Chapter 4: Deepened

Edward's POV

The scent of warm batter and butter filled the house, mingling with the ever-present aroma of coffee. The low murmur of conversation drifted up the stairs, familiar voices weaving through the quiet.

I leaned against the doorframe of Bella's room, listening.

"You always loved pancakes," Charlie said, his voice lighter than usual. "Used to wake me up at the crack of dawn, demanding them. Wouldn't eat anything else."

Bella huffed a quiet laugh. "That doesn't sound like me."

Charlie chuckled. "Oh, it was you, alright. One time, I tried to give you eggs instead, and you looked at me like I'd personally betrayed you. I had to make three batches before you finally forgave me."

I could hear the smile in her voice when she replied. "Three batches? No wonder you make them so well."

A brief silence passed, filled only by the sound of a fork scraping against a plate.

"It's nice, you know," Charlie said after a moment, his tone quieter now. "Having breakfast with you. Talking."

Bella hesitated, just for a second, but when she spoke, her voice was soft. "Yeah. It is."

I closed my eyes.

Their relationship had changed. Deepened.

I had left her, and in my absence, she had turned to those who remained. Charlie. Jacob. The people who had been here when I wasn't.

And she had let them in.

My selfishness had nearly destroyed her, but it had also forced her to lean on those who loved her in ways I never allowed before. I could see it in the way she spoke to her father now, in the quiet ease that had settled between them.

She had needed someone, and he had been there.

Just like Jacob had.

The thought sent something sharp through my chest, but I couldn't resent it. Not when I had been the one to push her toward them in the first place.

Charlie's chair scraped against the floor. "Alright, kid. I gotta head out. Don't leave your dishes in the sink."

"Yes, sir," Bella said, her voice teasing.

The front door opened, a pause, then shut.

Silence.

I made my way downstairs, moving without a sound, but Bella didn't startle when I appeared. She knew I was there.

She stood at the sink, rinsing off her plate, her back to me. For a moment, I simply watched her, memorizing the way the early morning light caught the loose strands of her hair.

"You don't have to worry," she said, not turning around.

I exhaled slowly. "Don't I?"

She shut off the water and finally faced me, leaning against the counter. Her gaze was steady, unwavering. "Jacob is safe."

My jaw tightened, but I said nothing.

She sighed, stepping closer. "I won't be gone long."

I searched her face for any hesitation, any flicker of uncertainty. There was none. She wasn't trying to convince herself—only me.

It didn't help.

I reached for her, cupping her face with both hands, my fingers brushing her jaw. She leaned into my touch, her warmth seeping into my skin, grounding me.

"I love you," I murmured.

A soft smile curved her lips. "I know."

I pressed my forehead against hers, my hands trembling slightly. "I don't want anything else to happen to you."

Her fingers curled around my wrists, holding them in place. "I'll be fine."

I wished I could believe that.

But still, I kissed her, slow and lingering, pouring every unspoken fear, every ounce of love, into the space between us.

She pulled away first. "I have to go."

I nodded, reluctant.

She squeezed my hand once before stepping back, grabbing her keys. The front door opened.

And then she was gone.

I stood in the empty kitchen, the scent of pancakes still lingering in the air, listening as the sound of her truck faded into the distance.

She was safe—for now. That's all I could cling to.

But the thought of her out there, unprotected, with Jacob and the wolves, churned something dark in my chest. I'd tried to push it down, ignore it, but it always found its way back.

The wolves weren't like us. No matter how much they controlled their instincts, there were times when they couldn't. The animalistic urges. The anger.

What would happen if one of them couldn't stop? What if something snapped?

The thought made my blood run cold.

I wasn't there to stop it.

And I didn't trust them to protect her like I did.

The memory of those nights, when I thought she was gone—when I was certain I had lost her—pulsed through me like an open wound. Her scent gone, the absence of her warmth, the endless agony of knowing I hadn't been there when it mattered.

I had thought she was dead.

The darkness had consumed me, suffocating the very part of me that had ever been capable of hope. It was too much. Too overwhelming. I couldn't even bring myself to think about it now without feeling that same suffocating pain.

It wasn't just the idea of losing her—it was the reality of living through it again.

And I selfishly, so painfully selfishly, didn't want to go through that again.

The thought of her in the hands of those wolves—of any one of them losing control, of her being at their mercy—felt like a knife twisted in my chest.

I would never survive it.

I couldn't survive it.

And I wasn't sure how to live in a world where I might have to.