Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer
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Where the Lines Overlap
All We Know
~~ Edward ~~
(After All These Years) Forget about All the Troubled Times
It's hard to believe it's been two years already. After everything that's happened between us, Jasper and I are really together this time.
It feels like a lifetime ago that we were eighteen—young, naive, not really understanding what love meant beyond the excitement of being together. Back then, it was all about the rush, the feeling. We had no idea how deep love could really go, or how much it could change us.
Now, we're not those kids anymore. We've both had our share of growing up. I've been through a lot, and so has Jasper, but here we are. Still figuring it out, but in a way that's real, in a way we never understood before.
I sigh, my heart skipping a beat or two before the line clicks.
Jasper picks up on the second ring.
"Hey, Darling," he says, his voice warm.
"Hey, Love," I echo, leaning against the counter. "Lunch was a success. Kids ate everything, Noah had seconds, and Leighton told me the sauce was 'actually amazing,' which I'm taking as high praise."
Jasper chuckles.
"Like there was ever any doubt."
"I know," I say, smirking. "But it's nice to hear it from the critics."
"They're just smart enough to appreciate what they have."
"Well, I did set the bar high."
"That you did," Jasper huffs a soft laugh. "Everything okay?"
I glance toward the stairs.
"Yeah. They went to their rooms to do homework right after lunch. I just wanted to update you."
"Thanks for picking them up."
"Don't mention it, Love. I like doing things for them. For you."
"I know," Jasper says, his voice quieter now, something softer in it. "But it's your day off, you should be resting."
"I'm spending time with them, I am resting."
"Still."
"I want to be here, Love."
"I appreciate it," Jasper says. Then, a little softer, "And them. They appreciate it."
His voice is warm, settling. I let it sit between us for a second before I exhale.
"I'll check on them now, see if they need help with homework."
"Alright. Talk later?"
"Yeah."
"Bye, Darling."
"Bye, Love."
I hang up and check my messages and email. Nothing urgent. A few work updates, a reminder about a meeting next week, and a text from Emmett asking if I'm bringing anything for game night. I shoot back a quick whatever's missing, just tell me before heading upstairs.
Leighton's door is open, but I knock anyway. She looks up from her desk, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Hey, princess," I say, leaning on the doorframe. "Need help with anything?"
She hesitates—just a fraction of a second—but I catch it. Then she shakes her head, her smile just as soft and warm as always.
"I'm okay. Thanks, Uncle Eddy."
Something about it lingers, tugging at me. She's not distant, not closed off—just… hesitant. But I don't push.
"Alright," I say. "I'll check on Noah, then be downstairs. If you need anything, just call me."
"Okay." Her smile is still there, quiet but real. "Thanks."
I nod and step away, glancing back once before heading to Noah's room. His door is cracked open, and I hear a frustrated groan before I even knock.
I push it open wider.
"That bad?"
Noah looks up, scowling at his notebook.
"Math sucks."
I smirk.
"I was good at math in school. Want help?"
His expression flips in an instant.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," I say, walking in and sitting on the edge of his bed. "What are we dealing with?"
"Fractions." He shoves the notebook toward me like it personally offended him.
"Alright, let's see." I scan the problems, nodding. "Okay, so, this one—you just need to find a common denominator first. See?"
He watches as I break it down, his scowl fading. He asks a few questions, and I guide him through the rest of the problems, checking his work. When he gets the last one right on his own, he grins wide.
"Yes!"
I laugh.
"Told you. Not so bad, right?"
He grins and launches forward, hugging me.
"Thanks, Dad!"
It hits me mid-motion—his arms still wrapped around me, his voice so natural, so unthinking—that it takes me a second to react.
But he doesn't notice. He's already pulling back, focused on his notebook again.
I clear my throat, steadying myself, then lean down and kiss his temple.
"Love you, bud."
"Love you too, Dad," he says, distracted, flipping to the next page in his notebook.
I make my way downstairs, my mind still looping the moment over and over again.
Noah called me Dad. He didn't even realize it.
I sit down on the couch, pressing my palms together between my knees. My chest feels too full, my pulse a little unsteady.
Noah is so authentic, so raw in everything he does—if he said it, it wasn't out of habit or reflex. It was real. He sees me as his father.
The thought is staggering, nearly overwhelming. My eyes sting, and I blink rapidly, exhaling.
I don't want to overreact. Maybe it was just a slip, nothing more. But—God, I love them. Both of them. More than I ever thought I could love anyone. And I wish—
I shake my head. I don't want to take Mark's place. I never will. But if they ever truly saw me as their father—
I lean back against the couch, rubbing my face. I don't even realize how long I've been sitting here until I hear footsteps on the stairs and look up to see Leighton heading toward the kitchen.
I push to my feet and follow, finding her standing in front of the open fridge, eyes scanning the shelves.
"Hungry?" I ask.
She nods without looking at me.
"Yeah."
"I'll make you a sandwich."
She glances over her shoulder, giving me a small smile before moving to sit on one of the stools at the counter. I start pulling out what I need, grabbing extra to make one for Noah too. The kitchen is quiet except for the soft sounds of slicing and spreading, but then Leighton speaks up, her voice hesitant.
"Papa told us once that you and Daddy have been friends since you were kids. Is that true?"
I pause for half a second before smiling, the memory warming me.
"It's true. Your grandma Joanne and my mom were friends in school. They never stopped being friends. So when your daddy was born, I was actually there. We've known each other ever since."
Leighton tilts her head.
"Are you the same age?"
"I'm eight months older."
She nods, mulling that over.
"Since you've known each other since you were kids…" She asks after a moment. "Have you ever been boyfriends before?"
I hesitate, considering. I've never asked Jasper if he's talked to them about this, but I know him—and I know his relationship with his kids. He wouldn't hide it. So I choose my words carefully.
"We were, once," I say, my voice softer. "Before he met your papa."
Leighton hums thoughtfully.
"Papa told me they met in college."
I nod.
"They did."
She studies me. Then—
"How long were you and Daddy together?"
I take a second to answer.
"Less than a year."
She frowns slightly.
"Why didn't you stay together?"
Because I was reckless and stupid.
"We weren't ready to be together," I say honestly.
Leighton watches me for a long moment before speaking again.
"Are you ready now?"
I exhale.
"I like to think we are."
Silence stretches between us, filled only by the quiet sounds of me finishing up the sandwiches. Then I set the knife down and rest my hands on the counter, steadying myself, leaning forward slightly before I look at her.
"I've always loved your father, Leigh," I say, my voice quiet but raw. "And I love him more than anything." I take a breath. "But I will never try to take your papa's place."
Leighton nods, unsurprised.
"I know." She shrugs. "You don't get annoyed when we talk about him."
I nod, my throat feeling a little tight. I push her plate toward her, letting out a quiet breath.
She stands, rounding the counter. Before I can react, she stands on her toes and presses a quick, warm kiss to my cheek.
"Thanks, Uncle Eddy. I love you."
My chest tightens. My heart stumbles.
She pauses for a second.
"Do you want me to take Noah's sandwich to him?"
I nod, still caught off guard.
"Yeah. Thanks, princess."
She picks up the plates and heads upstairs, leaving me standing there, trying to steady myself against the quiet force of it all.
What is it with these kids today, trying to knock me down with so much love?
I let out a heavy sigh, pressing a hand over my face as I try to internalize everything. I need to do something with myself until Jasper gets home, something to keep my mind from circling the same thoughts over and over.
Cooking. That'll do.
Even though it's early—barely five—I start pulling out ingredients, letting the rhythm of chopping and stirring settle me. Time moves quickly this way, slipping past in the warmth of the kitchen, and before I know it, I hear the front door open.
And then Jasper is there, the door barely shut before he drops his bag with a dull thud, crossing the space between us in two quick strides. His hands are firm on my face, fingertips pressing in like he needs the anchor, like he's been holding this back all day. His mouth finds mine without hesitation—hot, insistent, stealing my breath before I can even think to kiss him back.
I sink into it, gripping his waist, the tension in his body palpable under my hands. He tastes like coffee and something distinctly him, the kind of familiarity that makes my head spin. The heat of him, the way he tilts his head just enough to deepen the kiss—it's intoxicating, dizzying, and I chase it instinctively.
Then—footsteps. Light, quick, unmistakable. The kids.
Jasper freezes first, his breath unsteady against my lips before he pulls back, eyes dark with something still lingering. His fingers twitch against my jaw like he doesn't want to let go just yet.
"Hey, Darling," he whispers breathlessly, his voice still thick with the remnants of the kiss.
I just smile softly, warmth curling in my chest. My pulse thrums in my throat as we break apart, the space between us charged, stolen. But the way he looks at me, the way his thumb brushes over my cheek before he finally steps back, tells me—this isn't over.
But that's for later.
Dinner is smooth, warm. It feels… right—like I belong here.
When we're done, Leighton stands, comes to me, and presses a kiss to my cheek.
"Thanks for dinner, Uncle Eddy. And for taking care of us today."
Noah follows suit, murmuring a quiet, genuine, "Thanks."
Jasper watches as Leighton stretches.
"I'm gonna shower and get ready for bed." She tells him. "Tuck me in?"
He smiles tenderly at her before nodding.
Noah takes a few more bites before standing.
"I'll get ready for bed too."
I expect him to go straight upstairs, but instead, he moves behind my chair, looping his arms around me in a hug.
"Thanks, Dad," he says softly.
My breath catches.
Before I can fully process it, he steps away, pressing a quick kiss to Jasper's cheek.
"Are you coming up to say goodnight?"
Jasper, still looking a little stunned, nods.
"Of course."
They disappear upstairs, leaving me sitting there, the word still ringing in my head.
Jasper turns to me, eyes wide, expression full of surprise.
"Did he just—"
I nod, swallowing.
"Yeah." My voice is thick with emotion. "And that was actually the third time today."
Jasper blinks at me.
"He called you Dad before?"
I exhale, still overwhelmed.
"Yeah, earlier, after I helped him with his homework. But… I don't think he's fully aware of it."
Jasper shakes his head with a quiet laugh.
"He is."
I frown slightly.
"What?"
Jasper's voice softens.
"I saw his face just now when he said it. I know my son. He knew exactly what he was saying."
A slow, incredulous smile spreads across my face, warmth flooding my chest. But then I catch myself. I don't know how Jasper feels about it.
I swallow, my voice quieter.
"I'm not… trying to take Mark's place, I'll never do that. But… I'm happy Noah sees me as his father too." I hesitate, then ask, barely above a whisper, "Are you okay with it?"
Jasper doesn't even take a second to think.
"I'm very happy," he says simply, meeting my eyes, his voice nothing but certainty. "That Noah loves you the way he does."
And just like that, I know.
I know I'll love these kids for the rest of my life. Like they are my own.
.
.
.
It's a Sunday afternoon, and Jasper's fallen asleep on one of the chaise longue flufes on the porch. His book is facedown on his chest, his glasses slightly askew. I ease them both from his grasp, setting them on the coffee table before sinking into the seat beside him. His breathing is steady, and I don't want to disturb him—not when he's finally getting the rest he deserves. I plan on joining him, maybe taking a nap myself, but then I hear something—sharp and sudden—the unmistakable sound of something breaking.
I quickly glance over at Jasper, but he's still asleep, undisturbed. I exhale, my gut tight with concern. Something's not right.
I move quietly through the house and up the stairs, keeping my steps light. I don't know exactly where the sound came from—just that it was upstairs. Leighton's room is the first after the landing, so I check there first.
I push open her door, careful not to make a sound, and there she is—sitting on the floor, her shoulders hunched in tight, her head bowed. Her small, soft sobs fill the space. The pieces of her jewelry box are scattered around her, some of them caught in the afternoon light, their edges jagged and uneven.
I don't rush in. I know better. Instead, I lower my voice, soft and steady.
"Can I come in?"
She barely lifts her head, nodding once, too wrapped in her own grief to speak.
I step inside carefully, kneeling across from her, my gaze falling on the broken pieces in her lap. She's holding part of the lid, her hands trembling as she clutches it like she could somehow will it back together.
I don't need to ask. I already know. But I do it anyway.
"Was it from your Papa?" I keep my voice gentle, knowing what that question means.
She nods, her eyes closing tightly for a second. Her chin trembles as she finally speaks.
"I—I let it fall," she whispers. "I was trying to grab something else, and I knocked it over. Now it's broken."
I let out a slow breath, surveying the damage.
"We can fix it." I reach for one of the larger pieces, brushing my fingers along the rough edge where the wood splintered. "It's not gone, Leigh. It just needs a little work."
She watches me as I set the piece down, my movements careful, deliberate. I know this box isn't just some trinket to her. It's not about what it holds. It's about who gave it to her. And that makes it sacred.
She sniffles, wipes her cheek, but doesn't say anything. I glance up, meeting her eyes.
"Let me help?"
She nods again, though it's more hesitant this time. She lets me gently take a few more pieces from her, setting them aside with the same care.
For a while, we just sit there in silence, the quiet broken only by the occasional sound of pieces shifting, being carefully set down. I'm not sure how long we're there before, just as I think she might get up, she exhales softly, barely more than a breath.
"Thanks, Dad."
The words are quiet, but unmistakable.
I freeze.
My heartbeat stumbles.
She doesn't look at me right away, like she's giving me a moment to process, to catch up. But when she finally does, there's no hesitation in her eyes.
"That's okay, right?" she adds, her voice small but sure.
And I—I don't know how to breathe around it.
I swallow, trying to find my voice.
"Yeah, princess. That's more than okay."
Her mouth tugs into the smallest smile. Her eyes are still red, her cheeks damp, but she's not crying anymore. She just nods once, like she's sealing the moment. Then, as if nothing earth-shattering just happened, she wipes her nose on her sleeve and gestures to the broken box.
"So… do you really think we can fix it?"
I let out a shaky breath, still reeling, but I match her nod.
"Yeah. I do."
It's not about the box anymore. It's about her letting me in, letting me be her dad.
I stay with her a little longer, letting the moment settle between us, before we both start gathering the pieces and working through it.
.
.
.
I sit at the edge of the bed, my elbows on my knees, hands clasped tight enough that my knuckles ache. The room is quiet—too quiet. The lamp on the nightstand casts a dim, warm glow, but it does nothing to settle the storm in my head.
Jasper has been asleep for hours, wrapped in the blankets, his breath soft and steady. Peaceful. Like this is just any other night. Like tomorrow isn't the biggest day of our lives.
I should be beside him. I should be sleeping. Instead, I'm sitting here, running through every way I could lose him. Every possible scenario where I somehow break this. Break us. Again.
What if I mess up? What if I fail?
What if—God, what if Luke comes back?
The thought sends a sharp twist through my stomach. It's irrational. I know it is. But ghosts don't need logic to haunt you.
I drag a hand down my face and grab my phone off the nightstand before I can talk myself out of it. It rings a few times as I push myself up and cross the room, my footsteps quiet as I slip into the hall. The house is still, the only sound the soft creak of the floorboards beneath me. When I reach my office—the one that was once Jasper's—I close the door behind me just as a familiar voice answers.
"Edward?" My father's voice is thick with sleep, but immediately concerned. "What's wrong?"
I exhale slowly, pressing my fingers to my temples.
"I—I don't know. Nothing. Everything." A humorless laugh slips out. "I feel like I'm losing my mind."
There's a pause, then a softer, knowing tone.
"Tell me."
I hesitate. Then, before I can stop myself, the words spill out.
"I know Jasper loves me. I know he wants this. But I can't shake this feeling—this fear that one day, he'll wake up and realize I wasn't worth it. That I wasn't worth forgiving at all."
My father sighs, deep and steady.
"Edward."
"I hurt him, Dad," I say, voice barely above a whisper. "I see it sometimes, when he looks at me. He doesn't hold it against me, but it's there. And it should be. I don't want him to forget. But I can't stop thinking—what if one day he does? What if he remembers everything, and it isn't enough anymore?"
Silence stretches for a moment before my father makes a question in a deep, earnest tone.
"Do you think Jasper gives his love lightly?"
I blink.
"No."
"Do you think he's careless with his heart?"
"…No."
"Then trust him." Carlisle's voice is firm but gentle. "Jasper is not a man who settles. He's not someone who stays out of obligation. If he's there, it's because he chooses to be."
My throat tightens. I know that. I do. But—
"I don't know if I can do this," I admit, the words raw. "I don't know if I can be—"
"You already are," my father interrupts. "Edward, love isn't about never making mistakes. It's about learning. About choosing someone—every single day. And Jasper is choosing you. He has been, for the past four years."
I squeeze my eyes shut, letting his words sink in. My heartbeat slows, but the ache in my chest remains.
"I'm scared, Dad," I whisper.
"I know," he says. "And you should be. That's how you know it matters."
His words settle over me, steady and certain, like they've always been. The tightness in my chest doesn't vanish, but it shifts—less like a weight pressing down, more like something I can carry.
I let out a shaky breath.
"Thank you."
"Get some rest, son," he says, his voice softer now. "Tomorrow is a big day."
I nod, even though he can't see me.
"Good night, Dad."
"Good night, Tonton."
The call ends, and I sit in the silence, staring at the phone in my hands.
I feel… better. But not settled. Not enough.
I need something more.
I need him.
I don't even have to turn on the light—I know exactly where I keep them.
The moment I pull open the drawer, my fingers find the familiar edges of the paper, worn soft from being unfolded and read too many times. I should put them somewhere safer. The pages are starting to thin, the creases deepening. But I can't bring myself to store them away. I need them close.
I take out the second letter—the one Mark left for me with Jasper's first. The one I've read so many times I should have it memorized by now.
But still, I unfold it carefully, my eyes tracing the familiar handwriting.
Golden Boy,
I see you.
Not just the polished version you present to the world, but the one underneath—the one who doubts, the one who carries more weight than he should, the one who thinks he has to prove his worth over and over again.
You don't.
Edward, you are a good man. A loving, honest, steady man. (I know you hate when people call you steady, but I'm dead, so I get a pass.) You think things through. You take responsibility. You love with your whole heart, even when you think you shouldn't, even when you believe you don't deserve to. But here's the thing—you do.
I saw you doubt it. I watched you struggle with the weight of your past, with the mistakes you think define you. I know you believe that the worst thing you ever did was walk away from Jasper.
And maybe it was. But Edward, you were a kid. Eighteen. What the hell did you know about love back then? About loss? You were drowning in expectations and pain, and you made a choice—a bad one, yeah. A selfish one, sure. But not because you didn't love him. Not because you were reckless or cruel. And I'm really sorry I actually used those words to accuse you when we talked. I don't really mean them.
I saw you before it all went wrong. I saw you after. And later, when you came back into our lives. And I can say with absolute certainty—you were never that reckless, selfish boy. You were young. Afraid. Under pressure. In pain.
Now you carry your past like a debt you can't pay off, but Edward, that's not how this works. Your mistakes don't define you. They shaped you. They made you the man you are—the man who knows what's right, what he wants, and what he deserves.
And you deserve Jasper.
I don't say it lightly.
I loved him. I married him. I spent nineteen years of my life knowing his every smile, his every quiet thought, his every inch of love. I know what he deserves, Edward.
And it's you.
But only if you believe it.
Own it. Because Jasper doesn't need a man who punishes himself for the past. He needs a partner who stands beside him in the present. A man who knows his own worth. And you, my friend, are already that man.
Now live like it.
—Mark
And just like every time before, Mark's words cut through the doubt.
I exhale sharply, my chest tightening.
Mark saw me—really saw me. And still, he never let my mistakes define me.
A breath shudders out of me. My fingers tighten around the page.
Mark knew Jasper better than anyone. And still, he believed I was worthy of him. Worthy of his love.
I let my head drop back against the chair, my eyes slipping shut.
"Thank you, Golden Man," I murmur. "Again."
For this. For seeing me. For trusting that I was worthy of having Jasper back.
Carefully, I fold the letter, smoothing out the creases. I do need to find a way to preserve them. But for now, I place it back in the drawer, exactly where it belongs.
And then, finally, I go back to bed.
Jasper is still there, still warm, still real. I watch him for a long moment, letting myself believe it. Letting myself feel it.
Carefully and quietly, I wrap my arms around him, and he unconsciously snuggles against me, settling his head against my chest.
"I love you," I whisper. "I'll never hurt you again. I'll never lose you again. I promise. With Mark as my witness."
I close my eyes, lulled by his scent and even breathing.
Sleep pulls at me, softer now. Calmer.
And this time, I let it take me.
.
.
.
I pull up to the front of the school, scanning the steps and the trees lining the sidewalk. It's a normal Friday—except I'm here instead of them driving themselves home. Their cars are in for routine maintenance, so I'm picking them up.
As I ease to a stop, I spot Leighton first. She's sitting on the steps, phone in hand, her shoulders slightly hunched. I recognize that posture. Something's on her mind.
Then, a few feet away, I find Noah. And I find Noah tangled up in a kiss with a girl—one of the cheerleaders from the basketball team.
I press the horn, a short, soft beep. Leighton looks up first, glances at her brother, and calls out to him. Noah doesn't seem to hear her, so she rolls her eyes and calls again, louder this time. He finally pulls away, grinning as he says something to the girl before jogging over, still looking half-dazed from whatever just happened under that tree.
By the time he reaches the car, Leighton is already slipping into the passenger seat, pulling her seatbelt across her chest. Noah slides into the back, grinning.
"Hey, Dad," they both say in unison.
"Hey," I reply, pulling the car back onto the road. I glance at Leighton. "You okay?"
She nods, but it's automatic, like a reflex. Then she turns her face toward the window.
That's a no.
I don't push, even though I want to. But something's wrong.
I shift my attention to Noah, catching his smirk in the rearview mirror.
"Who's the girl?"
He exhales a chuckle.
"Leila. She's on the cheer team."
I hum, giving him a knowing look.
"She's cute."
He smirks, stretching out in his seat. I shake my head, half amused.
"Third one this month?" I tease, raising a brow.
He grins, unbothered.
"What can I say? They like me."
I huff a laugh.
"Yeah, yeah, heartbreaker."
Leighton lets out a short breath—almost a laugh, but not quite. I glance at her carefully before turning my eyes back to the road.
When we get home, Leighton barely makes it through the door before she turns to me.
"Can I go to my room?"
I glance at the clock.
"What about lunch?"
"Not hungry."
She doesn't give me a chance to argue before she's already moving toward the stairs.
I hesitate. She's clearly upset, but if I push now, she'll just shut down.
"I'll put a plate in the fridge in case you change your mind."
She doesn't even look back as she nods and disappears upstairs.
Noah is slower, stepping past me on his way up.
"You having lunch with me?"
I shake my head.
"I'm heading back to the hospital," I tell him. "Having lunch with your father."
"Alright." He yawns, already turning toward the stairs. "I'll shower and come down."
"Okay," I say as he leans in and presses a quick kiss to my cheek.
I blink. He's almost my height now. When did that happen?
He shot past Jasper's 6'3" last year. Now he's creeping up on me—and he's only sixteen. How tall is he going to be by nineteen?
Shaking the thought, I start setting out their lunches—Noah's warming in the microwave, Leighton's covered and waiting in the fridge.
Then, just as I'm about to head out, I see her.
Leighton stands at the edge of the kitchen, hesitant.
I glance at her.
"Changed your mind?"
She shakes her head. A beat of silence.
"Do you have to be at the hospital right away?" She asks softly.
"I'm supposed to have lunch with your father—"
"It's okay," she cuts in, already stepping back.
I step forward.
"Leigh." She stops, but doesn't turn. "If you need me, I'll stay."
When she finally turns, I see it in her eyes—whatever this is, it's big.
I hold out a hand. She takes it.
"Come on."
I guide her to the porch and sit her down on the wooden steps.
"Give me a sec, I just need to call your father."
She nods.
I step away and dial Jasper. He picks up on the second ring.
"Hey, Darling. You arriving?"
"I won't make it to lunch."
"Something wrong?"
"No, but Leigh needs me," I say simply.
There's no hesitation on his end.
"Okay," he says easily. "Update me later?"
"Yeah."
We hang up, and I go back to her. We're quiet for a moment before she exhales.
"When… how did you know?" she asks, so quietly I almost miss it.
I frown.
"Know what?"
She hesitates before finally asking.
"That you liked boys."
Something stirs in my memory—Mark's handwriting, his words in one of his letters: I have the impression Leigh will come to you with something very delicate about her at some point, so be prepared.
I don't assume. I don't lead her anywhere she's not ready to go.
I just take a breath and answer her honestly.
"I was sixteen. Your daddy was dating a girl, and I remember watching them together, realizing… I wanted to be in her place. I wanted to be with him." I glance at her. "But at first, I didn't know what that meant. I'd dated girls before, so I figured maybe I just loved him. Then, when I was eighteen, a guy flirted with me, and I—" I exhale a laugh. "I actually felt something. That's when I got it. But it wasn't immediate, it wasn't like I just knew I was gay. It took time to understand myself. I had to figure it out."
Leighton doesn't say anything at first. Then, barely above a whisper—
"Do you think Papa would've been disappointed… knowing I'm not normal?"
I turn to face her fully.
"You are, Leigh."
She hesitates, but when I reach for her hands, she lets me.
I remember sitting next to my father on the kitchen stoop of my parents' house—sixteen years old, terrified and unsure—having just realized I was in love with Jasper. And I remember hearing my father say, You're exactly who you're supposed to be, Edward.
And I tell her the same thing now.
"You're exactly who you're supposed to be, Leighton," I say tenderly, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "And your father would have told you the same if he were here."
"What about Daddy?"
"He'll tell you the same because it's the truth."
Her eyes shimmer as she exhales, something shifting in her expression.
A small, wobbly smile appears on her face.
"I've never felt interested in boys, Dad. Not even once." She looks down, then back up at me. "But I like Victoria. A lot."
There it is. Her truth, spoken aloud.
Somehow, I'm not surprised. Although I haven't really noticed anything, Victoria is her best friend, and I'm one to know well how that story goes.
I squeeze her hands.
"Okay."
"At first, I didn't understand what was happening. But now I do. I want to be with her."
"Okay," I say again, because it is.
Leighton lets out a breath, shoulders loosening.
"I was scared to say it out loud."
I nod.
"I get that. But you don't have to be scared with me or your father." I tell her. "And you don't have to figure it out all at once, but what you feel is real. And okay. And you are not alone in this."
She looks down at her hands, picking at her nails.
"I want to tell Daddy."
"Do you feel ready?"
She nods.
"But… can you be with me when I do?"
"Of course, princess."
Leighton shifts closer, resting her head against my shoulder. I circle my arm around her back.
"You really think he'll understand?" She asks in a small voice.
"I know he will. He loves you more than anything."
She nods, letting that settle.
I press a kiss to the top of her head.
She stays there for a while, quiet.
"Sorry for ruining your plans with Daddy." She murmurs.
I huff a soft laugh.
"You didn't ruin anything. This was more important—Daddy will understand."
She shifts, pulling back to look up at me.
"Do you have to go to the hospital?"
I study her, already knowing what she's asking.
"I can move some things around."
She chews her lip before looking at me with her doe eyes.
"I want to spend the afternoon with you."
I smile.
"Alright. We could go to the movies. Or get ice cream."
"Both," she says. "But just the two of us."
I nod.
"Okay, just us. Let's do that."
We sit in silence for a few minutes, the significance of the conversation settling around us, but not in a heavy way. Leighton's relaxed now, the tension from before slowly easing out of her.
"Thanks, Dad," she whispers.
I smile, watching her and seeing the relief in her, the sense of being seen and accepted. It's a relief for me too, knowing she feels safe enough to be herself, to share this with me.
"Anytime, princess."
"Let's go get that ice cream."
I laugh softly.
"You got it."
Together, we stand and head out, leaving the house behind for an afternoon that's all ours. No rush, no expectations—just time to be.
.
.
.
The rain drums softly against the windows, steady and rhythmic, wrapping the house in a cozy hush. Inside, though, it's anything but quiet. The living room is alive with laughter, the air thick with challenge. Noah is on his feet, wildly gesturing, waving his arms dramatically, trying to act out something—but for the life of me, I cannot figure out what.
He's making dramatic claw motions, shaking his head violently, and now—God help me—he's hopping on one foot while flapping his arms.
"What the hell am I looking at?" I ask, squinting.
Jasper is already grinning, his arm lazily draped over the back of the couch, Leighton sitting cross-legged beside him.
"C'mon, genius, use that big doctor brain of yours," he teases.
I glance at Noah for help, but my son is just pointing aggressively at himself now, eyes wide with expectation.
"What the fuck, Dad?" Noah bursts out, exasperated.
"Language, young man," I say automatically.
Noah groans, but Jasper smirks, leaning in close, his voice just for me.
"You sound just like your father."
I narrow my eyes at him, but he just smirks deeper, obviously enjoying himself.
Leighton nudges him.
"Daddy, stop distracting him. He needs all the help he can get."
Jasper chuckles. Noah, still flailing, lets out an exasperated sound.
"Dad, just guess!"
I take a shot in the dark.
"...An epileptic pterodactyl?"
Leighton lets out a full-body laugh, collapsing onto Jasper's lap. Jasper throws his head back, actually wheezing, and Noah shouts, "OH MY GOD, DAD. HOW ARE YOU A REAL DOCTOR?
I cross my arms, half-laughing despite myself.
"I'm sorry, but you're the one who looks like a prehistoric chicken having a seizure."
"It was Wolverine!" Noah cries, exasperated.
Leighton peeks up from Jasper's lap, wiping tears from her eyes.
"Dad, you're so bad at this."
I sigh dramatically.
"I'd like to see you do better."
Leighton smirks, straightening up, and Noah immediately perks up, sensing a challenge.
"Oh, let's go. You and Daddy against me and Leigh."
I exchange a glance with Jasper, who's already shaking his head.
"You're setting yourselves up for failure," he smirks, stretching. "You sure about that?"
"Oh, we're sure," Leighton says, sharing a confident look with Noah.
And sure enough, when they start, they crush us. Their sibling telepathy is ridiculous. Noah twitches an eyebrow, twirls one of his fingers, Leighton snaps hers, and somehow, that means Harry Potter. Jasper and I watch in horror as they obliterate round after round, barely needing two seconds to get the answers right.
Jasper raises his hands in surrender.
"Okay, fine. You're freaks of nature."
Leighton grins smugly.
"You just suck."
I shake my head, amused.
"Harsh," I tease, but she's already turning to Noah.
"Alright, your turn," she says, a smirk tugging at her lips.
Noah nods, the challenge clear in his eyes.
"Let's see if you can do better."
Jasper stretches his arms before standing, a confident half-smile curling at his lips—one I know too well.
"Alright. You kids watch and learn."
He does one quick motion—barely anything.
"James Bond," I say.
Leighton and Noah stare at us like we've just defied physics.
"No," Noah says, shaking his head. "No way."
"THAT WASN'T EVEN A FULL SECOND," Leighton exclaims. "WHAT EVEN WAS THAT?"
Jasper smirks, tilting his head toward me.
"Told you. Set yourselves up for failure."
Noah groans, collapsing dramatically onto the floor.
"We had no chance," he mutters to his sister.
Leighton is still gaping at us.
"Okay, that was a fluke. One more."
Jasper barely nods before lifting one eyebrow at me, doing something so subtle I almost miss it.
And yet, I already know.
"Indiana Jones."
Leighton slaps her hands down on the couch.
"WHAT THE HELL!"
Noah sits up straight.
"Okay, that was actually freakish."
Jasper and I share a smirk.
Leighton narrows her eyes at us.
"You guys have, like, some creepy married-people psychic link, don't you?"
Jasper just grins, leaning against me.
"Nah. Your dad just knows me too well."
Noah groans, pretending to shiver.
"Yeah, we get it. You two are disgustingly perfect for each other."
Jasper hums, clearly satisfied.
"Glad you noticed."
We change to board games, and, of course, we win again. The kids freak out, their groans and complaints echoing through the room as we all laugh until our stomachs ache.
Eventually, the excitement fades, and the games are forgotten. The noise quiets, and without a word, we end up piled together on the couch. Leighton stretches out across Jasper's lap, Noah leans against my side, his weight a comforting pressure, and I let the warmth of it all settle deep in my chest.
Leighton yawns.
"That was fun."
Noah hums in agreement, already half-asleep against me. I shift, opening my arm so he can settle in closer, his head resting against my chest.
Jasper catches my gaze over their heads, soft and knowing, and I don't have to say anything. He already understands.
We have something good. Something whole. And I wouldn't trade it for anything.
.
Breathe in the night
That crushed a tired sunrise
Born again the day
(...)
A golden son
You'll be home again
And I'll be home again
Mend in my sleep
I'm boxing under water
Waddle on the wake
Waking on a summer day
Summer day
After all these years
Forget about all the troubled times
And every father's pain
Casts a shadow over a broken son
You'll be whole again
And I'll be whole again
(...)
All those years
I was hurting to feel
Something more than life
After all these years
Forget about all the troubled time
After All These Years - Silverchair