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September 19,1918

The Spanish Influenza has claimed millions of lives…

death toll reaching 100 million…

biggest epidemic since the Black Plague…

She huffed angrily, shutting off the radio. The atmosphere had been depressing enough; the sick did not need to be reminded of the relentless suffering. She secured the mask over her face, put her hair into a tight bun, and walked back into the sick room. Her eyes softened as she glanced at the massive crowd of bodies.

Low moans and coughs erupted from many. Every day people died. Some had gone peacefully while others suffered severe hemorrhaging. Doctors rushed from bed to bed, trying to lessen the pain of those whom endured the Spanish Influenza. She made her daily rounds, aiding the doctors, and setting fresh flowers to ease the mood.

She watched from afar at the one man who lit up the room. Dr. Carlisle Cullen was the epitome of hope. The faith and devotion he put into his patients was admirable. His passion for helping others was infectious. He would smile even though he battled an inner turmoil. She tilted her head to the side, noting the expression on his face.

He was with her again. Elizabeth Masen. Dr. Cullen seemed to take an interest in the Masen family, tending to their needs. Earlier that morning, Edward Masen senior had passed away. Elizabeth had been feverish lately. She was somewhat delusional, randomly shouting phrases from the Bible.

And then there was their son; Edward Masen. He was the mirror images of both his mother and father. His bronze hair and emerald eyes had been inherited from his mother, while his prominence from his father. Edward never spoke, nor did he open his eyes with consciousness.

She stared down at him, pitying the poor boy. She placed a bouquet of Freesia next to his sick bed. He too would pass soon. His pale, sweaty face had taken upon a blue tint. Blood trickled from his lips every so often. Tears pooled in her eyes as she said a quick prayer and placed a silver cross upon his chest.

"Nurse, Marie."

Her head turned, and she quickly dried her eyes. "Yes, Dr. Cullen?"

"Elizabeth Masen has passed," he said quietly. "Please make sure she is with her husband."

"Yes, sir." Marie walked beside Elizabeth's body as they wheeled her away. With one last glance at Edward and Dr. Cullen, she left the sickroom.


July 7, 2005

I grimaced as Edward insisted on seeing more pictures of me from my youth. Embarrassing baby pictures covered each page, from first bath to potty-training. Talk about mortifying. The rain forced us to create our own entertainment, so here we sat, in the attic of the house.

"What is this?"

I stared at the album in his hands. It looked ancient. Dust coated the cover, and I shrugged. "Probably from Charlie's side."

We flipped through the album, and pictures of my family from Charlie's side filled the pages. Before we got to my grandparent's wedding photos, Edward stopped at a page, staring at it intently. "Who is this?" he asked, curiously.

"Probably my great-great-grandmother," I guessed. She stood there, her hair in a bun, with a smile on her face. A nurse's outfit covered her body and beneath the photo read the caption: Marie at Chicago.

A smile caught Edward's face. "Oh," he said.


"I knew it had to be something," he murmured to himself. With one final look, he placed a kiss on my temple, hugging me close to his body. I didn't complain.

"What are you talking about?"

"Lets just say that I knew I loved you before I met you."