Note: I don't own anything, it all belongs to stephenie meyers

Emmett's POV

I've fought grizzly bears with my bare hands. Ripped mountain lions in half. Thrown down with newborn armies and walked away laughing.

But this?

This was worse.

This was standing in the middle of my family's living room while everything fell apart, and not being able to do a damn thing about it.

Renesmee's door was open now. The room felt hollow without her in it. I kept thinking I'd hear her music, or her voice floating down the stairs, asking if she could borrow one of Rosalie's jackets or if someone had taken her sketchbook again. Something normal. Anything.

Instead, there was just this thick, ugly silence.

And it wasn't like when someone died. No—we'd all seen too much of that to mistake it. This was worse. This was the silence that came after a choice, the kind that echoed through the walls and made you question everything.

I leaned on the bannister, arms crossed tight, trying not to put my fist through the wall.

Everyone else was brooding, whispering, overthinking. But I'm not wired like that. I don't do visions and strategies. I don't read minds. I don't manipulate emotion. I break things. I protect. I fix stuff.

And for the first time since I became a vampire, I couldn't fix this.

Because we broke her.

I was the one who told Jacob to wait. "She's still young, bro," I'd said. "Give her space."

I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought she'd figure it out on her own, fall for him in her own time, and that would be that. Imprinting, destiny, whatever—you couldn't fight what was meant to be, right?

Wrong.

Renesmee wasn't a story waiting to be written by fate. She was the author. And we'd stolen her pen.

I closed my eyes and pictured her face when she walked out. That cold fire in her eyes. She looked more like Rosalie in that moment than she ever had—beautiful, untouchable, furious.

She didn't slam the door. She didn't scream. That's how I knew it was real.

She just… left.

And I couldn't chase her. Not without making it worse.

Rosalie's been pacing the halls like a lioness with a wound in her pride. Edward hasn't moved. Bella hasn't spoken. Even Jasper looks shaken. And Alice? She's breaking apart in silent pieces, and none of us can catch them.

So I stayed quiet. Still. Just listening. Waiting.

Because when she comes back—and she will—I'll be the first one standing at that front door.

And I'll be the one who says it plain, no drama, no prophecy crap.

We screwed up.

And whatever she needs to heal?

I'll be the one to make it happen.

Even if it kills me.

Author's note: Hiiii! I hope you find the story fun and entertaining. I kinda struggled with this chapter but I hope you liked it :)