The Twilight Series belongs to S. Meyer, no copyright infringement is intended. I'm just playing with the characters.

AN: This is a quasi-continuation of the O/S titled Choice though you don't necessarily have to read that to understand this story. I promise an update on DS later this week.

End (verb) to bring to an end: a point that marks the extent of something

Every story must have an end and I guess a beginning too. This is mine. For better or worse, I, one Kim Connweller, promise to tell the truth to the best of my ability. I cannot guarantee that after my tale is told that you'll understand the choices I've made or see that not only I am a villain, but a victim – but I hope to shed some light on where it all went wrong.

But as I sit here, I struggle to find the exact moment in time in which everything became royally fucked up. The moment when Fate decided that little old me needed a swift kick in the ass. They say you can't fight destiny – well, I've spent my entire life doing just that.

When I finally couldn't stand another moment in the misery that I'd unwittingly created for myself – I didn't look back. Looking back meant regrets and I vowed to never have those. And the whole "imprinting for stronger wolves theory" the elders had? Well, let's just say I know two kids that are living proof that imprinting does pick out the best breeding partner – though nature isn't very selective of who plants the seed.

But now I have no choice but to return to the one place I've only seen in my dreams and worst nightmares. I have no idea how they'll react to my arrival, for all I know, they believe me to be dead. I haven't talked to my parents in years. One postcard with three lines over a dozen years ago: I'm sorry – I love you – Don't look for me.

Fuck me, I'm a crappy daughter. No wonder my kids have been such pains in my ass the last few weeks.

Or it could be the fact they'll phase any day. Thank God for liberal doctors who prescribe Xanax with a minimum of fuss. I've been adding it to their cereal every morning just to keep them calm. I'm not sure that TSA would like if two horse-sized wolves terrorized the plane to Washington nor do I think they've got enough in their tranq guns to put them down for the count.

Mother of the Year award – not me.

I'm sure Emily, Rachel, Nessie – hell, probably even little Claire's got that title all wrapped up by now. I've had to survive on by my own wits and gumption for the past 15 years. There was no one there to hold my hand or show me the way, but I shouldn't complain because I choose this. I gave Fate the big middle finger and sailed off into the sunset – leaving the love of my life and the man who was my destiny behind – though the two were never one in the same. At one time, perhaps, but not any longer; I'd removed those rose-colored glasses long ago and realized there was a reason why fairytale romances didn't happen in real life.

How could you ever know if they had chosen you for you? Just because some cosmic bullshit threw you into their path – at what point did they have a choice? And that's what it was all about – choice. The scariest six letter word in the English language.