So I bought this picture drawn by David Bowman called "My Child." It is a picture of God holding a girl who is in pain. I can't stop looking at it; something about it strikes me to the very core of my soul.

I have grown up without a dad in my life. I think that is one of the reasons this picture intrigues me so much. A father having so much love for his child…

Anyway…I wanted to write something to express what I am feeling right now. So here it is, good or not, whatever. Enjoy it for what it is, an outlet for my emotions.

It didn't turn out how I wanted it to. But I hope you can all still like it.

Even though he will not see it, this is dedicated to my father, Trey.

She sits on the couch, knees drawn close to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around her legs. It is a pose of guilt, a pose of longing, and a pose of hurt.

He sits next to her, his arms around her tiny waist, holding her close to him as she sobs silently, her tears falling down her flushed cheeks.

He whispers meaningless words in her ear trying desperately to soothe the seemingly endless pain she is in. But nothing is working. Nothing he is doing helps.

Eventually, the tears end. But the pain is far from over; he can see that with one look into her eyes. Her once light irises are now blank, staring straight ahead into the dark room, seeing nothing.

"Sweetie?" he whispers.

"What?" she murmurs into the darkness.

"Can you please smile for me?"

She puts on a smile, but it is forced. He sighs and pulls her closer to his chest, kissing her head lightly.

"Who is going to walk me down the aisle at our wedding now?" she whispers quietly. "And who is going to do the father-daughter dance with me?"

He pulls her ever closer to himself and rests her head on his shoulder. All he feels is pain. It is coming off of her in waves so strong that everyone could feel it, not just Jasper.

Tears fall silently again, but this time, they can't be stopped. No amount of words or actions can stop the pain she is feeling.

He speaks anyway. "He wasn't your only father," he whispers. "Yes, he was your biological father, but you have other people."

"Who?" she asks against his shoulder.

As if on cue, Carlisle walks into the room. "May I?" he asks quietly.

Edward nods and slowly pulls away from his angel, whispering that he will be back soon.

Carlisle takes his place, wrapping his arms around Bella, his daughter. He puts one hand around the back of her head and the other around her waist pulling her close. Gently, he puts his lips to her head and sits with her, allowing her to cry to her heart's desire.

He has always thought of her as his daughter, but he wants her to think of him as another father. He wants her to realize that he cares deeply for her, that he would do anything for her, his child.

Suddenly, the crying stops. She looks up into his eyes, pleading with him. "Will you walk me down the aisle?" she whispers.

He smiles down at her. "Of course."

"Will you dance with me as my father?" she asks.

"Of course I will. I love you like my own daughter. I will do anything for you."

She rests her head on his shoulder again and falls asleep quickly, exhaustion taking over her fatigued body.

He closes his eyes and sighs. He wishes he can take the pain away from her, but he can't. All he can do is help her bear it. That is all that can be asked of him, her second father.

He opens his eyes, looking into the darkness as he whispers, anguish clear in his voice

"My poor child…"