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The paper bears the photograph of a beaming woman, stacks of books on her left side and her proud family members on her right; above it are written the words "I NEVER THOUGHT I'D MAKE IT", and, in slightly smaller letters, Award-Winning Author Bella Black Gives Exclusive Interview On Her Life, Her Work, And Her Thoughts For The Future. Innocuous, as these things go. The Seattle Times needs something to boost its flagging print sales, and an article on a local celebrity is just the thing.
The paper has been torn neatly in two, and lies discarded in a ripped-up, crumpled heap on Edward's immaculate floor. Edward himself is heaving himself out his open bedroom window at Carlisle's latest estate, hitting the ground almost soundlessly and immediately breaking into a run. He needs to clear his head.
This is what he wanted. The brilliant smile on Bella's face is all the proof he could ever need that he was right. Those bright-eyed children at their mother's side would never have come into existence if he'd taken her mortality. Her tall, handsome husband -- damn him -- will be everything he could never have been to Bella, a life companion in all the mortal experiences Edward will never know: to hold their children in his arms, undergo all the mundane struggles and little joys of mortal life alongside her, and finally grow old together. If there is a Heaven, that man may even join Bella there.
Edward never could have. There are no monsters in Heaven. Perhaps Carlisle might be granted a miracle, with a heart too pure for even vampirism to touch, but him --
He sprints through the forest, trees blurring past him, and tries not to think. Bella has everything he wanted for her. He prays she might not even remember him -- human memory is mercifully fallible, and he cannot imagine she would remember their final parting with anything but pain. If she remembers him at all, he hopes it is only as youthful folly; surely, having matured from an awkward girl to a radiant woman, she must have come to see the truth of all his warnings. This cursed immortality is nothing but fool's gold; mortal life, with all its pains and glories, is the true substance. He should only be happy.
He knows this.
But, God -- if any god exists who listens to the cries of abominations -- it hurts.