the depth of my love for him before, but somewhere between the lavender fields of Provence and the snow-dusted rooftops of Prague, I realized: I hadn't even scratched the surface.
When we stepped off the plane in Washington, hand in hand, I felt a contentment so deep it settled in my bones. Rosalie and Alec were waiting, Rosalie grinning wide as she threw herself at me in greeting.
"Finally! You've been gone forever."
I huffed a laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
"I called you, like, every day."
"Not the same." She pulled back and gave Mark a once-over. "At least you didn't break my brother."
Mark smirked.
"I took very good care of him."
Rosalie rolled her eyes, then threw herself at him too. Mark hugged her, lifting her a bit from the floor and earning a light laugh from her and me. Then he put her back down.
"Don't think I won't still grill you for every detail later." She punched his shoulder playfully. "Missed you, too, Bro Bear."
Mark softened, nudging her back.
"Missed you, Little Sil."
Alec rolled his eyes but gestured to the car.
"Come on, you three. We have somewhere to be."
Mark slid into the backseat with me, Rosalie taking the passenger seat while Alec drove. The drive was familiar, passing through roads I'd known my whole life. But when we turned onto a street I didn't recognize, confusion set in.
"Where are we going?" I asked, glancing at Alec.
He just smirked.
"You'll see."
The car pulled up in front of a house, tucked just beyond Rosalie's place, on the way to Emmelle's. It was beautiful—warm wood against soft brick, a porch wrapped around the front, light spilling through the windows. But I didn't understand.
Mark got out first, Rosalie following with something in her hand. I slid out after them, Alec beside me. Mark turned to me, his expression almost nervous.
"What do you think?"
I blinked.
"Of the house?"
He nodded, something soft and eager in his eyes.
"Yeah."
I looked at it again, taking in the sloped roof, the wide windows, the way it looked lived-in, loved, even though I knew it had been empty.
"It's beautiful. Warm." I turned to him, confused. "Sunny, what—"
He reached for my hand, slipping something into my palm. When I opened it, a key rested against my skin.
My breath caught. I looked at him.
He smiled.
"It's yours. Ours. My wedding present to you."
My chest tightened, my throat thick with emotion. Rosalie nudged my shoulder.
"Go inside, Jayjay. I decorated everything. It's all you and Mark, but you can change whatever you want."
"She was a nightmare about it, so you better appreciate it," Alec added.
I couldn't speak. My heart was too full, my hands gripping the key like it was the most precious thing in the world. Mark's voice was quiet, tentative.
"Say something?"
I didn't. Couldn't. I just threw myself at him, arms wrapping tight, burying my face in his shoulder.
"I love you," I whispered fiercely, over and over. "I love you so much."
He squeezed me a little, his voice steady, sure.
"I love you too. Always."
I entwined my fingers with Mark's, pulling him with me as I stepped inside. Warmth wrapped around me instantly. The house was spacious but not overwhelmingly so—cozy, inviting, lived-in. The open-concept kitchen and living room stretched before me, soft earth tones and dark wood creating a perfect blend of our styles. A den sat off to the side, and the moment I saw it, I knew it was meant to be Mark's home office—organized, comfortable, and unmistakably him. A small washroom was tucked near the hallway, and through the back doors, a porch led to a deck overlooking the yard.
Upstairs, three bedrooms awaited. Two had ensuites and small closets—one simple, another made into a second den, undoubtedly mine, with bookshelves lining the walls and a desk perfectly positioned to catch the afternoon sun. A third bathroom sat between them, practical and efficient. But it was the main bedroom that truly took my breath away.
A balcony stretched beyond the glass doors, inviting and peaceful. The room itself was ours—through and through. Every detail felt intentional, from the deep blue and gray bedding to the framed prints that reflected both our tastes. And then I saw them—the pictures. Lining the walls, sitting on nightstands and shelves. Moments from our past, from college days to our wedding. And one that made me pause completely.
It was a photo I didn't even know existed. I remembered the moment, though—clear as day. Mark in a dark blue suit, stunning as ever, and me in my cap and gown, diploma in hand, looking at him like he was the best thing in the world. Because he was.
Rosalie's voice was gentle.
"Emmelle gave me that one."
I turned to her and Mark, my heart impossibly full.
"I love it," I said, voice thick with emotion. "It's perfect." I leaned in and kissed her forehead. "You know me too well. I won't change a thing."
Her smile was triumphant.
"Good."
Then I turned to Mark, tipping my head back to meet his blue eyes as his arms circled my waist. My fingers curled into his shirt, steadying myself in his embrace.
"Thank you," I murmured. "I love it. I love you."
He smiled, soft and certain.
"Now our married life really begins." A hint of something unspoken flickered across his face. "Maybe it's time to start a family."
I didn't even hesitate.
"Two kids. And a cat. And two dogs."
Laughter filled the room, warm and full. Mark pressed a kiss to my nose, then my lips.
"Everything you want." He whispered against them. "Anything you want. You'll have it."
Rosalie snorted.
"You're going to spoil him."
"I'm already spoiled," I assured her with a smirk.
Mark only pulled me closer.
"And I'll keep spoiling you for as long as I live."
And as I buried my face in his chest, heart impossibly full, I believed him. Every word of it.
.
.
.
Over a year had passed, and Mark's 36th birthday had arrived, filling our house with warmth and laughter. The rooms buzzed with conversation, the deck and yard teeming with people we loved—my mom, Mark's grandma, Rosalie and Alec, Emmett and Bella, Carlisle and Esme. Some of my close workmates were here too—Keira, Melinda, and Hank—along with Mark's assistant, Daniel. Jacob and Anna had come, as well as Brandon, Troy, Aaron, and Freddie, who had flown in with their wives to spend the weekend. And then, there was Edward, accompanied by a guy he'd introduced as Liam.
I stood in the kitchen with Rosalie and Bella, sipping my drink as we organized lunch. Through the open doors, I could hear the hum of conversation and bursts of laughter from outside. The day felt light, easy, the kind of gathering that wrapped around me like something familiar and safe. I was happy—completely, effortlessly happy.
Mark entered the kitchen, walking straight to me, stopping just before I could reach for him. His hands pressed against the marble on either side of me, trapping me in with quiet intent. Instinctively, I circled his waist and craned my neck. He kissed me—brief, familiar, grounding—before his voice dropped to a quieter tone.
"Who's the guy with Edward?" he asked, his breath warm against my skin.
I shrugged.
"Liam. His date, apparently. Why?"
Mark's eyes sharpened, holding mine with an intensity that told me he was already assessing me before he even asked.
"You okay?"
I hadn't fully acknowledged it until now—the subtle, misplaced feeling that flickered at the edges of my chest. It wasn't sharp, wasn't heavy, just a small, unexpected thing.
We didn't lie to each other. So I sighed and admitted, lowering my voice.
"Guess I feel a bit weird. Nothing much." I made a dismissive gesture, waving it off.
Mark pressed a kiss to my forehead, the gesture steady, sure.
"It's good he's moving on, isn't it?"
I nodded, exhaling slowly.
"Yeah."
I barely got the words out before I started to say sorry, but Mark cut me off with another kiss—firmer this time, as if silencing the unnecessary apology before it could form.
When he pulled back, he gave me that look—pointed, unwavering.
"Don't apologize for your feelings."
I swallowed, then smiled faintly, knowing how many times I'd heard him say feelings weren't something we could control. And as long as we were honest and true—to each other, to ourselves—we would always be okay.
He pressed a gentle kiss to my temple, and I smiled softly, warmth unfurling in my chest, soothed by the steady care in Mark's gestures.
"I love you."
Mark's lips curled into a familiar, easy smile.
"I love you too, my Moony."
I pulled him into a kiss, slow at first, but deepening as I sank into the moment. Just as I felt the heat between us rise, a familiar chorus interrupted.
"Maybe we should leave the lovebirds to it," Bella teased.
"Yeah, they clearly need a moment," Rosalie added, her tone dripping with amusement.
I felt Mark's smirk against my lips, but neither of us pulled away until the sound of the back door clicking shut signaled that we were alone. That was all the encouragement I needed—I deepened the kiss, feeling the shift in Mark's body as he responded.
His hands at my waist flexed, gripping just enough to send a hum of satisfaction through me before he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against mine.
"Be good, little rogue" he murmured, voice laced with quiet amusement. "We have a full house."
I chuckled, letting my fingers skim his sides in a way I knew made him twitch.
"No promises."
Mark exhaled a short laugh, eyes glinting.
"Later," he promised. "Only the two of us. Whole night. No interruptions."
Before I could say anything, Brandon barged into the kitchen.
"M, come on! We're doing shots."
Mark shook his head, but he was already moving toward the yard. I followed, my hand clasped into his, but just as I stepped toward the door, the house phone rang.
"I'll be right there," I told him.
Mark nodded and disappeared through the door while I veered toward his office.
Lifting the receiver, I brought it to my ear.
"Hello?"
The voice on the other end was calm, professional—but as the words began to take shape, something shifted inside me.
The air felt heavier. My fingers curled against the desk. My heart picked up, thudding against my ribs, each beat pressing against something raw and overwhelming.
A sharp inhale. A slow blink.
The world had narrowed to the sound of the voice in my ear and the pulse rushing through me, my grip tightening on the phone. My thoughts lagged behind the reality of what I was hearing, trying to catch up, to process, to ground me.
And then, suddenly, I was moving—numbly, automatically.
I barely felt my feet touch the floor as I made my way outside, scanning the yard until I found him.
Mark sat at one of the tables, laughing with Brandon, Troy, Aaron, Freddie, Emmett, Jacob, Alec… and Edward.
I stopped behind him, and it took only seconds for the table to go quiet. The shift in energy must have been obvious because Mark turned, brows drawing together.
I didn't think. Didn't ease into it. The words just pushed out, raw and unfiltered.
"We're approved."
Mark blinked, processing.
"Approved?" His eyes searched mine, his hands already reaching for me. "Are you—are you talking about what I think you are?"
A shaky breath. A nod. And then, the words that would change everything.
"It was the social worker," I said, my voice breaking into something breathless, something incredulous. "We're approved."
Mark's gaze flickered—disbelief, realization, then a kind of stunned joy.
"We can have a kid?"
Another nod. This time, a smile cracked through the shock, and Mark's followed.
And then, before I could say anything else, he was wrapping his arms around me, lifting me clean off my feet as laughter spilled from both of us. My arms locked around his neck, my chest pressed to his, and for a moment, there was only him.
Mark turned to the table, to the people around us, his voice ringing clear with something close to wonder.
"We can have our first kid. We're approved for adoption!"
The yard erupted—cheers, claps, voices layering in congratulations—but all I could feel was Mark's heartbeat against mine, steady, unshaken.
Everything we wanted. Everything we were building. It was real.
.
.
.
The adoption process hadn't been easy. Mark and I had expected it to be long, but not this long—eight months of paperwork, home visits, and what felt like a lifetime of waiting. But in the end, it had all led to this: me, driving our daughter to school.
Leighton sat in the backseat, legs swinging, her voice animated as she chattered about the dogs we'd seen over the weekend.
"I liked the brown one better," she announced with certainty. "The black one was too small."
I glanced at her through the rearview mirror, fighting back a grin.
"Papa liked the black one better."
She hummed thoughtfully.
"Then we have to convince him." A pause, then, slyly, "You should give him one of those big kisses that make Papa so happy."
I barked out a laugh, shaking my head. Smart girl.
Pulling up to the school, I hopped out and unbuckled her seatbelt, still smiling as I lifted her from her chair. She was still talking, her little hands gesturing as she worked through her thoughts, and for a moment, I just watched her, struck again by how much time had passed.
Six already. It didn't seem real sometimes. She'd been four when we brought her home—cautious, quiet, her wide brown eyes always observing. Now she was full of life, her voice filling every space, her dark curls bouncing with every step. I loved those curls. Some of our best moments were spent together, sitting on the couch as I braided her hair, listening to her tell me about her day in that rapid-fire way she had.
At the school gate, I crouched in front of her, adjusting the straps of her backpack.
"Papa's picking you up today," I told her. "So you can talk to him, try to convince him."
She grinned.
"I'll use our secret hug, Daddy."
I felt my chest tighten, warmth pressing behind my ribs. God, I loved her.
I laughed.
"Okay, you do that. And next Saturday, we'll get the dog."
Leighton gasped, then flung her arms around my neck, bouncing in excitement. I held her tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, happiness settling deep and sure inside me.
"I love you, my little sparkle," I murmured.
She squeezed me back, kissed my cheek, and giggled.
"I love you, Daddy."
I watched as she ran toward Ms. Souza, her curls flying behind her.
"See you at dinner," I called after her, my heart impossibly full.
…
Later that day, the scent hit me the moment I walked through the door—Mark's special stew, rich and familiar, the kind he only made when he had good news.
I didn't stop in the hallway. I went straight to the kitchen, my arms wrapping around his waist from behind as I pressed against his back.
"What's my beautiful, sweet, and very talented husband up to?" I murmured, standing on my toes to press a lingering kiss to the side of his neck. "Making his special stew?"
Mark chuckled, tilting his head slightly toward me.
"I am."
I hummed, tightening my hold.
"That means you're anxious to share something good."
He chuckled again, amused.
"Sometimes, it's not great that you know me this well."
I grinned, pressing my cheek against his shoulder blade.
"Where's Leigh?"
"Playing in the yard," Mark answered, stirring the pot. "She babbled the whole way home about the brown dog. Hugged me at least five times trying to convince me."
I smirked.
"And are you convinced?"
Mark laughed lightly.
"I'm pretending to be a tough sell. Just for the extra hugs."
I barked out a laugh, shaking my head.
"I should've known."
That was Mark. He adored her just as much as she adored him, and he wasn't above milking it.
I leaned up, craning my neck to his ear.
"She told me something interesting this morning," I murmured, letting my lips ghost over his skin.
"Oh?"
"She said, 'I should give you one of those big kisses that make you so happy' to convince you about the brown dog."
Mark laughed, full and warm.
"She's a smart girl."
"That's exactly what I thought," I said, smiling against his back, inhaling his comforting scent.
Mark turned slightly, glancing at me over his shoulder. His eyes were soft, content.
"I'll go check on her," I told him, pressing one last kiss to his neck before stepping back. Then, with a smirk, I added, "And after she goes to bed, Daddy is going to give Papa a lot of 'those big kisses that make Papa so happy.'"
Mark huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as I walked away, but I caught the small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.
Twenty minutes later, I was feeding Leighton while Mark ate, the three of us talking and laughing like we did every day. She was telling us about how her teacher, Ms. Souza, had gotten frustrated because someone kept sticking googly eyes on the class plants, and she insisted it wasn't her but that she really wished she had thought of it first.
Mark shook his head, smirking as he chewed, and I just grinned, brushing a stray curl from her forehead before offering her another bite.
Then, Mark set his fork and knife down over his plate.
I knew immediately.
I turned my attention fully to him, my heart picking up as I watched his face. His expression was steady, but I could see something beneath it—something big.
"I got a call from Judy today," he said.
Judy. I inhaled sharply, the sound quiet but unmistakable. She'd been handling everything for us—just like last time.
Mark's eyes flickered toward Leighton.
"Leigh, remember when Dady and I talked to you about having a brother?" Her whole face lit up and she nodded eagerly. "Would you like that, little sparkle?"
"Yes! A little brother! And a dog for him! Then we could get both dogs, Papa! The brown one and the black one!"
Mark chuckled, but my focus was locked on him, my body frozen in anticipation.
We had been waiting for three months. Three months since we had finished our second adoption process, waiting for that one call that would change everything. And now, with Mark's good news stew and the way he had posed the question to Leighton, I already knew.
The wait was over.
Mark turned his gaze to me, his eyes shimmering, and I barely remembered to breathe.
"There's a five-year-old boy with ADHD who needs a home," Mark said, voice warm, full of something deep and certain. "If we say yes, we can meet him tomorrow afternoon."
I held my breath, but I didn't need time to think. I saw it in Mark's face—the way his expression softened, the way his lips curved like he was already picturing the boy as ours.
Mark had a soft spot for kids like him—kids with ADHD, autism, and all the challenges that came with them. He spent his days helping children navigate those struggles, loving his patients with a kind of devotion that never wavered. And I knew, even before we met this boy, that Mark already wanted to be his father.
And I knew I would love him, too.
"Yes," I said, my voice steady, sure. "Of course."
Mark's face split into the kind of grin that made my chest feel too tight, too full. Pure, unfiltered joy.
Leighton, as expected, jumped right back in.
"Then we get the brown and the black dog, Papa?"
Mark and I both laughed, and when I turned to him for confirmation, he nodded.
I turned back to Leighton, brushing my fingers over her cheek.
"Yes, little sparkle. You'll get a brother. And both dogs."
Leighton cheered, throwing her arms up before clapping excitedly. Across the table, Mark reached for my hand, lacing our fingers together.
And just like that, our family grew.
.
.
.
The house was silent when I stepped inside.
I opened the entryway bench, slipping my shoes in before setting my briefcase on top. Undoing my tie as I moved, I started up the stairs, exhaustion settling deep in my muscles, but my mind already focused on one thing—checking on the kids.
Leighton first.
She was sound asleep, curled up in the blankets, her lashes casting soft shadows against her cheeks. Even at eight, she looked so small like this—so beautiful it made my chest ache. I leaned over, gently brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.
"I love you so much, my little sparkle," I whispered.
She didn't stir, but I kissed her forehead anyway, then checked the baby monitor before heading down the hall.
Noah's room was next.
He was still tucked in, which wasn't normal. By now, he usually would've kicked off the blankets, tangled himself in his stuffed animals, and maybe even rolled onto the floor. But he was still snug under the covers, his breathing slow and steady.
Which meant Mark had only just managed to get him to sleep.
I checked my watch. Almost eleven.
Guilt crept in.
Since Noah came home, I'd been the only one able to put him to sleep. Anyone else who tried ended up knocked out before he did, while Noah lay awake, staring at the little glow-in-the-dark stars we'd stuck to the ceiling. Mark included. But Noah had a bedtime, and since I was at the hospital late for the conference, Mark had probably had a hell of a time tonight.
I knelt beside the bed, brushing a hand over Noah's hair before pressing a kiss to his forehead.
"Sorry, tiny bolt," I whispered. "Wish I were here for bedtime. Love you, Noah."
I checked the baby monitor and quietly left, making my way to our bedroom.
The ensuite light was on, and I could hear the faint sound of running water. Already unfastening the buttons on my shirt, I stepped inside.
Mark stood at the sink, brushing his teeth, freshly showered, wearing only sleep pants.
I leaned against the doorframe, watching him. Admiring him. The way the light caught the defined lines of his body, the strength in his arms, the curve of his back. But all of that—the broad chest, the lean muscle, the sheer handsomeness of him—was just the wrapper for the kindest heart I had ever known.
Mark caught my stare in the mirror. He reached for a towel, wiped his face, then leaned against the counter, giving me a knowing look.
"Are you just gonna stare?" he asked.
I smirked, stepping forward slowly, letting the space between us disappear inch by inch.
"What about you?"
Mark's lips quirked, and then he leaned down, catching my bottom lip between his teeth, biting softly before sucking it in just enough to tease. Then he pulled away.
"Long day?"
"The longest."
I wrapped my arms around his waist, his warmth sinking into my skin. Mark's hands found my forearms, his grip steady—grounding.
"Noah couldn't sleep?" I asked.
Mark sighed, brushing his thumb over my skin.
"He wanted to wait for you. No matter what I did or said, he fought sleep until he just couldn't anymore."
My chest tightened.
"Was he upset?"
Mark shook his head.
"Not upset, just anxious because you weren't here like he's used to."
I exhaled, looking down. I should've expected that. but Mark didn't let me sink into the guilt.
"Hey." His voice was firm but gentle. "Don't feel guilty. Noah's going to learn that sometimes, you won't be there."
I nodded, but it still sat heavy in my chest.
"Was he fixating?"
"A little," Mark admitted. "But he responded to redirection. I kept engaging him, just enough to keep his attention shifting until he was calm enough to settle."
I sighed again.
I hated this part. I hated knowing that something as simple as me being late could throw off Noah's whole night.
Mark's hands tightened on my waist.
"Moony," he said gently. "We knew raising Noah would come with challenges, and that's okay. He's learning. He's improving at adjusting when things don't go as expected. You've seen it—he's already starting to handle frustration better."
"I know," I murmured. "I just don't want him to struggle. I know it's part of the process, but it just… breaks my heart."
Mark's gaze softened.
"I know, Bae," he echoed, pressing his forehead to mine. "It breaks mine too. But he wasn't struggling. He had a hard time at first, yeah, but he worked through it."
I lifted my gaze to meet his, still not quite convinced.
He let a beat of silence pass before pulling back, holding my waist more firmly.
"Enough stressing out," he murmured. "You need to relax."
I huffed a quiet laugh.
"I'm trying."
Mark tilted his head, smirking.
"You're not doing it right, then, Bae. I think you need my help."
I chuckled, but when Mark lifted me onto the sink counter, I let him.
He stepped between my legs, closing the space completely, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing my forehead to his.
"Then help me," I murmured.
Mark cupped my face with one hand, his thumb under my chin, tilting my head up as he kissed me—deep and slow. The kind of kiss that melted away the tension, softened my shoulders, and made me sink into him.
Then, without a word, he unbuttoned my trousers.
I exhaled against his lips.
"Already?" he murmured, his eyes catching the immediate response of my body.
"Are you really surprised?"
With a mischievous grin and a devilish gleam in his eyes, he shook his head.
"I love that you're always this eager."
"You do this to me," I teased. He chuckled, but I got serious. "I need you, Sunny," I admitted, my voice quiet. "Take me to bed."
Mark kissed me again—soft, tender, like a promise. Then he lifted me effortlessly, my arms and legs wrapping around him.
"I need you too. Always."
He laid me down, slid my trousers and underwear off, then pushed his sleep pants down and settled over me, his weight grounding me.
"How tired are you?" he asked.
I smirked, pulling him closer. He grunted low as friction teased us.
"You know I'm never too tired for you."
Mark chuckled, kissing my jaw, my throat, the hollow of my collarbone.
"Then I'll make love to you all night."
And as the world outside stayed quiet, as his hands and mouth made every inch of me feel worshiped, I believed him.
.
.
.
Mark's arms were warm around me as sat on his lap and settled back against his chest, my arms draped loosely over his. The picnic table in Rosalie's yard was filled with laughter and conversation, the easy, familiar kind that had come to define these Saturday lunches over the years. What had once been my mom's tradition had expanded, alternating between my house and Rosalie's, and lately, since Rosalie was seven months pregnant with her and Alec's first child, she'd been given priority to host.
Rosalie was radiant, despite her exaggerated grumbles about back pain. Alec, ever the doting husband, hovered attentively. My mom and Emmelle were deep in conversation, while Esme and Carlisle listened in, amused. Emmett was telling a story—loudly, as always—while Bella rolled her eyes at him, a fond smile tugging at her lips.
Mark's soft laughter hummed against my back, but when I turned to look at him, he wasn't focused on the table. His attention was elsewhere, an easy, affectionate smile on his lips. Following his gaze, I found what had become a common sight ever since the kids entered our lives—Edward playing with them.
It was still amazing to me, how naturally Leighton and Noah interacted with him, and how good Edward was with them, especially with Noah.
I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice just for Mark.
"Doesn't it seem like Edward is their age?"
Mark chuckled, his chest vibrating beneath me.
"Maybe that's exactly why they love Uncle Eddy so much."
I smirked, watching as Noah climbed onto Edward's back while Leighton hugged him around the waist. They were all laughing, the kind of loud, uninhibited joy that echoed through the yard, and Edward—Edward's whole face lit up, in a way I rarely saw apart from moments like this.
Mark's voice was thoughtful.
"He's really good with them."
I tilted my head up to look at him.
"You're jealous…?"
Mark's gaze met mine, warmth and tenderness in his expression before he shook his head.
"Anyone who loves my children, and whom my children love, is someone who warms my heart."
I stared at him, caught in that familiar, helpless awe of his generosity. My chest tightened, affection swelling too fast to contain. I turned, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
Mark smiled against my mouth.
"Besides, he loves my husband too." His thumb brushed my wrist, deliberate, steady. "I can never hate him if he shares the same kind of devotion that guides my life."
Something twisted unexpectedly in my stomach.
It had been a long time since I last thought about that—Edward still loving me.
I didn't even consider it true. Not anymore.
Before I could linger on it, laughter exploded from where the kids were playing, pulling my attention back. Edward was on the grass now, both Leighton and Noah over him, tickling him mercilessly. He gasped, struggling dramatically, his laugh rough and breathless, and the kids shrieked with glee.
Beside me, Mark chuckled.
I exhaled and leaned into him again, watching the scene unfold.
Edward kept playing with the kids, his laughter mixing with theirs, while I tried to shove aside the nagging thought. It was ridiculous.
We were finally in a good place.
Edward had been dating constantly, clearly moving on. I loved Mark. My life was solid and steady.
So why did I feel this... off-kilter pull in my chest? What the hell was that damn feeling in the pit of my stomach? That dull, persistent thing pressing at the back of my mind?
I exhaled sharply through my nose, shaking it off. The warmth of the conversation at the table wrapped around me, familiar and grounding. It helped. The feeling faded, tucked away into some unreachable place.
Some minutes later, it was time for the kids to eat. I shifted in Mark's lap, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw as I got up.
"Snack time."
Mark hummed, stretching as he stood.
"I'll set everything up."
"I'll get the kids," I said, already turning.
As I approached, Noah spotted me first. His eyes lit up, and he sprinted toward me, arms outstretched.
"Daty!"
I caught him easily, his small body warm against mine as he wrapped around me like a little starfish. He smelled like grass and sunshine, and the sheer force of his affection made something in my chest clench.
By then, I was practically standing in front of Edward, who still had Leighton on his lap.
Edward glanced up, already expecting it.
"Snack time?"
"Yeah." I reached for Leighton's hand, and she looked up at me with those big, curious eyes.
"Did Papa put strawberries in my snack?"
"Of course," I assured her.
She beamed, then turned to Edward.
"Uncle Eddy, come with us!"
Edward raised a brow at me, his expression unreadable for half a second before slipping into a smirk.
I smirked right back.
"Come on, Uncle Eddy. You were officially invited to the afternoon snack."
Edward chuckled, but before I could step away, Noah shifted in my arms, small hands pressing against my face, turning my head toward him. His bright eyes locked onto mine, serious.
"Daty, Papa put banana in Noah snack?"
Something squeezed at my chest again, sharp and fleeting. I brushed a hand over his back, steady, affectionate.
"In my snack, tiny bolt. Can you repeat that for me?"
Noah nodded, his little brow furrowed in concentration.
"In Daty snack."
Edward snorted softly beside me, amused.
I huffed a laugh, but the tightness in my chest hadn't quite let up.
"Whose is Noah's snack, mine?"
Noah furrowed his brows, then shook his head firmly.
"Noah's snack is my snack, Daty."
I grinned.
"That's right. Now ask me again."
Noah's face brightened.
"Papa put banana in my snack?"
I kissed the side of his head.
"Yes, he did."
Inside, I set Noah down, and he took off toward the kitchen.
"Papa!" he called, his little feet thudding against the floor.
Leighton followed close behind.
Edward exhaled beside me, watching them go. Then he turned to me, something thoughtful in his expression.
"You're really good at directing him. It's amazing to see."
I glanced at him, noting the quiet sincerity in his voice.
"Easier when my husband—and Noah's other father—is a therapist who specializes in cases like his."
Edward nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"That probably helps."
I hesitated for a fraction of a second.
"You're really good with them. Especially with Noah." The words felt heavier than I meant them to. He knew what I meant—Noah didn't trust easily.
Edward's gaze flickered.
"I just love them," he said, quieter.
Warmth surged in my chest, deep and unexpected, curling into something I couldn't quite place.
I swallowed, my mind grasping at something too elusive to understand.
And suddenly, I understood better what Mark had said earlier.
The simplest truths could feel like the most complicated ones.
The realization lingered in my mind, entwined with the strange feeling Edward's words had stirred. I tried to push it aside, focusing on the present, but it lingered longer than I expected, weaving into the quiet spaces of my thoughts.
I told myself it was just the moment—the simple, obvious truth of what he'd said. He loved my kids. That was all.
Still, I couldn't shake the warmth that curled inside me, not even as I stepped into the kitchen where Noah was already clinging to Mark's leg, looking up at him expectantly.
"Papa, banana?"
Mark chuckled, ruffling his curls.
"In your snack, tiny bolt."
Noah beamed.
I walked up to Mark, tilting my face up for a brief, soft kiss on the lips. Leighton climbed onto her seat at the table, her fingers already reaching for the snack Mark placed in front of her. I helped Noah into his chair beside her while Mark set down his snack as well. Edward leaned casually against the counter, watching the scene with that soft, almost fond expression I'd been seeing more often.
Mark glanced at me, his eyes warm, knowing.
"Did you correct him again?"
I smirked.
"I try. He's stubborn."
Mark hummed, amused.
"I wonder where he gets that from."
Edward snorted softly, and I shot him a look.
"Don't start."
Leighton perked up, looking between us.
"Daddy and Uncle Eddy, are you fighting?"
I huffed.
"No."
Edward grinned.
"Not yet."
Mark shook his head, sliding into the seat beside me, his hand settling on my knee.
"They're just playing, sparkle."
Leighton narrowed her eyes in deep suspicion.
"Hm."
I bit back a smile, breaking a strawberry in half for her.
"Eat your snack, detective."
She took it, but her gaze stayed sharp as if she was still analyzing us.
Noah, oblivious, happily shoved a piece of banana into his mouth, swinging his feet under the table.
The kitchen settled into an easy, familiar rhythm. Conversation flowed between Mark and Edward while I helped the kids with their snacks, wiping stray bits of fruit from Noah's hands, listening to Leighton ramble about a cartoon she'd been watching.
At some point, I felt Mark's thumb brushing over my knee, absent yet grounding. I turned to him, catching the softest look on his face as he watched me. I didn't know what I'd done to deserve someone who looked at me like that.
I smiled at him, my heart full. He kissed my temple lingeringly, and I closed my eyes briefly to savor the moment.
Edward's voice pulled me out of it.
"I don't know how you two do it."
I blinked, glancing at him.
"Do what?"
He gestured at the kids.
"This. Parenting. You make it look easy."
I scoffed.
"It's not. Not even close."
Mark nodded.
"There's a lot of trial and error. A lot of exhaustion. But at the end of the day, it's just… loving them."
Edward was quiet for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then he smiled.
"Well, you're both doing something right."
Something about the way he said it made my chest feel too tight.
I swallowed, pushing past the sudden heaviness.
"Damn right, we are."
Mark squeezed my knee, amused.
"Humble as ever."
Edward laughed, shaking his head.
"I walked right into that one."
Noah clapped his hands, delighted.
"Uncle Eddy lose!"
I grinned.
"See? The kid knows what's up."
Edward groaned dramatically.
"Betrayed."
Leighton patted his arm in mock sympathy.
"It's okay, Uncle Eddy. You can try again later."
He sighed.
"Fine. Rematch after snack time."
Noah cheered, and Leighton giggled, and just like that, the lightness returned, smoothing over whatever strange, unsettled thing had taken root inside me.
I didn't need to think about it. Not now.
Not yet.
.
.
.
The airport was crowded, but I spotted him immediately. Mark stood near the baggage claim, his suit jacket slung over his arm, scanning the area until his eyes landed on me. The moment they did, his entire posture shifted—tension melting into something softer, something that made my chest tighten.
Five days. Not long, but long enough.
He smiled as he reached me, tired but warm.
"Hey."
"Hey," I murmured, stepping in to pull him into a tight hug. His scent wrapped around me, familiar and grounding. He exhaled against my neck, his arms tightening just a fraction before pulling back.
"God, I missed you, Moony."
I grinned, brushing my fingers over his jaw.
"That so?"
Mark hummed, kissing me—a brief press of lips, more of a sigh than a kiss, but I felt the exhaustion in it. The need.
I took his bag, and we made our way to the car.
"The kids asleep?" he asked.
"They're at Momma's."
That got his attention. He paused mid-step, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Noah's sleeping in a different house without either of us?"
I opened the trunk and placed his bag inside.
"I was there for bedtime, and I'll be there when he wakes up."
Mark still looked uncertain. It wasn't that Noah couldn't spend a night away from us—he'd stayed with my mom before—but it was rare. Routine mattered a lot for him.
"What are you planning, Doctor Wallon-Hale?" he asked as I shut the trunk.
I leaned against the car, smirking.
"It's been over a year since our last date," I said, letting the words linger between us.
"On our fifth wedding anniversary," Mark followed my cue.
I nodded. His expression shifted—curiosity giving way to realization.
"And we didn't do anything for our sixth, since I was at Brown," he said, the realization settling in.
For a moment, he just looked at me, something unreadable in his gaze. Then he shook his head, a small, fond smile curving his lips.
"You're unbelievable."
"Thank you," I replied, completely serious.
He laughed, shaking his head again before letting me pull him in by the waist for another kiss.
The city was quieter at this hour, the streets slick from an earlier drizzle, reflecting neon and headlights in blurred streaks of color. The drive into the city was unhurried, filled with easy conversation and the quiet warmth of his hand resting on my thigh.
Dinner was at a quiet, upscale restaurant in Seattle. Low lighting, soft music, a bottle of wine between us. Mark looked relaxed, his fingers idly playing with the stem of his glass as we talked—about his conference, the panel he spoke on, the discussions he found interesting.
"And you, my Moony?" he asked after a while. "How was your week?"
"Leighton lost another tooth."
Mark smiled.
"Did she try to con you out of extra money again?"
"Of course." I took a sip of wine. "Told me the Tooth Fairy gives bigger tips for front teeth."
He chuckled, shaking his head.
"Smart girl."
"Noah also had a moment of pure chaos."
"That's every day."
"Fair," I admitted. "But this one was special. He climbed onto the counter while I was cooking, knocked over the flour, and proceeded to tell me—completely deadpan—'it snowed.'"
Mark laughed, shaking his head.
"That's our tiny bolt."
"Yeah." I leaned forward slightly, watching him. "You okay, Sunny?"
He tilted his head.
"Of course. Why?"
"You look tired."
He sighed, rolling his shoulders.
"Five days of constant interaction and public speaking will do that to you."
I reached across the table, brushing my fingers over the tattoo on his wrist.
"We don't have to do anything tonight, you know. We can just go home."
Mark's smile was soft, but there was something else in his eyes, something deeper.
"No," he murmured. "I want to see what else you have planned."
I laced our fingers together, giving his hand a squeeze before rising from the table and gently pulling him up with me. The night air was crisp as we stepped outside, the city humming softly around us.
The drive was quiet—comfortable, filled with stolen glances and the lingering warmth of his touch.
By the time we reached the hotel, anticipation thrummed between us, thick and undeniable.
The suite was stunning—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, sleek furniture, dim lighting that made everything feel warm. Mark stood in the center of the room, glancing around before turning to me, amusement flickering in his tired eyes.
"You really went all out, huh?"
I shrugged, stepping closer.
"You deserve it."
Mark let out a slow breath, and when he looked at me, something shifted. The exhaustion was still there, but now, layered beneath it, was something softer. Longing.
I reached for him, sliding my hands over his chest. His fingers found my waist, pulling me in effortlessly.
"You really missed me that much?" he murmured, his lips brushing against my temple.
I nodded, barely breathing.
"More than you can imagine," I whispered.
His response was wordless—a kiss, slow and deliberate, unraveling the space between us. It was in the way his hands traced my back, the way his mouth moved over mine, the way his body pressed into me like he needed to feel every inch of me at once.
But I needed more.
I didn't give him a chance to take control. I spun him and pushed him back, barely giving him time to react before pressing him against the nearest wall, the force of it knocking a breathless gasp from his lips. My mouth crashed into his with a hunger I couldn't contain. Mark gasped, then groaned, his hands gripping my waist, his hips jerking forward instinctively.
When I broke the kiss and looked into his eyes, they were dark with something molten, anticipation threading through his expression. Before he could speak, I dropped to my knees in one fluid motion, yanking his belt free, undoing him in a single motion that left him breathless. His hands flew to my hair, fingers twisting in the strands as I took him into my mouth without preamble, swallowing a startled moan that broke from his lips as his head thudded back against the wall. His breath hitched.
I hummed, letting my tongue tease and torment, savoring every sound I wrung from him. His thighs tensed, his fingers tightening their grip, his body surrendering to the pleasure I poured into every movement. I wanted to ruin him. I wanted him desperate.
He was gorgeous like this—undone, eager, his hands clutching my hair but never pushing, always letting me take what I wanted.
I worked him over mercilessly, pulling back just when he got too close, making him curse my name.
"Jasper—fuck—you're killing me, little rogue," he panted, his fingers trembling against my scalp.
I ran my tongue along his length one last time before standing, tossing my shirt aside and wiping my lips with my thumb, locking my gaze on him through the haze of our shared heat.
"How much did you miss me, Sunny?" I murmured, voice dripping with challenge.
His breath was ragged, his pupils blown wide, and I barely had time to smirk before he grabbed me, spinning us until I was the one against the wall. His mouth was hot and demanding against mine, his hands rough as he yanked my pants open, fingers dipping low, teasing.
"A fucking lot… and you just left me hanging… not fair," he breathed, voice thick with need.
"Then do something about it."
His growl sent a shiver down my spine, and then he did. He turned me to the wall, held me firmly against it as he went down and spread me open, rimming me mercilessly until I was begging for him to take me.
I felt his lips brush my ear.
"Do you want me to make you cum now, little rogue?"
I wanted him to take me right here, hard and fast, before I took everything back and owned him completely.
"Not yet, Bae," I murmured, turning and bending over the table beside us, presenting myself in silent challenge. "Take me first."
Mark never denied me anything.
He let out a strangled breath, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. A moment's hesitation—then the wet slide of his fingers between my cheeks, slick from his mouth, spreading me open, teasing with just enough to make me shiver. His breath stuttered, his control fraying.
"Perfect," he rasped, pressing against me, waiting for my permission. His voice trembled. "Safe?"
I arched back, pushing into him, giving it without words.
That was all it took. He took me right there, his thrusts deep and relentless, his name a broken moan on my lips, both of us gasping, clawing, desperate. It was raw, consuming, leaving us both shaking by the time he pulled me up against his chest, angling my head back just enough to kiss me—messy, hungry.
Mark started to pick up pace, and I knew him well enough to predict that he wouldn't last long if we kept going. And I had another idea of how this was going to unfold.
I pulled away brusquely, earning a whine from him, turned, and splayed my hands against his chest.
I was far from done.
I dragged him to the bed, shoving him down before straddling him, pinning his wrists against the mattress. His pupils darkened, his lips parted, but he didn't resist.
"My turn," I growled, voice rough with hunger, as I shoved two fingers past his lips.
Mark groaned around them, his tongue hot and wet, sucking them in without hesitation. His eyes flicked up to mine, dark with need, knowing exactly what I was doing—what I was claiming. The way he hollowed his cheeks, the way his lips tightened, sent a sharp pulse of heat through me.
I reached for his hand, wrapping my fingers around his wrist, guiding it up. His breath hitched as I brought it to my mouth, my lips parting as I took two of his fingers in. The contrast—his mouth on me, mine on him—sent a shiver through me, anticipation coiling low in my stomach. My tongue curled around his fingers, sucking slow, deliberate, letting him feel the slick heat, the teasing drag of my teeth.
Mark let out a low, ragged sound around my fingers, his body tense beneath me, his free hand gripping my waist. I pulled his fingers from my mouth with a soft, wet pop, then guided his hand behind me, pressing his fingers between my cheeks. He didn't need more than that. His breath stuttered, his grip flexing—then he moved, giving me exactly what I needed.
As he worked me open, I felt him shift beneath me, his legs bending, knees rising. The change in position sent a fresh spark of heat through me, anticipation thick in the air between us.
As soon as I pulled my fingers from his mouth, he gripped the back of my neck, yanking me down in a desperate kiss, teeth catching my bottom lip, tongue devouring me like he needed to be inside me more than air. He was so hard against me, his body burning, shifting, pleading without words.
Still kissing him, I reached behind myself, sliding my hand down past his sac. My fingers found him, tight and hot, and I pressed in without hesitation.
Mark shifted, his body opening beneath me, his breath hitching as he took me in. His hips rolled, subtle but deliberate, pressing into my touch, guiding my fingers deeper. The way he moved—so ready, so willing—sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through me, tightening every muscle in my body.
I broke away suddenly, leaving him panting beneath me, eyes wild and glazed. I hovered above, letting him see the challenge in my gaze, knowing how much it undid him when I looked at him like this—like I owned him. Like I was about to wreck him.
And I was.
I pulled my fingers out, and Mark whined in protest, his grip tightening on my hips as if to pull me back, to stop the loss. But his frustration didn't last long.
I reached back, guiding him exactly where I wanted, teasing for only a second before I sank down onto him in one reckless, consuming motion.
Mark's entire body seized, his head snapping back against the pillows, a strangled, wrecked moan breaking from his throat. His hands flew to my hips, gripping hard like he needed something solid, something real to hold onto, but I didn't let him steady himself. I set the pace—fast, unrelenting, pulling him into a rhythm that had us both unraveling too quickly, too perfectly.
"Jasper—" His voice was wrecked, desperate, breaking apart like he could barely handle how good this felt, how deep, how right.
Through his gasps, his fingers flexed, gripping tighter.
"Changed your mind...?" he rasped.
I shook my head, a breathless grin curling my lips as I leaned down.
"Just teasing… want you wrecked."
A soft, ruined laugh escaped him.
"Am already..."
Before I could respond, Mark caught my hand splayed against his chest, his fingers curling around my wrist as he brought it back to his mouth. His lips parted, tongue flicking out to reclaim two of my fingers, sucking them in, deep, wet heat surrounding them once more as his gaze locked on mine. He didn't stop until they were slick, until there was no mistaking what he wanted.
Then, still holding my wrist, he guided my hand lower, down the hard lines of his stomach, further still, until my fingers brushed his entrance. His breath stuttered, his thighs tensed beneath me, but he didn't hesitate, didn't waver.
"Need you, Moony… it's been too long," he whispered. "Take me… claim me… need you inside me."
Heat sparked sharply through my veins. I braced my hands against his chest and lifted myself off him, gasping as I slid free, as the loss of him left me aching, empty. Mark groaned, his hands still gripping my hips like he didn't want to let me go, like he needed me still.
I reached blindly to the side, finding the small bottle on the nightstand without looking, without needing to. Mark's breath hitched, his body already anticipating, already open for me as I slicked him up with smooth, practiced ease, teasing him, making sure he felt every second of it.
Then I shifted, positioning myself between his legs. He let me spread him open, thighs bracketing my own, his body already adjusting, already welcoming.
I pushed my fingers in just enough, stretching him, feeling how he reacted—how his hips lifted into my touch, how his breath caught. The slide was easier now, my touch careful as I worked him open, teasing, making sure he could take me the way he wanted—seamless, effortless.
And then, as I pulled my fingers out, I guided myself to him and pressed in—a slow, aching push. My hand wrapped around him, taking him with me into it, into this.
"Safe, Sunny?" I panted.
"S-sound—" The word broke into a lingering groan.
His hands roamed, gripping my arms like he needed something solid to anchor himself. I picked up the pace, a sharp gasp tearing from my throat as his hips jerked to meet my thrusts. But I didn't ease up. His grip tightened, desperate, like he was holding on just to keep himself from coming undone too fast. Then he pulled me to him suddenly, his mouth dragging over my throat, my shoulder, my lips, gasping against my skin, sucking bruises where no one else would ever see them.
"Look at me," I demanded.
And he did.
His pupils were blown wide, his expression wrecked, and what I saw there shattered me—love, raw and endless, devotion so deep it made my chest ache, a depth of want so overwhelming it was unbearable.
I was drowning in him. In this. In us, in everything we had.
I didn't want to come up for air.
"Need you with me, Sunny," I pleaded, my voice shaking, his fingers digging into my arms, my rhythm faltering as I neared the edge. "Now."
His breath hitched, his body tensed beneath me, his grip tightened, and then he lost it, his body snapping taut beneath me, shuddering, unraveling, breaking apart together with me in a rush of heat, love, and something infinite.
I collapsed against him, our foreheads pressed together, our breathing tangled, bodies still locked in the aftershocks. His lips brushed my temple, soft and reverent, as his fingers traced lazy circles down my spine—soothing, worshiping.
"You," he murmured, voice hoarse, thick with certainty. "Making love to you… having you make love to me… will always be the best thing I've ever known."
I smiled against his skin, exhausted, drunk on him, pressing myself closer like I could melt into him.
"I missed you," I whispered.
His arms tightened around me, his hold unshakable.
"I'm here, my Moony. Always."
And as I lay there, tangled in him, in love and heat and home, I knew he was telling the truth.
.
.
.
Time passes so fast, so imperceptibly.
Eight years.
That's how long it's been since I married the love of my life, since we started the best, happiest, most fulfilling chapter of our lives.
Nineteen years together... two loving kids... a house... a home... a story so happy I sometimes couldn't believe how lucky I was.
Life had settled into something steady, something full—full of love, meaning, and everything I'd ever wanted. There was no lingering doubt, no missing piece—only the quiet certainty that I had built the life I was meant to live.
Maybe that's why the sudden pang in my chest caught me so off guard.
I was buried in work, fingers flying over the keyboard, shifting between documents, reports, and budgets without pause. My mind was sharp, focused—until, suddenly, it wasn't.
A strange pang hit my chest out of nowhere. Not pain, exactly. More like an echo of something unsettling. It made no sense. I shook it off, forcing my attention back—
And then, just as abruptly, an image of Mark's smile broke through my thoughts. Warm. Steady. Mine.
My breath hitched. I stopped typing.
I needed a break.
Pushing back from my desk, I exhaled and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, pressing a hand to my sternum as I looked out over the city. But the moment I stilled, my mind filled with something else. Something better.
This morning.
Mark's face, relaxed in sleep, golden light catching on his lashes. His hands, slow but insistent as they roamed my skin, waking me up in the most enticing way. The quiet way we moved together, trying to keep the noise down so we wouldn't wake the kids.
His voice, deep and steady, whispering against my ear.
I love you, Jasper. I love you so much.
I could still feel it—his warmth sinking into my skin, through my veins, until it was part of me. Until I was drowning in it. When release finally hit, the only thing I saw was Mark's eyes. The way they reflected exactly what I felt. Loved. Cherished. Home.
I blinked back to the present.
My hand was over my heart. My thumb brushed against my wedding band—the simple yellow gold snug against my engagement ring, a match to Mark's white gold one.
I smiled. The echo of his touch was still on my skin, his scent still in my breath.
And then—I was out of breath again. The odd feeling from before spread, curling in my lungs like smoke.
I needed to hear his voice.
I grabbed my phone and called.
It rang. Once. Twice. Then the signal changed—Mark was on another call. I hung up, glancing at the time. He was probably at the clinic already, speaking to a parent or guardian. I sent a quick text.
Call me.
I tried to shake off the unease as I returned to my desk, but it sat heavy in my ribs, unmoving.
I went back to my reports, but my mind kept skipping, stuck in a loop I couldn't break.
Then the intercom rang.
"Dr. Cullen wants to see you," Keira said. "He says it's urgent."
I frowned. Carlisle? Must be something pressing.
"Send him in."
The door opened.
It wasn't Carlisle.
Edward stepped inside, and something inside me locked up. His eyes were huge, his face tense—disturbed in a way I had never seen before.
I shot to my feet. My pulse slammed in my throat.
The only reason an ER doctor would come straight to me like this—
"What is it?" My voice was sharp, urgent.
Edward didn't answer right away. He took another step forward.
"Sit down."
I hesitated. The way he said it—it wasn't just firm. It was soft.
"What's going on?"
Edward exhaled, his throat working like he was bracing himself. Then, gentler now, he repeated.
"Sit down, Jazz. Please."
A slow, creeping dread settled in my spine. My body knew before my mind did.
Still, I lowered back into my chair, my hands gripping the armrests.
Edward closed the rest of the distance and placed a set of papers in front of me. His face softened—unbearably—as he spoke.
"I need your signature."
I looked down. The heading blurred before coming into focus.
Surgical Consent Form
My breath caught. My chest caved.
My eyes snapped to Edward, then back down, scanning frantically until—
Patient Name: Mark Elliott Thomas Wallon-Hale.
The world tilted. A loud buzzing filled my ears.
I forced myself to focus, to process what was in front of me.
They needed my permission. Mark couldn't sign for himself—he was unconscious.
The world split apart.
The floor disappeared. A loud, static buzz filled my ears. My vision tunneled.
Somewhere distant, Edward was calling my name. I forced myself to focus.
"I need that signature," he said, urgent now. "Now, Jasper."
My hand shook as I grabbed the pen. I scrawled my name onto the page, barely seeing it.
Edward exhaled sharply.
"I'm heading into prep. I swear to you, I'll do everything I can to save him."
I swallowed, my throat raw.
"How?" The word barely escaped my lips.
Edward's jaw tightened.
"There was an accident on the road. A truck flipped over. Mark's car was the first it hit."
A violent shudder ran through me.
"He called 911," Edward continued, his voice thickening. "But by the time paramedics arrived, he was already unconscious."
I stared at him, my chest crushed under something unbearable. The question was in my eyes, but I couldn't say it.
Edward answered anyway.
"He's stable," Edward said carefully. "But he has a traumatic brain injury. His skull is cracked in two places. We just need to act fast. My father is on his way. Mark will have the best support, I assure you."
I shot to my feet.
"I need to see him."
Edward hesitated—for just a second—before he nodded.
I tried to move. I couldn't. My legs locked, my lungs refusing to expand.
Edward circled my desk and reached out, palm open.
I stared at it. My entire body trembled, but I reached.
The moment our hands met, something inside me unlocked. My legs worked. My body moved.
Edward didn't let go as he guided me to the door.