Eighteen years ago, Bella 'died' in a car crash. Charlie's never been the same since then.
2. For Charlie
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I hadn’t seen Charlie in eighteen years. I had worried about him all the time, but I had never felt the need to go and watch him.
But, yesterday, Alice had a vision that Charlie would try and kill himself because of grief. I couldn’t let that happen!
Edward had argued with me, saying I couldn’t go to Forks by myself. For all we knew, the werewolves might still be there. In the end, though, I convinced him to let me go.
I slowed down, and finally stopped running when the old house came into view. It looked exactly the same.
I walked up to the kitchen window, where I saw Charlie sitting at the same table.
I cringed. His hair was even grayer, his skin more wrinkled, the bags under his eyes more pronounced. Tears rolled slowly down his face. His hands, holding a letter, were shaking. I looked closer and gasped.
He was reading the letter I sent him the day before I was changed.
My dead heart was breaking. My father obviously was not letting go. I wished with all my heart, soul, life, whatever, that he could just move on and accept that I was gone.
But I knew him better than that. He was a lot like me. He would hold on to me until the end, which I feared was soon.
The phone rang then, and Charlie resignedly got up to get it. It was Billy.
He and Billy talked for a moment, then Charlie hung up and collapsed into his worn out chair.
Then, he did something I never would have expected.
“Ah, Bella,” he said out loud. “My baby girl. I love you. Wherever you are, I want you to know that. Goodnight, sweetheart.”
My eyes, which had been looking down, wishing to cry, flashed up, worried that he had seen me or something. But no, he was talking into his hands, merely wishing I could hear.
I knew that it was now he would try to end his life. I darted inside through the unlocked door, into the living room, and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen.
My hand shaking slightly, I wrote quickly. Then I grabbed the sheet and flew upstairs, much too quickly for his old eyes to see.
I carefully set the paper down on my desk, and reached inside the pocket of my jeans.
I pulled out the picture of Charlie and I that I had carried with me everywhere since the day I was turned.
Although I needed this picture to remember who I was and who I had been, Charlie could use it more right now.
I gently set it on top of my letter, and slid under my old bed. The creaking of the stairs told me that my father was right out side the cracked open door.
I heard his shocked gasp, and waited patiently as he read the letter and looked at the picture.
I peeked out from under the bed and saw him smiling, tears running down his face. But, unlike the ones from earlier, they were tears of joy.
This was the first time, since the day I was bitten, that I truly wished I could cry. I wished that I could show the world just how happy I was that my father was happy. I wished, most of all, that I could cry and hold my father, and just hug his warm, old body for hours.
I decided that I shouldn’t worry about him again. He had his own life to live, now. He could get over this, as long as I didn’t try to make him keep holding on.
I would move on, for Charlie. I would live, really live, worry free, with my new family, all for my daddy.