DISCLAIMER: Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyer
We were in the park. I was pushing the poor-quality twin pram in front of me, watching as the flowers danced with the late summer breeze. On a nearby bench, a man sat alone, engrossed in his newspaper. We were surrounded by trees and flowers, spots of colour amongst the blanket of green.
I was tired – being a single mother of twin babies – but I wanted to get away from my small, dingy apartment and the park was the only place I could think of. I didn't bring us here often – people always eyed me in distaste, giving me filthy looks. I couldn't blame them – seeing a young girl, barely an adult herself, pushing around a pram by herself was bound to provoke some speculation. I tried to convince myself that I didn't care what people thought, and they were strangers – what did they know? I tried not to let them get to me, tried not to swerve away every time I saw oncoming families. But it was no use – I often found myself staying in my apartment on warm days, just so I could avoid going out and getting stared at. I didn't want to feel like a circus freak, where everyone pointed and whispered and gawped.
But the twins were being more than a handful lately – they didn't enjoy being cooped up all day and I couldn't stand staying in our one-bedroom apartment, where it stank of dirty diapers and baby sick.
As I continued to follow the path, I heard footsteps and watched as a woman strolled round the curve of the path, through the trees. She saw me coming, smiled, saw the pram, and the smile turned into a scowl. I felt resignation set in as the woman approached and I slowed down.
"Your siblings are beautiful," she said, eyeing my twins, glancing up at me and seeing the similarities in our looks. I felt a stab of irritation – teenage mothers were not uncommon, especially nowadays.
"I'm their mother, actually – and yes, they are beautiful." I smiled down at my babies; they truly were gorgeous. Renesmee had coppery ringlets and dark, toffee brown eyes, identical to mine. Danero had mahogany hair, the exact same shade as mine and was green-eyed. Both of them were going to grow up to be heartbreakers. They were a few months old and creamy pale, with identical rosy cheeks. I glanced up at the woman, who was eyeing me disapprovingly. She turned her nose up at me and continued on her way without another word. In my haste to put some distance between us, I tripped, jostling the pram and causing my twins to wake up. There was silence for a brief moment before the shrieking started.
I groaned quietly, rocking the pram gently, trying to get them back to sleep. They refused to calm down and continued screaming at the tops of their little lungs, their faces red and screwed up. I tried desperately to shush them, but there was no settling them when they really got going.
"Please," I pleaded stupidly. Then, unthinkingly, I did the only thing I could think of, and began to sing. I had been singing a lot lately, when the twins woke up crying in the night and surprisingly, my inexperienced voice seemed to put them to sleep.
'Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird.
And if that mockingbird don't sing, Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring.
And if that diamond ring turns brass, Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass.
And if that looking glass gets broke, Mama's gonna buy you a Billy goat.
And if that Billy goat don't pull, Mama's gonna buy you a cart and bull.
And if that cart and bull turn over, Mama's gonna buy you a dog named Rover.
And if that dog named Rover won't bark, Mama's gonna buy you a horse and cart.
And if that horse and cart fall down, You'll still be the sweetest little babies in town.'
The twins' eyelids fluttered as they fell asleep again. I smiled down at them affectionately, a wave of love surging through me as I watched them burrow under their layers of blankets and shawls.
I began to walk slowly before I felt someone's eyes burning into my head. I turned and glanced over my shoulder, meeting the inquisitive gaze of the man on the bench. I had forgotten him completely with the racket of my babies.
"I have never heard a voice quite like yours," the stranger murmured. His voice was deep and pleasant. He looked well-kept, just a normal man, probably in his early forties, enjoying a nice day out. I pushed thoughts of axe-wielding maniacs out of my head and smiled at him hesitantly, flushing my signature red.
"I…I didn't mean to disturb you, sir. Sorry," I mumbled.
He laughed, a deep, brassy sound. "Please, dear, none of that 'sir' nonsense. My name is Jason Jenks and I am the manager of a recording company called Breaking Dawn. Your voice is very unique – have you ever had voice lessons?"
"Erm…no…" I said hesitantly.
"Remarkable," he said, seemingly to himself. "If that is how your voice sounds without practice, imagine how beautiful it could be once you've had some training!"
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. What was this man suggesting?
"Bella…Bella Swan," I supplied nervously.
"Miss Swan, I would very much like to offer you an opportunity to secure a recording contract. You have the potential to craft your voice into something incredible – something people would hear on the radio and buy from music stores. What do you think?" Jason Jenks said eagerly.
"Well...I don't know…I have my kids to look after and…I don't even know if I can…"
Mr Jenks got up and walked towards me steadily. He handed me a business card with his name, company name and the address of his company on it. I took it and watched as he gazed at my twins with a smile.
"There's no need to worry, Miss Swan. If you would care to meet me somewhere public – a café, perhaps – and we could discuss this in more detail. You can bring your beautiful children with you," he offered.
I was still uncertain, but agreed to call him once I decided whether I wanted to meet him or not.
Three months later, I had found the perfect band to accompany me. They were compromised of a drummer, Seth, a bass guitarist, Jacob, a pianist, Quil, and the technical producer and sometimes electric guitarist, Embry – who all treated me like a little sister and were protective of my babies who called the guys there uncles. They'd been looking for a lead vocalist and when they found out that I was looking to work with someone, they'd agreed almost instantly. We were now a permanent band called Eclipse, and were close to releasing our first single.
I was as happy as I had ever been – I now had enough money to buy a small, three-bedroom house, with heating and hot water. My babies had new clothes and new toys and better food. I got Jacob to teach me how to drive, since I had never had the chance; I was on my way to getting a driver's licence and my life was pretty close to perfect. Danny and Nessie were happier, now that we had transformed the spare-bedroom into a playroom, where they would spend hours. I got to bring them along to the studio, where my new band members entertained them. I was smiling more than I had in months.
I couldn't have been happier.