{FF}[A Thread Unbroken] Chapter 20: The Last Gift

-Edward-

Bella lay sprawled across the bed, one arm draped over her eyes, her breathing slow and even. She was asleep.

I moved quietly to her side, lifting her gently and settling her more comfortably under the blankets. She murmured something unintelligible, curled into herself, and stilled again. I pressed a kiss to her temple before slipping out of the room.

Downstairs, the atmosphere had already shifted. Everyone could feel the tension building—Alice most of all. I found her seated beside Jasper, staring straight ahead. She hadn’t said a word since Bella fell asleep, and now that Bella was out of earshot, it was time.

I cleared my throat. “She’s asleep,” I said as I dropped onto the couch. “Jasper’s story took more out of her than she let on.”

“That’s the understatement of the century,” Emmett muttered.

“She needed to hear it,” Jasper said quietly. “I think she thought she could live a mostly normal life. Just… with us.”

Emmett snorted. “Well, at least she doesn’t kill anyone, right? Alice?”

Everyone turned to her.

She didn’t move.

I leaned forward. “Go on, Alice. Tell them.”

Her voice was brittle. “I lied.”

A stunned silence fell.

“She does kill someone?” Carlisle asked quickly. “How? Can we stop it?”

“No,” Alice said, shaking her head. “I mean—I haven’t seen anything. Not a slip, not a death. Nothing at all. It just… goes black.”

“The wolves?” Jasper asked. “You can’t see through them.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” she said. “I know they’ll be there. But even if we survive that, I should be able to see beyond it. But there’s just… nothing.”

Esme’s voice was soft. “Maybe it’s the Volturi. Maybe their decision hasn’t been made yet.”

I glanced around the room. Everyone was thinking the same thing, but no one wanted to be the one to say it.

“I think they’ve made their decision already,” I said.

Carlisle turned to me. “What are you saying?”

“We need to accept the possibility that we don’t walk out of that meadow. That the reason Alice sees nothing… is because that’s where the story ends.”

Silence fell again—this time heavier. The implications settled like lead.

Carlisle’s voice was barely audible. “They’re going to kill Bella.”

I nodded. “Yes. They aren’t offering a choice. And you know what that means for me.”

Silence again. Except for their thoughts. Emmett already weighing the odds of a direct confrontation. Rosalie wondering if she could get Bella out through the trees. Jasper calculating every move like a tactician preparing for war.

They were planning. Preparing. Because they knew what I knew.

Aro wouldn’t be reasoned with. Not if he’d already decided Bella couldn’t be allowed to live.

And I wouldn’t let her die alone. If this was the end, then it would be ours—together.

One by one, I watched the others slip away—Emmett guiding Rosalie quietly upstairs, Jasper resting a hand on Alice’s shoulder before they vanished together into their room. Even Carlisle reached for Esme’s hand, and she followed him without a word. The house fell into silence, heavy with what we now knew, and what none of us dared to say aloud.

I sat there, alone in the aftermath. The family had retreated to their corners, but I was still rooted in place, thoughts spiraling. A dull ache settled low in my chest—the familiar twinge of jealousy. They all had what I wanted. What I might still lose. They would never have to weigh the cost I now carried like iron in my bones. And if she was taken—if Bella was lost to me—then there would be nothing left of me to carry forward. That certainty lived in my marrow.

Eventually, I dragged myself upstairs.

She was curled on her side, blanket twisted around her legs, one arm bent beneath her head. So small. So human. So unaware of how close we were to unraveling everything.

I lowered myself into the bed beside her, careful not to disturb her rest. Two parts of me warred as I reached for her: one burned with need, aching for closeness, craving the soft sounds she made when we forgot the world together. But the other—the one hollowed out by dread—only wanted to hold her. To feel her safe against me while I still could. While there was still time.

That was the part I surrendered to. I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her gently toward me, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

She was warm. Breathing evenly. Still mine. For now.

And I would hold onto that for as long as fate would allow.

Through the long hours of night, I held her. Still and quiet, I let the anger settle in my chest like coals waiting for air. Bella had come to Forks for her mother’s happiness. And now, because of me, she would never leave. Her father would never understand why she vanished. There’d be no goodbye. No closure. Just silence.

A soft knock broke through my thoughts.

Edward, I need to talk to you, Alice’s mind whispered from behind the door. I think I’ve found a way.

I slipped from the bed and joined her in the hallway. Her expression was calm, but I could hear the tension behind it.

“Say what you need to say,” I said. “Then I’m going back to her.”

Change her now.

My jaw tightened as she repeated Bella’s suggestion from earlier that night. “What?”

If she’s already turned when they arrive, they won’t have reason to intervene. No confrontation. No bloodshed.

“And school? Charlie? Her life?”

“She can finish. We’ve all done it. If we plan it right…”

“No,” I snapped. “You don’t understand.”

“I do,” she said, unmoved. “You were ready to do this when you left for Forks. You were going to change her the moment you got back. What changed?”

I hesitated. The fire that had burned in me the night I raced home had faded into something quieter, heavier.

But she was right.

“I’ll do it,” I said softly. “I’ll change her tonight.”

Her visions spun forward—Bella, pale and newly turned, navigating school with clenched fists and red-rimmed eyes. Charlie’s stunned face when he saw her again. Jacob’s fury. And finally, Bella and I standing in the meadow as the Volturi cloaks emerged through the mist. That moment—the one that haunted us—remained unchanged.

“It won’t matter,” I muttered. “They’re coming either way. And this… this isn’t about her being human.”

“Then what is it?” Alice asked.

The others began to drift into the hallway, drawn by the quiet tension. I didn’t look at them yet.

“Walk through it with me,” I said. “You’re the largest coven in the world. What’s your greatest threat?”

“Another coven,” Emmett answered immediately.

“Exactly. Now imagine that second-largest coven has a human girl living among them. They’ve broken your laws. What do you do?”

“You eliminate the problem before it grows stronger,” Rosalie said.

“Right. Even if we turn her, it won’t matter. That just makes us larger—more dangerous in their eyes. They’re not coming to enforce the law. They’re coming to preserve their power.”

“But we’re not a threat,” Carlisle objected quietly.

“That’s not how power works,” I said. “They won’t risk the possibility that someday, we could become one. They won’t wait a thousand years to find out if we might rise against them. They’ll end the possibility before it starts.”

Jasper frowned. “That’s just a theory.”

I nodded. “It is. But look at the evidence. I just told Alice I’d change Bella tonight. Her vision didn’t change. The Volturi are still coming. We’re still in that meadow. That moment is set.”

“So what’s our move?” Carlisle asked.

I met his gaze. “They’re coming for her no matter what we do. I’ll be there when they arrive. I won’t let them take her. If that means fighting, then I fight.”

Emmett cracked his knuckles. “Then I’m fighting too.”

Rosalie nodded. “If he’s going, I’m going.”

Jasper’s mouth quirked up in a ghost of a smile. “Then I guess it’s time for a crash course in vampire combat.”

I glanced around at them—my family. Their thoughts rang steady, grounded in loyalty. They’d made their decision.

Carlisle stepped forward, the lines around his eyes deeper than I’d ever seen them. “She’s one of us now,” he said. “And I stand with my family.”

Carlisle’s words brought the room to a still silence. We all knew his stance on violence—how deeply it ran against the very fiber of who he was. But his devotion to this family was unwavering. He had already accepted Bella as one of us, as his, and like the rest of us, he would stand between her and any threat.

No one spoke after that.

One by one, the others disappeared into their rooms, retreating to whatever peace or preparation they could find.

I returned to mine and slipped quietly beneath the sheets, curling myself around Bella. I held her close, grounding myself in her steady heartbeat, in the warmth that still felt like a miracle against my cold skin.

For a little while longer, she was safe. And for a little while longer, that was enough.

The night passed quietly. Bella slept soundly in my arms, her breath slow and steady against my neck. I pressed occasional kisses to her cheek, her temple, the line of her jaw—anywhere I could reach. Not out of desire, but reverence.

There was no fire in my thoughts tonight, only stillness. I memorized the way she felt in my arms—her warmth, the rhythm of her breathing, the soft curve of her body curled into mine. Soon, none of this would exist as it did now. No more sleep. No more tears. No more human fragility. I pressed my face into her hair and inhaled deeply, locking the scent and the moment in my mind.

She stirred slowly, stretching against me. Then she turned to face me, her eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Good morning,” she murmured.

“Good morning, love,” I whispered, brushing a kiss to her cheek.

She blinked at me, reading the tension on my face. “You look worried. Did something happen?”

Not yet. “Nothing you need to worry about right now. How are you feeling?”

She grew more alert with each breath, her brow furrowing slightly. “Still turning over Jasper’s story. I guess I let myself believe it would be… easier.”

“You don’t have to go through with it,” I said, even though we both knew it wasn’t that simple. “If you changed your mind, we could leave Forks tonight.”

A pause. Then: “Edward, I want you. That hasn’t changed.”

I searched her face, knowing she meant it, but still hating what this future demanded of her. “You’re being forced into something you didn’t ask for. If you say the word, we disappear. You and me. That’s all that matters.”

She reached for my hand. “I’ll take forever with you, any way it comes.”

I leaned in and kissed her softly. It wasn’t desperate, just steady and full of quiet gratitude. When we pulled apart, she glanced at the clock over my shoulder.

“Six forty-five,” she groaned. “We have to get ready.”

She pouted, and I tugged her lip playfully between mine, earning a laugh and a teasing bite in return.

“Go get dressed, love. I’ll be downstairs.”

She slipped out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom. The house was quiet except for the gentle hum of the plumbing as the shower started behind the closed bathroom door. I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, hands clasped. I let my shoulders drop and finally allowed my expression to reflect what I’d kept hidden from Bella.

Every word I’d said to her was true. If she wanted out, I’d take her away this second. But the option wasn’t real—not really. The Volturi were coming. And there would be no running from them.

I closed my eyes and tried to center myself in the present, in her warmth, the shape of her head on my chest, the way her fingers had curled around mine without hesitation. But the clock was ticking down, and I could hear it in every strained breath I took.

She wanted to be turned. She said so with certainty.

And yet… I kept hearing her voice from the other night. “I just need to believe you won’t run again.”

How could I offer her forever while carrying the possibility of her death like a hidden blade?

I stood and walked to the window, watching the trees shiver in the early morning breeze. My reflection ghosted across the glass—pale and hollow-eyed in the faint light. For once, I didn’t recoil from the sight. It felt fitting.

The bedroom door creaked open behind me, and I schooled my features before turning around. Bella stood in the doorway, wrapped in a towel, her wet hair clinging to her shoulders.

“You’re really bad at pretending nothing’s wrong,” she said softly, not accusing—just perceptive.

“I’m just thinking,” I said, offering the faintest smile. “I can’t help it. You’re distracting even when you’re not trying to be.”

She crossed the room and took my hand. “You’re hiding something.”

I didn’t flinch. “Only what I must.”

She stared at me for a long moment before nodding slowly. “All right. But not forever, Edward. I want you to trust me.”

“I do,” I whispered, and for once, it didn’t feel like a lie.

She tiptoed up to kiss me, gentle and slow. I let myself fall into the quiet of that moment, committing everything about her—scent, breath, warmth—to memory. Just in case.

When we parted, she gave me a playful nudge. “Go change. You’re going to make us late.”

I chuckled softly, though it didn’t quite reach my chest. “Can’t have that.”

She disappeared into the closet, and I moved to the dresser, methodically pulling on clothes. But beneath it all—beneath the smile and steady hands—the storm raged on.

I couldn’t tell her that Alice had seen nothing past the meadow. That every outcome beyond her turning was a void. That I had already begun counting down the days to the moment I might have to stand in front of the Volturi, with Bella behind me, and refuse to let them touch her.

Not yet.

Not this morning.

Let her have today.

When I came down the stairs, the atmosphere in the living room was heavy with quiet resolve. My family sat as they had the night before, but now their thoughts moved slower, darker.

They were thinking about the meadow. About the stand we’d agreed to take.

Emmett’s mind thrummed with energy—eager for the fight—but even he wasn’t immune to the weight of what was coming. Rosalie sat close beside him, her worry wrapped around them both. Esme’s thoughts drifted to all she couldn’t protect. Carlisle looked composed, but inside, his calculations continued—futures, risks, ways to shield us.

And Alice… Alice was still searching, pushing against the unknown, watching the same outcome repeat.

I cleared my throat. Their eyes turned to me.

“We can’t let Bella feel this yet,” I said quietly. “I don’t want her carrying the weight of it. Let her have peace, while there’s still time for it.”

Carlisle nodded once. “Yes. She should have that.”

The others followed. I listened as their minds shifted—Emmett began humming nonsense to himself, Jasper calmed the current in the room, Alice forced her focus elsewhere. For now, it would hold.

I sat beside Esme on the couch and leaned into her gentle touch. She rested a hand on my shoulder—no words, just presence.

Then I heard Bella moving around upstairs. The quiet padding of her feet, the subtle creak of our bedroom door. I stood and moved toward the kitchen, pulling a few of the breakfast leftovers Esme had prepared yesterday from the fridge.

A few minutes later, Bella stepped into the room, dressed and barefoot, her hair still damp at the ends. She looked more rested than she had in days. Her eyes swept the kitchen and landed on me.

She crossed to the island and sat down quietly.

“Smells good,” she said, her voice low.

I turned, setting a plate in front of her. “Esme cooked enough to feed a small army. Figured I’d warm some of it up.”

She smiled faintly and picked up a fork, but her eyes stayed on me.

And I knew I’d have to keep my mask in place a little while longer.

Bella took a bite of the reheated crepe but didn’t seem to taste it. She chewed slowly, watching me the whole time.

“You’re being quiet,” she said after a moment.

“I’m always quiet in the morning.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Not like this.”

I didn’t answer. I turned back to the stove to busy my hands, but she didn’t let it go.

“Edward,” she said, voice soft but steady. “What’s going on?”

I hesitated just long enough to give myself away.

She set her fork down and leaned forward on her elbows. “You don’t have to protect me from everything, you know. I’m not made of glass.”

“No,” I murmured, turning back to face her, “but you’re still human. And there’s still time left for you to feel human. I just want you to have that. One more morning where you’re not thinking about death, or the Volturi, or what it’s going to feel like to burn.”

Her breath caught, and she looked down at the plate. “But that’s the point, isn’t it? I am thinking about those things. I’ve been thinking about them since you came back.”

I crossed the kitchen and stopped in front of her, resting my hands on the island between us. “What do you want to know?”

“All of it.”

I shook my head gently. “Too much.”

“Then start somewhere.”

I exhaled slowly. “Alice had another vision…” I hesitated. “We think the Volturi have already made their decision.”

“What kind of decision?”

I didn’t speak right away, trying to gauge how much to tell her. Finally I said, “We don’t know.”

Her jaw tensed, eyeing me suspiciously. “I think you know more than you’re saying.”

She was too perceptive. I let out a slow, deep breath. “Do you trust me?”

She nodded slowly.

“Then can you let this go for now? I want you to enjoy your humanity while you can.”

“You’ll tell me though, right?”

I nodded.

She sat back, her face pale but composed. “I want to believe you.”

A beat passed. I didn’t respond.

Her eyes searched mine. “It’s hard for me, with you keeping secrets.” She stared at her plate then. Clearly trying to put the pieces together.

I reached out and brushed her cheek with my knuckles. “I’ll tell you everything, I promise. I just hope you can find a way to trust that I’m only keeping what I must from you, for your own sake.”

Her hand found mine and held it there. “I told you before, you don’t get to make my decisions for me.”

“No,” I said quietly. “I don’t.”

***

The drive to school was quiet.

Alice sat silently in the back, her thoughts disciplined. Bella watched the trees blur past her window, one hand in mine, her fingers limp. She hadn’t said much since breakfast, and I hadn’t pushed. Not yet.

At lunch, her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. In class, her gaze drifted toward the window more often than the board. She was trying to seem fine. But she wasn’t. None of us were.

By the time we were driving home, the silence had thickened into something uncomfortable.

“Have you started looking at college applications?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood—or at least shift it.

She shrugged. “Not yet. After you left… it didn’t seem like there was a future to plan for.” Her tone wasn’t bitter, just quiet. Flat. “I figured once you turned me, I’d deal with school later. Whenever I could.”

Her smile was brittle.

“You should still look,” I said gently. “It’s not just about the application. It’s about imagining a future—something human to hold onto.”

“Why?” Her voice sharpened, just for a second. “So I can fill out a dorm request while fighting the urge to drain my roommate?”

I winced.

She caught herself. “I’m sorry. That was—”

“Honest,” I said. “You’re allowed to be scared.”

She turned toward me in her seat. “I am. I’m scared I’ll lose myself. That I’ll wake up after it happens and not care about anything. Not you. Not school. Not…me.”

I tightened my grip on her hand. “Then I’ll help you remember. Every day, for as long as it takes.”

She didn’t answer right away, but her thumb brushed across the back of my hand, slow and thoughtful. “I know,” she said quietly. “I believe you. I just needed to say it.”

I nodded once, eyes back on the road. The house was just ahead now. The hardest weeks of our lives waited behind those doors, ticking down one quiet day at a time.

And I knew she wouldn’t stop asking questions.

Soon, I’d have to stop pretending I had answers.

We pulled into the driveway slowly. The sky above Forks was the same washed-out gray it always seemed to be, but there was a stillness to it today. Like even the clouds were holding their breath.

I shifted the car into park, but neither of us moved.

Bella sat with her hands in her lap, her thumb worrying the edge of her sleeve. I watched her from the corner of my eye, waiting.

Finally, she spoke.

“I don’t want to go inside yet.”

I turned toward her. “We can stay here as long as you like.”

She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “Do you think it’ll always feel like this? Like there’s something waiting on the other side of every silence?”

I looked out at the woods, the house, the horizon that led nowhere and everywhere. “Maybe not always. But for now… yes.”

She nodded faintly. “It’s exhausting.”

I reached for her hand again. This time she met me halfway. “You don’t have to carry all of it alone.”

“I know,” she said. And I believed she did. But she wasn’t letting it go either.

Her eyes opened, searching mine. “Tell me something true. Something simple.”

I thought for a moment. Then said, “This is the most afraid I’ve ever been. Not of them. Of losing you. Of not doing enough…” Of them destroying everything I love.

She turned toward me fully, our knees almost touching. “That’s what I’m afraid of too,” she whispered. “Only in reverse.”

For a while, we sat there like that—holding on to each other in the quiet, wrapped in the honesty of fear, and the quiet defiance of choosing to stay anyway.

When the moment passed, she nodded toward the house. “We should go in.”

I kissed the back of her hand before letting it go. “We’ll take today one moment at a time.”

We stepped out of the car, side by side, but I lingered behind for just a second, watching her walk toward the house.

Coming back to Forks—coming back to her—had shifted something in me. Or maybe it had only revealed the truth I’d been too stubborn to face before.

I was weak where she was concerned.

Not in the careless way I’d once feared, but in the quiet, consuming way that left me incapable of refusing her. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was love. Maybe it was both. But I knew, with absolute certainty, that I would give her anything she asked for.

And not because I felt I owed her, though I did. But because I wanted to. Because I’d already taken too much from her—time, trust, peace. I would never take again. Only give. And if that meant surrendering every ounce of control I had, day in and day out, for the rest of eternity… then I would.

Gladly.

I reached the front steps and opened the door for her. She looked back and smiled faintly.

I followed her in.

We walked into the house and I immediately noticed the silence. The living room was empty, though I didn’t need to ask where everyone was. Their minds had already told me this morning: each of them was with the one they loved. Trying to hold onto normalcy. Or perhaps bracing for the storm.

Alice passed us without a word, her expression unreadable as she disappeared up the stairs. The weight of what was coming hung over all of us. I hated what it was doing to my family—how it hollowed even Alice’s spirit.

I thought of her suggestion again: to change Bella now.

The idea pulled at me. I knew that with a single word, Carlisle would be at my side in seconds.

But I pushed it away.

It wouldn’t help. Not now. Not this close. I didn’t believe the Volturi would show mercy if Bella was already turned. This was no longer about rules—it was about power. About control. About eliminating a threat before it had the chance to become one.

So I would give her what little time was left. Let her feel sunlight on her skin, hear her father’s voice, walk on a beach if she wanted to. Let her feel human. Alive.

My thoughts turned darker as I followed her into the dining room. The pain of it carved slow and deep. I’d never get to keep her. And when she was gone, I would follow. It was the only future I could allow myself to accept.

Carlisle believed we had souls. I clung to that belief now. Because if he was wrong, this time—this fleeting time—was all I would ever have of her. There would be no eternity. Just now. Just this.

***

She sat across from me, hunched over a notebook, scrawling her way through a calculus problem, muttering softly to herself. The normalcy of it struck me. She looked peaceful—focused. Like there wasn’t a clock ticking behind her back.

I let my eyes follow the familiar line of her spine, her shoulders, her arms. Her right arm was still braced, healing. Her left rested in front of me on the table. I reached for her hand and she gave it freely, without looking up. Only a small smile tugged at her lips.

I turned her hand in mine, tracing the lines of her palm with my thumb. I memorized it. Then I turned it over again, my gaze catching on the ring circling her finger.

I twirled it gently, reverently, before lifting her hand and brushing a kiss across her knuckles.

Of all the things I couldn’t give her—the life, the children, the years she deserved—there was still one thing I could. Something I’d wanted from the beginning.

My name.

I thought of the tickets Carlisle and Esme had given her for her birthday. And the pieces started to fall into place.