I was in a fairly happy mood as I made my way home from the hospital. There hadn’t been much to do, and because of this, I got to come home early. That would be a nice surprise for Esme--I’d changed her a few months ago, but I loved her company, and I hated being away from her. It would be nice to spend a whole day with her, alone--Edward had taken advantage of the cloudy day to take a hunting trip. It would be just Esme and I, and it would give me an opportunity to ask her something….

The house was unusually quiet as I made my way up the porch steps.

“Esme?” I called. On days when I had normal hours, she would be out here, waiting for me. Of course, she had no way of knowing that I’d come home three hours early. Where was she?

“Esme?” I opened the door slowly and rapped my knuckles against the wood. She wasn’t in the front room; I took timid steps to the mouth of the hallway. “Esme?” I called again, softly. I gently shoved open her bedroom door and glanced around. I ran to her side when I found her.

Esme sat in a fetal position in the corner of the room and clutched the sides of her head. Her eyes were wide, distressed.  Her lips mouthed indecipherable words. I kneeled to her side and touched her forearm. She recoiled from my hand.

“Esme?” I murmured, searching her blank face.

“He’s gone.” I finally made out the words she mouthed. “He’s gone; I can’t find him.”

“Who? Edward?” Esme’s eyes flashed as I said his name, and I was relieved at the small reaction. She wasn’t completely catatonic. “Edward’s only gone temporarily, sweetheart, he’ll be--”

“No!” Esme yelled suddenly, and I was shocked at her sudden violence. “No, not Edward, never Edward!” Her eyes flicked across the room until they locked on mine. She reached out and clutched my collar, pulling herself to me. “It’s my son, Carlisle!” Her voice broke and her face became so sad that it broke my heart. “He’s gone, Carlisle! I can’t remember!” Her hands released me, and she clutched her head again. “I was--I was trying to remember the color of his eyes--” she tried hastily to explain, closing her lids tightly. “I--I can’t remember anything, Carlisle! Nothing! Not his face, his hair, his skin--” She was hysterical now; I grabbed her wrists before she could hurt herself.

“Please calm down, Esme!” I begged, my eyes pleading. “It’s all right, just--”

“No, Carlisle! It’s not all right--it never will be!” she cried. “He’s my son, Carlisle! I can’t remember my own son!” She screamed and thrashed against me, trying to release her grief in any way possible. She stopped thrashing suddenly, curling herself into a tight ball, and leaned against the corner of the walls. There she wailed.

I felt so useless; there I was nothing I could do. I could not comfort her, and I hated myself for it.

I got up from my knees, and tried to think of anything I could do for her. I could do nothing but leave, and I did so reluctantly. I closed the door slowly, and hung my head as the door clicked shut. I stuffed my hands in my pockets, and was slightly surprise as my fingers found the diamond engagement ring I’d forgotten about. I sighed deeply as I examined it in my palm. My question would have to wait until the right moment presented itself.

***

Hours passed, and I didn’t dare bother Esme; her catatonic state worried me, but I was sure she wouldn’t hurt herself if she was left alone. In fact, I knew the solidarity was best for her--she had to fix herself, and interference would mess with her process.

Edward came home around one in the morning. He noted Esme’s absence.

“Is it my fault?” he asked, eyes wide.

No, it was nothing you did, I assured him quickly through my thoughts. She’s starting to forget.

“Ah,” Edward sighed, nodding in pity. “What is it? Home address? Old eye color?”

Her son. Edward was shocked.

“But I’ve been in her mind--she hasn’t been thinking of anything else since her transformation! It can’t have just slipped in her memory!”

She must’ve been thinking of something else, then, I suggested. Something she would concentrate on more fiercely than her own son?

Edward thought, and his face quickly became sheepish and embarrassed. “There is, um, one thing….” He refused to continue, but I was on my toes with anticipation.

And?

Edward chuckled nervously. “You.”

Me? I was intrigued.  Edward only nodded, and I became instantly ashamed at myself. How could I be the reason that Esme had forgotten her son? I was nothing to her; did she think of me that often?

Edward nodded. “She thinks about you the way you think about her.”

Wow, that was incredible. It was hard to believe that Esme could be so infatuated with me as I was with her.

“How do you think we can help her?” Edward interrupted my train of thought.

“I’ve been thinking about that all day,” I responded, glancing at her door. “I might as well see if she’ll come out to talk.” I started to turn towards the door, but stopped. “What’s she thinking of now?”

“She’s grasping at straws; anything to help her remember.” I nodded solemnly and opened her door.

“Esme?” I murmured as I stepped inside the room; Edward remained in the hall. Esme’s face was blank, her eyes staring at nothing.  Could vampires be catatonic?

“Esme, are you feeling any better? Would you like to come out?” I crouched  down to her, and stretched my arm out, my hand hovering just a few centimeters above her skin. Her head jerked, “No,” and I sighed.

“Please, Esme,” I beseeched. “I care about you.” Her eyes flickered to mine and stayed. “Please come out of this.” I touched her hand, so lightly, with the tips of my fingers, and she didn’t react. I sighed with relief that she didn’t pull away. I moved in closer, grabbing her hand with my left and resting my right arm across her back. I helped her stand up, slowly, and once she was steady, she released herself from my grasp.

I led her out the door and into the hall, where Edward faced her head on.

“Hello, Esme,” he greeted gently.

Suddenly, Esme’s eyes flashed with something that resembled life--she stepped away from me, and reached out to grab Edward’s shirt collars, as she had done to me this afternoon.

“Edward--Edward.” Esme’s frantic eyes shifted across his face, searching. “Edward, you’re my s-son, aren’t you?” Her voice cracked as she said, “son,” as did her expression. She gulped. “You-you won‘t leave me, right?” She wailed onto Edward’s chest, who stood there and absorbed her breakdown. He cuddled her to him, as I could picture him doing to his own mother in moments of distress. He shushed her, rubbing her back.

“It’s all right, Esme. I’m here; I’m not going to leave.” His voice was so gentle, so loving, that I was shocked--he and Esme didn’t have the greatest of relationships, but I supposed anything could change, if given the right environment to do so.

I felt so awkward, so excluded in the moment until Edward caught my eye.

Do you think she’ll be all right? I asked silently, and his head jerked yes.

“I have a surprise,” he mouthed back. “Everything’ll work out.”

I could only sigh, nodding, and slid out of the house. Esme’s cries were distracting--I wanted so harshly to be the one comforting her, but I knew I had no place. I didn't know very much of Esme's human life, but I knew that she couldn’t think of anyone but her son. Her heart had come alive at his birth and had died with his last breath. Somehow it seemed my venom had regenerated it, and yet it was in less than perfect condition--there were cracks. It’s fragile state had broken beyond repair at the loss of the memory, seemingly never to return.

I groaned and ran my fingers through my hair. I was caught in this never-ending circle of misery, and I could do nothing.

I glanced back into the room, and saw that Edward had eased Esme onto the floor, where they sat, Esme curled up to him, keeping a locked hold on him so he had no chance of moving. She still wailed, but it was quieter now--a good sign. Hopefully this would be the end of her sorrows.

With no other options seemingly available, I took off running, going block after block, no idea of where I was actually running to. Miles and miles I ran, taking in every sound and smell I happened across. Arguments and scolds from the city and running water and birds from the woods. On and on: heartbeat blended into heartbeat, sound with sound, smell with smell. Time passed through my fingertips; I took no notice.

Then, as the city lights grew fainter and fainter, and as the sunlight grew nearer, I turned back home. My thoughts, too, turned back to home--Esme must be calmed down by now. I wanted to see her, hold her--the ring was heavy in my pocket. Tree after tree, streetlight after streetlight--every step closer to my love.

The lights were still on when I stepped on the porch. I breezed through the threshold into the house. Edward sat in the library, a notebook in his hand. The surprise, I realized suddenly. Edward looked up, probably from hearing the sudden reappearance of my thoughts, and smiled slightly.

“Bedroom,” he mouthed; I nodded.

Lightly, I pushed open the door, and saw Esme lying on the bed, her knees tucked up until they nearly touched her chin, her arms uselessly clumped in the space in-between. I said nothing, only going to the bed and laying myself down next to her. She sighed.

“Carlisle.” I could hear a strange longing in her voice, and timidly, I scooted up closer to her, my body shaping itself easily around her, my arm wrapping itself around her waist and keeping a hold on her. Her hands held mine and she gently kissed it.

“I’m so sorry, Carlisle,” she apologized, her voice hesitant. “I just--he was my life, Carlisle. I’d wanted him for so long, and he left so quickly--” She sobbed, and I kissed her hair.

“I know, Esme,” I murmured.

“No, you don’t,” she whispered softly. “You don’t know me, Carlisle, and that’s how you can love me.”

“Then tell me who you are, Esme,” I pleaded. “I want to know.” She was about to protest, but stopped herself.

“I could’ve saved my baby, Carlisle!” she cried. “It’s all my fault he’s dead; I could’ve done something, I could’ve taken him to the doctors--”

I curled up so close to her that my lips were at her ear. “Esme, there’s nothing anyone could’ve done to help save your son.”

“I could’ve kept a better watch on him!” Esme continued to sob. “Something, Carlisle! I could’ve done something!”

“Nonsense, Esme,” I comforted, kissing her jaw. “There’s nothing anyone could’ve done.”

“He’s gone now, Carlisle,” she said, her voice barely above a breath. “He’s gone, and I can’t get him back. I have no second chance.” She gasped and shuddered. “I want to die.”

“I’m so sorry, Esme,” I murmured against her caramel hair. “I’m sorry I gave you this curse.”

“I’m sorry, too,” she whispered, burying her face into the pillows.

I could do nothing more; I slid my arm back to my side, and loosed myself from her. I left the room without looking back.

“Will she ever come out of this?” I wondered aloud to Edward as I sat in a chair across from his.

“She will,” Edward assured, keeping his eyes on his drawing. “Her thoughts are starting to wander from her son, and anyway, her emotions are so overwhelming no because of her transformation. She’ll get back to normal at least within the year.”

“How would you know that?” I asked, curious, as I buried my face in my hands. I didn’t remember being quite so devastated when I could no longer remember my father’s face, but then again, I was not so emotionally connected to him.

“Exactly,” Edward announced, startling me out of my thoughts. “Don’t you see? Esme was thinking about her son as she was dying and as she was changed--she refused to let go. Now that she has--willingly or not--she can’t adjust. Just give her time and other things to think of. She’ll come out of it eventually.”

***

Days passed trivially. I went to the hospital and Edward stayed at home, watching out for Esme. When I returned home every night, she would always be in some form of moping--but at least she had left her room. If she ever walked by me, I would reach out and touch her hand or her elbow--anything I could. She needed to know that I was still here, that I still loved her. After a few weeks of this, she would turn to me and smile. A sign of great improvement. Just a few more days, and I knew she would be better.

“Esme,” I called out one night, catching her attention. “Would you like to go out and take a walk with me?” It was a nice night out, and besides, I wanted to get her alone. Besides, Edward had told me his surprise was finished, and he needed Esme out of the house

Esme’s ruby eyes sparkled, and she nodded. I smiled widely. “Go get dressed; I’ll wait for you here.”

She left, and Edward came in a few seconds later.

“Good, very good,” he murmured. “She’s curious, and she’s been wanting to se you alone, too. This should work perfectly.”

I smiled again, pleased. The expression felt odd on my face.

When Esme reentered, I was shocked. Her hair was brushed and it gleamed in the light; it curled around her shoulders. She wore the purple blouse I’d gotten for her and a skinny black skirt that revealed her long legs. And she wore a smile that lit up her whole face.

“Oh, Esme,” I breathed. I reached out and grabbed her hand, and she came closer. I kissed her forehead, breathing her in.

My arms wrapped instinctively around her waist and I laughed--how great it was to hold the one you loved!

I smiled down at her. “Come on, let’s go for a walk,” I said, and led her out of the house. Our arms around each other, we simply walked, not saying a word.

“Esme,” I finally said when we were a few miles from home. “I love you.” Although I had expressed my love before, I had never actually articulated it, and it felt so good to finally confess it. “I love you so.  You are the one I’ve been waiting for. I’m so sorry that you are unhappy with the choice I made for you--to pass this curse down to you--but, God, to be able to hold you in my arms….”I tightened my arms around her. Esme said nothing, but she sighed and laid her head against my shoulder.

“Oh Carlisle, you won’t believe how relieved I am to hear that. Because I love you, too.” She sighed again, and halfway through her exhale, she laughed. “Oh, God, Carlisle! I love you!” she yelled, and I laughed, too. “How nice it is to have it out in the open!” She looked up at me now, and I kissed her forehead. She grabbed my face before I could pull away, though, and very slowly, she eased herself up on her toes and kissed my lips. We held onto each other, absorbing the feel of each other and loving it. When we broke away, we both laughed in complete euphoria.

“What took you so long, Carlisle?” she whispered. “Where have you been?”

“I’ve been looking for you,” I murmured in her ear.

***

We were giddy when we finally returned home; I’m sure our laughter woke a few neighbors. I’d forgotten about Edward’s surprise as we walked up the porch steps until I saw the note that was posted on our door.

Carlisle and Esme,

I was feeling a little thirsty when you both left, so I’ve stepped out to get a snack. Be home tomorrow.

Yours,

Edward.


“We’re home alone, Carlisle,” Esme giggled, kissing me lightly on the cheek. I chuckled and opened the door. Everything was normal. What a surprise, I thought sarcastically as Esme pulled me to her bedroom. She stopped and gasped as she opened the door, and I was a little hesitant to see whatever “decorations” I was sure Edward had put up while we’d been gone.

Nothing had changed, except that on one of the pillows lay pieces of parchment. Esme released my hand and picked up the first drawing carefully. A sob escaped her lips, and I rushed to see the paper, afraid that whatever was on it would cause Esme to go back into her old state again. When I finally saw the drawing, I was amazed.

A sleeping baby was curled up inside a blanket, held by a loving mother’s arms. His face was peaceful in sleep, his full lips curved in a small smile. Esme picked up the next picture: a baby--the same from the first picture--smiled up at us, his eyes alive with excitement. The next, a baby mid-laugh. The last, the sweetest--a mother kissing her son’s nose as the son reached out to her face. Such love emanated from the mother to the son that it seemed surreal. These were pictures of Esme’s old memories of her son, as seen by Edward. This was his surprise, his gift.

“Thank you, Edward,” Esme murmured, shifting from picture to picture, committing each to memory. She looked up at me and put the pictures back on the bed. She hugged me. “I have my son back,” she whispered to herself, letting a sob seep through her lips. “I have him back!”