The setting is after Eclipse. Ignores Breaking Dawn. This will eventually be an OC/Jacob story. Bella and the Cullens will make appearances. It's rated M because there will be some cussing and sexual content in the future.

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. I bow to her greatness.


I was startled out of my sleep by a pounding on the front door of my apartment. I glanced at my alarm clock and a garish 4:00 A.M. blinked back at me. My fuzzy brain was trying to catch up with my body as I slowly slid out from under the covers.


"Hold your frickin' horses! I'm coming!" I yelled toward the general direction of the living room. I stumbled toward the front door in my tank top and underwear. "Who is it?"

"NYPD, ma'am"

Bullshit. But I had reached the door and a quick look through the peephole produced the sight of a familiar black jacket and hat. "What do you want?" I called through the door,

"Are you Annika Sunstrom? I'm Officer Barrett. I need to come in and talk to you."

I'd grown up in Manhattan, mostly on my own and I wasn't a fool, "I'm going to call 911 and make sure this is legit."

"Of course," came the reply.

The phone was lodged between my ear and shoulder so I could pull on a pair of jeans and zip-up hoodie while the 911 dispatcher confirmed that it was, in fact, Officer Barrett at my door and not some poser in a police uniform. I undid the three dead bolts and opened the door. My Indian neighbor, Ananda, also had her head peeked out her door, "Are you okay, Anni?" she asked in her soothing, English accent.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." I gave her a reassuring smile and she smiled back and ducked back inside. "Please come in Officer," I said, opening the door wider and stepping out of his way.

He took off his hat as he stepped through the door and took in the cluttered mess that was the apartment I shared with my mother when she happened to be in town. He cleared his throat, "I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news to give you. Maybe you should sit down…" We both looked around at the seats of the chairs, each one covered with a stack of paper, each one a different manuscript. I picked one at random and didn't bother to move it, just sat on top of it.

His hat was being twisted around in his hands incessantly and the action made my stomach clench in unpleasant anticipation. "I'm afraid I have some bad news about your mother. We received a call from Hamburg officials tonight that your mother, Sofia Sunstrom, was in a fatal accident on the autobahn. I'm sorry." He watched me as I sat in silence. What was he waiting for me to do? Burst in to tears? Start tearing at my hair? It didn't seem real so I just sat and watched his hands and he continued, "You were the only family we could locate. Do you have any other family members? Someone we can call that may take you in? Do you have a father?" Father... Yes, I had a father. Not that I'd ever met him. I didn't even know if he knew about me. Officer Barrett continued again, "I don't know why you're all alone now but you're only 16 and we can't just leave you here by yourself. If you don't have anybody we can call for you, Child Protective Services can find you a place to stay."

My traitorous mouth was opening before I could stop it, "I have a father. He lives in Washington."

The officer looked relieved, "Great, do you have his number?"

I stood up and mutely walked over to the antique roll-top desk. My hands lovingly caressed the shiny wood as I pulled out one of the side drawers and proceeded to up-end the entire contents on to the floor. Then I ran my hands along the bottom of the drawer until I felt the catch and released it, opening up a secret false bottom. I breathed a sigh of relief as the three things I'd expected to find were still there. My birth certificate, a newspaper article, and an old photograph. In the picture my mother sat on a bar stool. Her model good looks breathtakingly familiar. Her legs were crossed and she leaned forward across the bar with her white-blonde hair falling over her shoulders and her long arms seeming to be reaching toward the bartender. The bartender was a handsome Native American man. He was standing close to my mother, cleaning a glass with a rag and smiling down on her adoringly. His wedding ring glinted in the flash of the camera. I knew what the back of the photo already said in her flowery script. My ten-year-old self had spent countless hours pondering those three pieces of paper after coming across the hidden compartment on accident. It would say:

Joseph Call and me

La Push, Washington


Officer Barrett was staring with one raised eyebrow at the hidden compartment and I felt the need to explain, "I wasn't supposed to know it was there. I don't think my father knows I exist." I left the newspaper article on the floor and with shaking hands showed him the photograph of the man and that his name matched the name on my birth certificate. "I'm sorry I don't have an actual phone number for you. Maybe he's still there. Maybe there isn't too many Joseph Calls around."

He smiled at me reassuringly, "I'll personally be on top of this first thing in the morning. In the mean time, I can't leave you here alone. I have a feeling it's not new for you but it's policy to make sure a minor is taken care of in these situations."

"My neighbor, Ananda… the one that opened her door earlier. She always makes sure I'm okay when my mother is on a business trip."

He nodded, "I'll go talk with her now."

I had been left alone in this apartment for most of my teen years but it suddenly hit me that I really was alone now. My mother wasn't going to be coming back between her business trips ever again. I'd never come home after school and find her pouring over a book or come out to get a drink of water at midnight and see her typing away furiously at her desk underneath the small desk lamp. We'd never make peanut butter and nutella sandwiches in the kitchen together or paint our toenails on the fire escape while we watched the sun set through the high rises. She'd never again run her fingers through my long blond hair I'd inherited from her while she shared what she'd found on her exciting travels all over the world. My knees felt weak and I made my way over to the couch. In frustration I pushed three large piles of paper on to the floor to create a place to crash into. It wasn't like my mother was going to come back and work on them. I buried my head in my hands and felt the first tears begin to leak out through my fingers. Seconds later I felt the couch beside me give way and knew Ananda had joined me. She was my mother's age but she had birthed 5 children and cooked mountains of food to show them her love. Her body was ample, soft and always smelled like jasmine and curry. This wasn't the first time I had cried in her arms and it felt like home.