-Renee-
It's been almost twenty years since I had to see my own daughter. Dead. I had been in to identify her, and make myself believe the unbelievable. But I had barely held it together when I saw her.
The Cullens had been miserable, Edward seemed the one who was hating himself the most.
I didn't go to her funeral. I hadn't wanted to see it.
My daughter had died eighteen years ago, and I was starting to forgive myself for not seeing her alive since her wedding day, when someone rang the doorbell.
I answered the door, not expecting anyone special.
A beautiful girl, maybe, eighteen, nineteen, with beautiful bronze curls halfway down her back.
I vaguely remembered Edward's hair.
"My name is Renesmee Cullen," the girl said, meeting my eyes.
In that moment, I panicked. I recognised those eyes. I was looking in Bella's eyes. How? How could Bella have had a child and never tell me? How? How could Bella leave me out the life of my granddaughter?
I wasn't sure if this girl was even real. I wanted to touch her perfect, pale skin, make certain she wouldn't evaporate.
I stretched my shaking hand out, then stopped myself. Of course she was real. How could she not be?
I listened numbly as she told me who her parents were. Pointless, really, I already knew. She told me Bella didn't want me to know about her. She had been born shortly before Bella had died.
We sat on the porch swing. I wasn't sure what I said; there was a roaring in my ears. I vaguely heard her say that her whole family, save Charlie, had died. In a plane crash. She started crying. I comforted her. She was like an angel, an unknown link to my Остаться в живых daughter. It was wrong for her to cry.
She told me she had only heard today, she had been returning from her honeymoon. I was trying not to make her cry, so I repeated the word in Вопрос form. Who had she married. I did some mental calculations; she was only nineteen. How could I have missed nineteen years of my granddaughter's life?
She told me her last name was technically not really Cullen, now it was Black. I suddenly stiffened.
There was only one Black she could possibly have known and married? Jacob Black. Sixteen years older than she was. My eyes flew immediately to the man sitting in the driver's сиденье, место, сиденья of the rental vehicle. I recognised the pictures Bella had shown me when she was still alive.
"Black? As in, Jacob Black?" I said.
It's been almost twenty years since I had to see my own daughter. Dead. I had been in to identify her, and make myself believe the unbelievable. But I had barely held it together when I saw her.
The Cullens had been miserable, Edward seemed the one who was hating himself the most.
I didn't go to her funeral. I hadn't wanted to see it.
My daughter had died eighteen years ago, and I was starting to forgive myself for not seeing her alive since her wedding day, when someone rang the doorbell.
I answered the door, not expecting anyone special.
A beautiful girl, maybe, eighteen, nineteen, with beautiful bronze curls halfway down her back.
I vaguely remembered Edward's hair.
"My name is Renesmee Cullen," the girl said, meeting my eyes.
In that moment, I panicked. I recognised those eyes. I was looking in Bella's eyes. How? How could Bella have had a child and never tell me? How? How could Bella leave me out the life of my granddaughter?
I wasn't sure if this girl was even real. I wanted to touch her perfect, pale skin, make certain she wouldn't evaporate.
I stretched my shaking hand out, then stopped myself. Of course she was real. How could she not be?
I listened numbly as she told me who her parents were. Pointless, really, I already knew. She told me Bella didn't want me to know about her. She had been born shortly before Bella had died.
We sat on the porch swing. I wasn't sure what I said; there was a roaring in my ears. I vaguely heard her say that her whole family, save Charlie, had died. In a plane crash. She started crying. I comforted her. She was like an angel, an unknown link to my Остаться в живых daughter. It was wrong for her to cry.
She told me she had only heard today, she had been returning from her honeymoon. I was trying not to make her cry, so I repeated the word in Вопрос form. Who had she married. I did some mental calculations; she was only nineteen. How could I have missed nineteen years of my granddaughter's life?
She told me her last name was technically not really Cullen, now it was Black. I suddenly stiffened.
There was only one Black she could possibly have known and married? Jacob Black. Sixteen years older than she was. My eyes flew immediately to the man sitting in the driver's сиденье, место, сиденья of the rental vehicle. I recognised the pictures Bella had shown me when she was still alive.
"Black? As in, Jacob Black?" I said.
