So, I know I've got other stuff to update... whatever. This story won't suffer from the same thing since I actually happen to have 80 percent of this written already. So hahaha. Please review. If you're a writer, you'll know how much they mean. If not, then... well, you're missing out. I'm telling you.

Dedicated to my dad.

From: EdwardMasen

To: CarlisleCullen ; EsmeCullen ; AliceBrandon ; JasperWhitlock ; RoseHale ; Gizzabearhug

Subject: Bella's Letters

27th November, 2064


Before you say anything else, I am sorry. I am sorry I have not been around. I have not been fair to you. I know that I have not seen, or tried to make contact with any of you for half a century, and I am sorry. But this is important, so please read this email before going berserk at me.

You are all aware that my Bella died this day, fifty-five years ago. You know that this is why I have detatched myself from you. But this is more than just grief. I never did tell you how and why Bella died, for reasons that seemed logical to me at the time. She was killed by a terminal disease; by Leukaemia. She found out that she had it several months after I made the biggest mistake of my life, and died seven months later, not long after her nineteenth birthday. She died on the 27th November. I went back to Forks, with the intention of begging her forgiveness, just one week later.

Every day, I wonder. Every day, I beat myself up, wondering over what would have happened, had I returned to her sooner. I cannot help but blame myself. This is my burden.

When I went to Charlie's house, he gave me a stack of unopened letters, addressed to you and I. They were written by Bella, to all of you, in the months between her diagnosis and death. I apologise for not sending them sooner, but this will be the last contact I ever make with you, and I am afraid that Bella would be most upset, were you never to read them.

Carlisle - I have something for you. It is what I have been working on, these last years. It is my legacy, in a way. It is what I wish you to remember me by, and what has kept me fighting the desire to die this past fifty-five years. But I am finished, now; my work is finished. Enclosed is my formula. It is the formula for the drug that I have developed, which will cure most kinds of cancer. Testing will need to be arranged, but I must leave this to you now, Carlisle, because with every passing moment, my desire to survive wanes. I can not fight it. Remember me for this, and not for what I became in the months after leaving Bella.

I am sorry. By the time you read this letter, I will be in Italy, and reunited with my Bella. Please, do not try to stop me. This will be my peace. Let me have my peace.

I love you, all of you. Thank you for being my family, and for supporting me.

Your son and brother,

Edward Anthony Masen Cullen.