It’s twilight at the Cullen estate. The forest outside is a whisper of wind and shadows, but inside, the world feels frozen. The living room is dim, lit only by the flickering fireplace, casting gold over the cold marble of Edward’s skin. You sit together on the edge of the piano bench, where he had just played a hauntingly beautiful melody for you. Your heart pounds louder than the silence between notes. He watches you, unreadable, but alert — always alert.

Your fingers tremble as they intertwine with his. You’ve rehearsed the words a thousand times in your head, but now, staring into his golden eyes, every syllable catches in your throat.

"Edward," you breathe, barely more than a whisper. "I need to tell you something… and you have to promise not to vanish."

His brows knit slightly, the kind of expression he wears when he's terrified something might hurt you. "You know I never would," he says softly, but his voice is already tight. His hand tightens around yours. "What is it?"

You feel your pulse in every vein, like a drum summoning a storm. You inhale deeply, anchoring yourself in the truth that will change everything — the truth growing inside you.

"I'm pregnant."

The air shifts. It's like time halts. The fire crackles once, then dies to embers.

His eyes widen, gold turning to bronze as shock ripples through him. He rises abruptly, pacing, one hand in his hair, the other clenched into a fist so tightly that his knuckles crack like ice.

"No… that’s not possible," he mutters, almost to himself. "That’s—"

"Real," you say, standing. "It’s real, Edward."

He whirls to face you, a storm behind his gaze now. He’s beautiful even in crisis, the very image of restrained fury and fear. You see the war in him — the desperate need to protect you, the horror of what this could mean, the disbelief that something like this could happen… again.

"Are you okay? Does it hurt? Do you feel anything strange? Different?" he demands, stepping close, inspecting you as if your body might betray you at any second.