DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS FROM TWILIGHT. THEY ALL BELONG TO STEPHENIE MEYER.

PROLOGUE

BPOV

As I pressed my lips to his one last time, I felt him go limp in my arms as the hand that he had held to my face fell and hit the floor beneath us with a hollow thud.

I opened my eys to see his beautiful green eyes staring lifelessly back at me, and I couldn't hold back the enormous cry of despair, longing and grief that escaped my throat at that moment in time.

I sat there, rocking the lifeless body of my love backwards and forwards, somehow wishing for the last few minutes to rewind and never happen. It seemed like an eternirt before someone approached me.

"Bella," It was Carlisle. Someone had called him and of course he had gotten here so soon. It was his son they were calling about. Everything and anything else could wait. He grasped my shoulder tightly, but not painfully as he looked upon his dead son, tears falling freely down his cheeks. "Bella.....he's gone." He whispered. "He's gone."

"No," I squeaked, holding him ever tighter to me, looking at Carlisle, but unable to see him clearly through the my tears, and shaking my head in despair. "He can't be gone. He just can't be. It's not fair. He didn't deserve this. He deserved to live a long, happy, healthy life. After everything that he's been through. We......we just got him back!"

I was in hysterics now. I didn't care. I didn't care that I was sat on the floor of the cafeteria with practically the whole school watching my breakdown. I didn't care that people were staring at me. All I cared about was the boy in my arms. The one that I had shared dreams and hopes with. The dreams and hopes that he would now never be able to fulfill.

All I wanted was the love of my life back.

I wanted Edward.

I wanted him to suddenly take a huge breath, blink his eyes and smile that crooked smile that I loved at me, stating that he couldn't hold his breath any longer. I wanted it to be a joke. I would have thought that it was the meanest joke in history, but I would just be happy that he was still here. That was all I wanted.

But I knew that wasn't going to happen.

Stuff like that only happens in the movies and in novels. This was real life, and there are no miracles in real life. There are no second chances. You got what life threw at you and you dealt with it. You didn't have a choice.

I remember Edward once telling me something. Something that makes a lot of, if not perfect sense to me now: Death is peaceful. Easy. Life is harder. He had no idea how true is words were to me right there and then, watching his life slip away from me, feeling it ebb from under my fingers and knowing damn well that there was nothing I could do to stop it. I couldn't save him. No one could.

I heard people around me sobbing and sniffing. I wanted to turn around and tell them all to fuck off. That none of them other than his family had any right, or were allowed to mourn him. They had all been so cruel to him. All because of some stupid rumours that people had made up out of jealousy and cruelty. I had no doubts as to who were behind them. They shouldn't be allowed to mourn and grieve for him. This perfect creature in my arms. The one who had been through so many hardships in his short life, overcome them and still come out stronger. It didn't seem right for them to mourn him. It was all out of place.

Looking at him as my how tears spilled down onto his lifeless face, I looked into those beautiful eyes that had left me breathless and weak at the knees so many times before. I found nothing. Nothing of my love remained there.

We thought that we had beaten it. That everything was okay. All those months in therapy, that time at the clinic, all those tears that had been shed, and the months apart. The teenage years that he had lost, that we had thought we could attempt to get back. All that was for nothing. We thought that we were stronger than that.

We were wrong.

In the end the strain of everything that had happened over the last few months, well over the last few years had taken its toll on his body and heart. He couldn't take the strain and stress of life. He hadn't been strong enough like we had hoped, like we had thought he was.

The illness had won.