She wouldn't even look at me.

That was the worst part.

Renesmee had always been mine. From the very first heartbeat, from the moment I'd felt her move inside me, I'd known she was going to break my world and remake it into something better. She had made everything worth it—every moment, every sacrifice, every pain.

And now I couldn't even reach her.

She stood at the window, arms crossed tight across her chest, her small travel bag dropped at her feet. Her jaw was clenched, her back rigid. That was the only reason she hadn't left yet—indecision. And fury. So much fury.

"I should have told you," I said quietly from the doorway. "You're right to be angry."

Still, she didn't turn around.

"I just…" I swallowed hard. "I thought I was giving you time. Time to grow up without… pressure. Without this huge, unavoidable thing hanging over your head."

"You thought wrong," she said. Her voice was calm. Too calm. It made my knees weak.

I took a step inside. "Sweetheart—"

"Don't."

That one word hit harder than I could've imagined.

"I'm not your 'sweetheart' right now," she continued. "I'm the girl you all lied to. You made me think my life was mine."

"It is yours—"

She spun around, eyes gleaming with anger. "Is it? Because it sure as hell doesn't feel like it."

I flinched. I couldn't help it. I'd never heard her like this—never seen her this unhinged, this betrayed.

"You let me fall in love with someone else, knowing Jacob was…" she shook her head, disgusted. "What even is that? What am I to him, some kind of… cosmic obligation?"

"No," I said quickly. "No, Ness—Renesmee—you're everything to him. But that's not why we didn't tell you. We were afraid you'd feel trapped. That you'd think your future was already decided."

"Then you should have trusted me to decide anyway," she snapped. "But you didn't. You treated me like a child."

"You're seventeen," I whispered.

"I'm almost eighty, if we're counting days. You raised me to be more than this. And then you made the one decision that proves you don't see me that way."

Silence hung between us like mist.

She bent down, zipped her bag, and slung it over her shoulder.

"I'm leaving. And I don't know when I'll be back."

I crossed the room in a flash and caught her wrist. "Please don't do this."

She looked at me then. Really looked. And it broke me.

"I love you, Mom," she said. "But I can't trust you right now."

She pulled her hand away.

And then she was gone.