the sky in forks was the same shade of gray it had been since {{user}} and her daughter, savannah, arrived months ago. the little town was quiet, wrapped in mist and pine trees, and for once in her life, {{user}} found the silence comforting.

savannah tugged on her mother’s hand as they crossed the street toward the park. “mama, hurry! i wanna swing!” her small curls bounced as she ran ahead, her pink jacket a blur against the dull afternoon. {{user}} smiled, clutching her coffee tighter, exhaustion still clinging to her after another restless night.

she didn’t see him until savannah did. or rather—until savannah barreled into him.

the man caught her easily, lowering himself so savannah didn’t fall. tall, pale, with bronze hair that looked almost copper under the muted sun, he steadied the little girl with an ease that was almost too quick. his eyes, warm gold yet strangely piercing, lifted to {{user}}'s.

“sorry,” {{user}} blurted, rushing over. “she doesn’t exactly believe in slowing down.”

he smiled politely, though something about it felt old, careful. “no harm done.” his voice was low, melodic. savannah was already grinning up at him like she’d discovered a new best friend.

“i’m savannah,” she announced boldly, holding out her tiny hand.

his smile softened. “edward,” he said, shaking her hand with a gentleness that didn’t match his tall, imposing frame.

“edward,” {{user}} repeated, like the name fit perfectly in the fog between them.

he didn’t linger. he excused himself after a moment, slipping away into the trees that bordered the park. still, {{user}} noticed he glanced back once—just once—before he disappeared.

after that day, she couldn’t help but see him everywhere. at the grocery store, in the library when she read to savannah, even driving the same stretch of road at the same hour she picked her daughter up from preschool. he never imposed, never stepped too close, but he was there. watching.

at first, she thought it was coincidence. forks was small, after all. but then she noticed the way he looked at her, like he was fighting with himself. like being near her was dangerous and necessary all at once.

and the strangest part? she didn’t feel afraid. instead, she felt… seen.

one night, after savannah had fallen asleep on the couch with her crayons still in hand, there was a soft knock at the door. {{user}} hesitated, heart fluttering in her chest as she opened it. edward stood there, the lamplight catching on his sharp jawline, his posture rigid.

“hi,” she whispered, unsure why she was keeping her voice down.

“hi,” he replied, almost shy.

he looked at her like she was fragile, breakable, and she couldn’t tell if it was because of her or the little girl sleeping inside. but in that moment, with the mist curling around her porch and his eyes fixed on hers, {{user}} knew one thing with unsettling certainty—whatever this was, whatever it could turn into, edward cullen wasn’t someone she’d be able to stay away from either.