It was hard for Carlisle Cullen to imagine a time when they hadn't all loved Delilah, himself especially.
She was the sweetest creature he had ever met. She was very nearly perfect.
She was angelic in appearance, with strawberry blond hair that grew like the grass and curled wispily. Her wide, bright blue eyes were hypnotizing; they could make you do anything they wanted. Her heart shaped face was always lined with curiosity, her cherry lips pursed in concentration of whatever she was doing, thin strawberry blond eyebrows furrowed in thought.
He had heard people say that she fit right in with the beautiful Cullen family, that it was strange how they were all adopted and yet looked so perfect in face and body.
Yes, it was true that Delilah was a beautiful little girl, but Carlisle, and the rest of the Cullen family, knew that there hadn't always been a time when she would smile that breathtaking smile of hers so easily. There had been a time when she had been quite a skittish child.
He didn't like to think about the night he had found her, but he was grateful all the same; if he hadn't discovered her tiny broken form next to the road, bruised, bleeding and unconscious, they wouldn't have ever known her; she would have died.
But looking back in retrospect, maybe that would have saved her. After all, no one could have predicted that this would happen, not even Alice.
And it was all his fault.