My husband, Jacob Black, was out for the day. There had been a vampire attack in La Push, and he and his pack had gone to head them off. Jokingly, he'd told me to be a good little wife and do the cooking and cleaning. Just to make him laugh, I did. You see, that was how our relationship worked. I'd do anything to see him smile, and he would do anything for me. If I told him to go provoke a vicious vampire, he would, but I would never do that. I couldn't live without him.

I was stirring tonight's stew, adding huge slabs of meat. Unlike other vampires, I would eat regular food, as long as it had a lot of meat. To me, at least, vegetables are what they are: grass. Humans would call me a meatarian. Vampires would call me a super-vegetarian. I looked out the window and saw my parents' house, a dozen or so yards away. Looking further, through the woods, I saw my grandparents' house, a small white speck on the horizon. My aunts and uncles lived there too. My dad was the only one that lived somewhere else, mostly because of me.

I had stopped aging when I was sixteen. This was later than expected, but my parents were happy. I was able to get my driver's license as a human. My mother was worried. She wasn't sure that I had inherited her freak self-control. I didn't. Fortunately, I didn't have to.

The night I changed was a restless, but painless, one. When I woke up, I just noticed that I wasn't breathing. My skin was ivory and hard, and the pillow I was clutching had been pulverized. I stood up and looked in the mirror. My eyes were brown, as always, but now they had flecks of gold in them. I blinked. The flecks didn't go away. "Mom!" I had shouted, panicked. She appeared at my door after a moment.

My mother gasped, "Nessie, you're-you're…"

"A vampire," supplied Dad. But I was different. Grandpa Cullen said that sixteen years as a half-vampire equaled eight years as a regular vampire. I was as experienced and controlled as an eight-year-old vampire.

The smell of the burning stew brought me out of my reminiscing. Crap, I thought. I whisked it of the stove and set it on the counter with inhuman speed. Luckily, it didn't burn too long. I stuck my hand in it to cool it down. The only reason we had a stove was so I could cook while Jacob was gone. If he was here, he would have just held his hand in the pot and waited for the food to heat up. It was funny how we were so different. I was abnormally cold, he was extremely hot. He was a werewolf, and I was a vampire. We did have one thing in common, though: We were both crazy about each other.

Then, I heard a knock at the door. I opened it and saw my mother. "Renesmee," she gasped. "Jacob's been attacked."