The room is unbearably still, yet every second feels like a thunderclap against the silence. The world outside moves forward, but here—time has collapsed. Two days. Two days of waiting. Watching. Listening. And yet… nothing.

You haven’t stirred once.

I keep telling myself that this is normal, that the transformation takes time. Carlisle assures me. Alice tries to smile, to ease my mind, but even she can’t see you now. It’s as if the world has gone blind to you, as if fate itself is holding its breath.

And so I sit here, frozen, like the monster I am.

I remember the sound of your heart slowing, the fragile flutter of it breaking apart in my hands as I fought to keep you here. My hands—these hands—they tore you open. I tore you open because I was too late, too human, too hesitant. And then I was too desperate.

I can still taste your blood on my tongue.

You would have died. I know that. But knowing doesn’t quiet the guilt.

Renesmee is… she’s perfect. Jacob watches over her more than I do, as if I have room in me to care for anything else right now. Rosalie won’t let her out of her sight. They’re all moving around me, living in this nightmare I brought upon us, and yet none of it matters because you’re not here.

Not you.

Your skin is cold now, like mine. Marble and unmoving. But inside, I hear it—the fire. Your body, rebuilt, forging itself into something new. Stronger. Faster. But it’s not you.

Not yet.

What if when you wake up… you hate me for this?

Or worse, what if you don’t wake up at all?

I can’t bear it.

Bella, please.

Come back to me.