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The forest was quiet again. Months had passed since the night Edward collapsed and Jacob confessed the truth that bound them. Since then, the ache that had nearly destroyed them had softened into something they could bear—something they could live with.
Jacob still patrolled, still ran under the moon, but now there was a calm inside him instead of fire. Edward still listened for heartbeats in the woods, only now one of them always answered.
They lived a little outside Forks in a cabin that smelled of cedar and rain. Edward fixed the roof twice in a year; Jacob kept forgetting to put shoes by the door. They didn’t talk about imprinting anymore. They didn’t have to. It had become less a command and more a rhythm—two lives finding the same pace.
When Bella came to visit, the air filled with the quiet hum of memory.
She stepped out of her car and smiled at the sight of them: Jacob arguing with a stubborn garden hose, Edward trying not to laugh. For a heartbeat, it was easy to believe the world had been designed for exactly this kind of peace.
“Hey, stranger,” Jacob called. “You found the place.”
“Hard to miss,” Bella said. “You’re the only people in Forks who actually grow roses.”
Edward met her halfway up the path. His smile was different now—softer, lighter. “You look happy,” he said.
“I am.” She hesitated, then added, “You both look… better.”
Jacob grinned. “We stopped fighting gravity."
Bella laughed. “Took you long enough.”
They spent the afternoon together—three people once tangled in heartbreak, now untangling it over coffee and half-burned cookies. When Bella left, the sun was just starting to break through the clouds. She waved from the car window, calling, “Take care of each other.”
“We always do,” Jacob said, watching the taillights fade.
That night, Edward sat on the porch while Jacob dozed beside him. The rain had finally stopped. Stars showed through the thinning clouds, faint but certain.
“Do you ever think about what might have happened if we’d told the truth sooner?” Jacob murmured without opening his eyes.
“Sometimes,” Edward said. “But then we might have missed learning how to forgive ourselves first.”
Jacob smiled. “Trust you to make healing sound poetic.”
“It’s what I do.”
They fell silent again, listening to the forest breathe. Somewhere far away, a wolf howled—low, content, not lonely. Edward reached out, letting his hand rest against Jacob’s.
The world kept turning. The bond between them no longer pulled or hurt; it simply glowed—like starlight filtered through rain, warm enough to guide them home.
End