Note: I don't own anything, it all belongs to Stephenie Meyers

Edward's pov:

Her thoughts had always been softer than others—half-shielded even before she knew how to use her gift. Like whispers through silk. But now there was nothing. Just silence.

She had slammed the mental door in my face, and the hollowness it left behind was deafening.

I could still hear her—footsteps upstairs, the rustle of fabric as she shoved things into a bag. The quiet thud of a zipper. But her mind? Gone. Shielded. Cut off.

My daughter had never hated me before. Not like this.

Bella stood near the stairs, one hand gripping the banister hard enough to splinter it. Her face was pale—even for her. Her thoughts were clearer to me than ever, but they were steeped in the same guilt that wrapped around my own chest like chains.

We should have told her.

Yes, we should have. We told ourselves we were protecting her. That her life should unfold without the weight of destiny pressing on her every choice. We thought we were giving her freedom.

But it was all an illusion.

"I'll talk to her," Bella whispered.

"No," I said, more harshly than I meant to. "She doesn't want to hear from either of us right now."

From no one, it seemed.

"She's not just angry," Alice murmured, her voice distant. "She's broken."

I turned to her. "Can you see what she's going to do?"

Alice flinched. "No. Not clearly. Her future… it's fogged. Too many emotions. Too many paths."

"Will she come back?" Esme asked, ever the hopeful one.

Silence.

I ran a hand through my hair, pacing. I had survived wars. Monsters. The loss of my soul. But this—watching my daughter unravel from a choice we made for her—this was unbearable.

When Jacob had come to me weeks ago, begging us not to say anything until she was older, more ready, I agreed. Not because I believed him, but because a part of me had wanted to pretend it wouldn't matter. That if we gave her space, she would choose him on her own.

But now?

Now she was halfway out the door, her heart bleeding, her trust shattered.

And I was the one who broke it.

She didn't need a father right now. She needed freedom. And that terrified me more than anything.

Because the world outside this house—outside our protection—wasn't kind. And if she left, I wouldn't be able to stop her. Not without breaking her even more.

I heard the front door open again upstairs. Heard the hesitant steps of someone brave—or foolish—enough to knock.

Jacob.

I was in front of him in seconds, the door barely open.

"She doesn't want to see you," I said coldly.

"She needs to," he answered, not backing down. "I need to explain."

"You already did."

"I didn't get to explain everything."

I stepped aside, letting him pass. Not because I wanted to. But because I knew if I tried to stop him now, Ness would hate me even more.

He went up the stairs slowly, like walking into a storm.

And I stood at the bottom, listening to the faint sound of a second shattering.