A/N I don't own Twilight

As ever thanks to Sherriola!


- Edward -

Recovery is a bitch, I know. I've seen it happen one too many times during my residency. Now, up close and personal, we watch Charlie struggle to get back to normal. The three of us discuss a plan of action. Charlie can't live alone, and Renée can't be relied upon. I don't want her to move out.

Charlie moves in.

A new change in a life that has never felt normal to begin with. Sometimes I wonder when we will get a break. Not from the misery, because in that respect we have been blessed, I know. But in the normalcy. I want some quiet, I am more than ready for that. Instead, I step back and watch her care for her father.

She glows.

She's so happy to have him close, and for the first time I realize how much they really mean to each other. Renée goes back home and doesn't come back. It seems they don't even mind, not really. Charlie thrives under my wife's care.

It makes me happy to see them thus.

He stays longer than absolutely necessary, I'm sure. I find I don't mind. They keep each other company when I have to work overtime again. Charlie gives us privacy when he can, the stoic man surprisingly apt to anticipate when she and I need some time alone. He never complains.

He is content.

When it's time for him to go back home, she is sadder than expected. Soon however, she rediscovers the joy of being alone again. It's like we have found each other anew, reveling in our new privacy. No surface is safe and we laugh for days when the kitchen table breaks.

I love her.

Finally, finally, work settles down. Hers does too, and we book a holiday. The first in forever, or so it seems. A sunny state, a week of nothing. The next time we'll go, it will be an active holiday. For now, we just want to soak in the sun and enjoy the peace.

Bliss.

Autumn makes the leaves change color again. Something is different in her, but I can't tell what it is. My mind contracts when I see her changes and can't explain them. As a doctor, I should know. On one rainy night, she sits me down and puts my hand on her belly.

Pregnant.

I shout my joy. I ask again. And then again. She really is. Her smile radiant, any apprehension for my reaction evaporated. I pick her up and swirl her around, so happy, so happy. Unplanned but wanted, wanted so much. We look each other in the eyes and smile.

I'm going to be a dad.

I guess the 'normal' will have to wait. Her belly grows and it's magnificent to see her body change. I didn't realize I could love her more. Determined to be not like I've seen happen with friends, I am with her every step of the way. She doesn't have to do this alone.

Besides, I don't want to miss a thing.

We leave the sex unknown. It will be a surprise for us all. Picking colors for the nursery, buying a stroller, a cradle, diapers and things I didn't even know existed. Reading books, we're both studying again until the witching hour.

We want to do this right.

Her cravings are a source of laughter, but she's so very sensible with it all. I didn't expect any less, but she amazes me with every step nonetheless. Her belly so big, I can't stop touching it. The doctor said it was safe to make love, so that's what I do.

I can't stop loving her.

Her friends are elated, and half the things we don't have to buy, it seems. Gifts keep on coming in. My parents offer to babysit. For them it's natural, and we are grateful for the offer. When the due date comes closer, she grows nervous. Trying to get her to talk to me, she just cries and shuts herself off.

She is afraid.

Finally, I get her to talk. It's not what I expected she'd say. Not the fear of the delivery is what has her lying awake at night, but the fear of history repeating itself. She knows her mother, flighty, irresponsible. What if she won't be a good mom? I reassure her with a kiss.

She will be perfect.

The ninth month arrives, and we both grow nervous. Two weeks before the date, She calls me at work. "It is starting." Three words that will change my life forever. My parents bring her to the hospital, and I change from my scrubs to my regular clothes. I may be a doctor, but right now, I am her husband.

It's happening.

An easy delivery, they said. Don't let her hear it, because she will disagree. Hours of breathing, of pain, of pushing. But she does it herself, and for that I am proud. I admire her even more than I have ever done. She squeezes my hand, fighting the pain. And then the head comes out.

It's a boy.


The next chapter will be the last, and will be up as soon as I can figure out how I want this story to end.