I rub my eyes with the palm of my hands before finally opening them. I already know it is much too early to be awake on a day off, judging by the small bit of sunshine peeking through the curtains in front of the windows that overlook the beach.

I'm still staring at the ceiling.

I can see the glow of the alarm clock that sits on my bedside table in my peripheral vision.

I turn my head an inch.

I groan.

6:48 a.m.

I knew it.

I'm used to it. This is how most of my days go.

Ten minutes pass.

I finally decide to roll out of bed. I swing my legs over the side of the too-big bed until my feet touch the cold, hardwood floor.

Ow.

My head is throbbing. I don't remember drinking the night before… maybe I had a glass of wine too many.

I stretch my arms above my head until my back cracks, ignoring my throbbing head. I drop my arms with a sigh and slowly stand up and make my way into the master bathroom. On my way to the bathroom I pass the calendar tacked to the wall above my dresser.

December 5.

Four months ago today.

I shake my head and choke down the sob that tries to make its way out of my chest. I stumble into the bathroom and lean over the sink and look into the large mirror hung on the wall.

I look like hell.

My eyes are bloodshot and puffy, I have dark circles under my eyes proving the lack of sleep the past three months, and my hair looks like it hasn't been brushed in that same amount of time.

I lift my hand to run my fingers through my unruly hair but stop short when sparkling on my left ring finger catches my eye. I put my hand out in front of me to study the engagement ring and wedding band that sit on my fourth finger.

While my older sister, Rosalie, tells me I should remove them, I refuse to do so. I finger the rings slightly with my thumb before shaking my head and opening the medicine cabinet to take out the bottle of Advil kept in there. After taking two, I turn around to turn on the shower.

I turn on the hot water first, then the cold, and wait for the desired temperature. I stand up and quickly strip out of my pajamas, not wanting to prolong standing in the frigid bathroom. I stand under the warm stream of water getting my hair wet and reach for the shampoo bottle closest to me.

It's his shampoo.

Again I blink back tears that want to fall and slowly open the bottle. It's his Axe Shampoo. The same type of shampoo I always teased him about, saying he just wanted to be like the boys in those commercials, getting attacked by random girls just because they had good-smelling hair. He always winked at me before running his fingers through his own hair, making me giggle like a teenage girl.

I pour a small dollop into the palm of my hand and apply it into my hair with my fingertips. I rinse the shampoo out and decide to skip the conditioner. After completely rinsing myself off, I turn the off the shower, grab a towel, and proceed to dry off.

Since it is my day off, I decide to dress myself in warm sweat pants and a t-shirt with a sweatshirt thrown on top. I throw my hair up into a wet ponytail, brush my teeth, and then decide to wander around the house in search of something to eat for breakfast.

On my way to the kitchen something catches my eye. It's a letter. It's the letter. I'm no longer hungry.

It is not just any letter. It is a death notification. It lies unopened on the table next to the phone. I didn't need to open it. The letter came after I was notified by an officer.

I can remember that day clearly. It had been a completely normal day. It was sunny, not a cloud in the sky. I honestly hadn't expected anything to go wrong. My sister was over to keep me company, since we both had days off and her husband, Emmett, who was a doctor, was busy working at the hospital.

I can remember that Rosalie and I were laughing over something while making ourselves some lunch. There was a knock at the door and I was still laughing a bit as I opened the door to see who our visitor was. As soon as I saw the uniforms my laughter was cut off and I could feel the blood instantly leave my face.

It was an officer and a medic. I knew there was a third officer in the car. I knew how it worked. My husband had explained it to me before he left.

"No," was the only word that left my mouth and the officers hadn't even told me the news, but they knew I knew why they were here. Tears were already streaming down my face when Rosalie entered from behind me.

"What's going on here?" she asked. She had no idea.

I didn't hear the officers answer her. I didn't hear them explain that my husband of only eight months was killed on duty in Afghanistan. I didn't hear that he had died protecting one of his fellow soldiers.

I hardly remember screaming at the officers telling them to leave with my sister holding me back, probably fearing I would attack them. I don't blame her; I probably would have.

After the officers had left, Rosalie had sat me down on the couch in the living room where I barely moved. She got up to make phone calls to the rest of the family. I could feel more of me fall apart each time I heard her say "Edward's dead" over the phone.

I didn't answer my sister when she returned to ask me if I was alright. Of course I wasn't. Would you?

I barely spoke to my family the weeks following the dreadful news. The funeral came and went and I continued to ignore everybody I knew. The only people I talked to were my patients. As a psychologist I had to talk to somebody, just not about me and my problems. I always was a hypocrite.

I went a month without speaking to anybody but I was quickly becoming tired of the phone ringing off the hook and messages being left asking if I was ever going to talk to anybody. I spoke to my mother first, and only briefly. I called everyone just to assure them that I was indeed still alive and I just didn't want to talk about it.

I turned down all outings with friends, lunch with my sister, and family dinners. I wanted time alone. Four months still isn't a lot of time.

I throw the letter back on the table and look at the time.

8:05.

The phone would probably start ringing in half an hour. I stand there contemplating on what to do with myself. I walk back into the bedroom and pull on some warm socks and some shoes. I throw on a hat and a scarf and walk towards the back door leading to the beach.

Even before Edward died I always walked on the beach by myself. It was peaceful, especially early in the morning when most people were still sleeping. Edward and I had married on this beach. When stating our vows, we hadn't believed "…until death do us part" would come into play so soon.

Soon after the wedding he surprised me with the beautiful house I am currently still living in. Though it doesn't seem so beautiful. It feels dark and empty, no longer a home. I walk far down the beach, where most people never go, to my and Edward's favorite spot.

I sit down on one of the rocks and pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. I ignore the cold, winter air and stare out into the ocean. The sky is still orange with the still rising the sun. I look up at the sky and wish Edward were here with me.

"I miss you," I whisper, bringing my legs closer to my body, allowing the tears to really fall.

"I've missed you, too," I hear to my right.

My heart feels like it's going to beat out of my chest as I sit up straight and slowly turn towards the very familiar voice that I haven't heard in four months.

"It's impossible." My voice cracks. There, standing just a few feet in front of me, is my husband. The same husband that I was told was killed. I close my eyes and shake my head, expecting him to vanish when I reopen my eyes.

He doesn't.

"Edward?" I squeak. The corner of his mouth lifts up into a small smile. It's a sad smile but I don't question it too long because I'm already running towards him.

I take a running leap into his arms, just like you see in the movies. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck while his arms are tight around my torso. He slowly places me back onto my feet but his hands are still on my waist.

I move my hands so they're cupping his face. I stare into his eyes. They're still the bright, emerald green that I remember. He is nearly a foot taller than I am and I smile slightly as I look almost straight up to look at his face. His reddish-brown hair has grown back to a length I can run my fingers through like I used to before he shaved it when he joined the Army.

He looks thin. Too thin. I don't like it. He also has a scar starts at his temple and ends near his chin. He's keeping his eyes on me as I trace the ragged scar with my index finger. I open my mouth to ask how he got it but quickly decide against it.

I don't think I want to know.

"How did you know I was here?" I ask instead. He lifts one of his hands and uses his thumb to wipe a tear away from my already tear stained face. I'm not even aware that tears are still falling.

"I figured you would be here since you weren't home when I got there," he answers after a moment. He smiles when he looks down. "You're wearing my sweatshirt."

"I am," I laugh a little. I did not pay attention to which sweatshirt I had pulled on when I left the house earlier. I look down to see I am wearing his old Citadel sweatshirt. I stick my hands in the pockets when I realize how cold I actually am.

Edward turns me around and places an arm around my hunched shoulders. We walk back towards the house in silence. I see my neighbor, Angela, walking in our direction and I take a hand out of my pocket to wave enthusiastically at her.

She doesn't notice.

I look up at Edward and notice his jaw is tense and he looks sad again. He shifts slightly so his hold on me is tighter. I don't mind. I snuggle closer into his side and before we know it we are back at the house.

As soon as we are in the house and the door is shut, I am back in Edward's arms. He's warm and he smells good. I don't want to move from this spot but I know my feet are going to hurt after a while.

I reluctantly pull myself away from my husband's embrace and look up at him.

"Would you like to change into something else?" I ask, motioning to his uniform that he is still wearing. "Your clothes are still here," I say softly, looking down and messing with the rings on my finger.

"You're still wearing your rings." He sounds surprised. He holds both of my hands in his own and kisses my knuckles.

"You're still wearing yours," I say, my hands still in his.

"It's a little banged up… but yeah, I'm still wearing it." He looks sheepish. I could care less if it had lost its color, was bent beyond repair, or, at this point, was lost. All I care about is that he is here. He is here, standing in front of me, and he is safe. He is not going back there. I won't allow it.

"You never answered my question."

"No."

"No?"

"No, I don't want to change."

I shrug it off. I don't want him to leave my sight anyway. We both walk over to the couch and sit down. I curl back up into his side and he wraps an arm around my shoulders once more.

"Do you want to watch T.V.? Should we call people? You know, to let them know that you're OK?" He cuts me off with a shake of his head.

"No. Can we just… be?" I nod my head and rest my head back on his shoulder.

There is so much I want to ask him. I still don't understand how he can be here when I was told that he was dead and was never coming back to me. Why does he look so sad? I have so many questions, but right now I can't bring myself to ask them. For some of them, I fear the answer.

We lie there in silence and only a few minutes pass when I feel him relax and his arm around my shoulders slacken.

He fell asleep.

I lift my head to stare at him. I used to tell him how creepy it was when he would watch me sleep at night while he couldn't, but now I found myself doing it to him. I don't stare at him long because I find myself started to nod off.

I wake up a few hours later to the feeling of fingers through my hair. I take a minute to remember where I am and who could be doing that to me. I gasp and sit up straight and stare into my husband's amused eyes.

"I'm really here," he says. He always knew what I was thinking. He always knew me better than I knew myself. He stands up as I stare at him. He kisses my temple then walks towards the bathroom.

I rub my face with my hands roughly. I drop my hands into my lap and turn my head and look at my phone that is sitting on the table. I stand up slowly, allowing the feeling in my legs to return. I walk over to the table and pick up the little electronic device.

0 New Messages.

I look at the clock.

5:47 p.m.

I find this odd. I never have less than ten missed calls and text messages from my family by three o'clock. How is it that I don't have any at a quarter to six?

I decide to call my sister myself and quickly dial her number. It rings six times before she picks up.

"Hello?" Rosalie's voice cracks. She sounds upset.

"Rosalie?" I ask, uncertain. I've never seen my sister cry, and hearing her do so over the phone is unsettling.

"Is someone there?" I'm getting more confused by the second.

"It's Isabella. Bella? Your sister?" I pull the phone away from my ear and check to make sure I had dialed the right number and that I had service where I was standing.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Rosalie's voice switches from quiet and upset to loud and angry.

"Excuse me…?"

"And how did you get this phone?"

"What are you talking about? It's mine…"

"Listen, go find someone else to prank call and don't call this number again." I hear a click from the other line and know she just hung up on me. I am not sure how to respond to that. My sister just hung up on me because she couldn't hear me and assumed I was someone else.

"Don't call her back," I hear from behind me, causing me to jump and drop the phone. "Sorry." He looks sad again.

"Why?"

"Just don't. Please." He's begging. "Please, just trust me?" I nod but I'm getting more confused as our time together continues.

I decide tomorrow is the day I ask all of my questions. For the time being, I decide to make us some dinner. Edward watches as I walk around the kitchen and finally place the plates full of spaghetti on the kitchen table.

We eat in silence, and before long Edward's picking up our empty plates and begins washing them in the kitchen sink.

"Let me do that," I interrupt him, trying to grab the plate out of his grasp, but he quickly lifts the plate out of my reach, grinning down at me while I fold my arms across my chest and glare at him, a glare which fails miserably because I start to laugh.

"Let me do this?" he asks. "It's been a while since I've done something…normal."

"Fine, but let me dry." He nods and continues washing the few dishes that have been placed in the sink since the day before. Again, we are silent. I glance over at him while he slowly scrubs a plate clean. He is no longer wearing his jacket, just a sand colored t-shirt that reveals his pale arms. While still thin, his arms are still muscular.

I place the final dish into the drying rack and turn around so my back is resting against the sink. Edward does the same. The silence we keep encountering seems to be a reoccurring theme. I feel him shift beside me and soon his fingers are being interlaced with mine. He gives them a light squeeze before pulling me away from the counter and back towards the living room.

After we're settled onto the couch, I pick up the remote to turn on the television. I'm about to change the channel away from the current local new station that it's currently on, but I pause when I hear my name being mentioned in the current story.

Edward tries to snatch the remote from my grasp, but I hold it out of his reach and turn my head to try and hear why my name would be mentioned on the local news. Edward's grip on my right hand tightens, almost painfully, but I ignore it, becoming too shocked at what I'm hearing.

"…Local citizen, Isabella Masen, was proclaimed dead this morning after a head on collision around 9:30 last night…"

I glance at Edward briefly, not believing what I'm hearing. I turn back to the television just as a picture of myself and Edward from our wedding day comes up on the screen. I still can't believe what I'm hearing. I can't be dead. I'm right here. Edward's here.

Edward.

I abruptly stand up and take a step backwards away from the couch and the television. Edward looks at me with a look of concern and slowly stands up but doesn't take a step forward.

"Bella…"

"I don't…" I close my eyes and swallow. "I don't understand."

"You were in a car accident…"

"No!" I shout. "It's not possible. I'm here. You're here. You're not dead."

He doesn't respond. His silence confirms my fears.

Certain lines from the movie "The Sixth Sense" make their way into my mind:

"I see dead people…"

"They don't know they're dead…"

"They only see what they want to see…"

I remember my headache from this morning and try to think back to last night.

I got ready for bed.

I made some tea.

I realized I had no milk.

I jumped in the car to get some milk at the gas station in my pajamas.

I was driving back.

I saw headlights up ahead but realized too late they're in the wrong lane…

"Oh God…" I sob, my knees buckling. Edward catches me before I hit the floor but we make no move to stand back up. It's then I realize why Rosalie hadn't heard anybody on the other line and why she sounded so upset…

I wasn't really there.

It also explains Edward's return when I was told he died.

"You came back for me," I whisper.

He kisses my temple and nods his head.

"I promised you I would," he says. A strangled laugh is released from my throat as I nod. He had promised he would return.

Only, I hadn't imagined his homecoming to be like this.

"What happens now?" I whisper, the tears still streaming down my face. I tighten my grip on his arms that are wrapped around me when I feel him shift.

"I don't know," he answers, his voice just as low.

"Are we going to see the light or something?" I ask, mostly serious. He snorts behind me and I turn my head to look at him.

The smile on his face is a genuine smile. It's the smile I've been waiting to see for four months. I pull on my hands away from the grip I have on his arm and reach up and touch his face. He chuckles at me again before leaning forward and his warm lips meet mine.

"Stop laughing at me," I murmur against his lips, though I can't help but laugh at myself now that I realize how ridiculous my question was.

Though our current predicament isn't exactly normal either.

"I honestly don't know what happens now," he finally answers, leaning his forehead against mine.

I lean up and kiss him again and slowly pull away before curling up beside him in a more comfortable position.

"I love you, Edward."

"I love you, too, my Isabella."

I don't care what happens next, as long as he's here with me.

RPOV

I'm standing looking out of my sister's kitchen window that overlooks Folly Beach, the same window I always caught Bella staring out of when she was missing her husband, Edward.

The reception that followed Bella's funeral is currently being held in the living room of Bella and Edward's house. It has been a week since my sister's fatal car accident. I never thought I would lose both my brother-in-law and my sister so suddenly, especially in such short time of each other.

Bella and I have always been close, well… had been close. Following Edward's death overseas, my sister had become detached, hardly speaking to anybody. I now wish I had been more sympathetic with her beloved's death. Thinking about it now, if it had been my husband Emmett that died, I don't know what I would do with myself. Knowing my sister is now six feet under ground is nearly killing me.

I feel more tears make their way down my face and I make no move to wipe them away. I hear quiet footsteps behind me and soon a small hand is being placed on my shoulder.

Alice.

"You doing okay, Rose?" she asks me, her voice no louder than a whisper.

"I'm fine," I lie. Alice Cullen is Emmett's sister and Edward's cousin. After Edward's parents died when he was eight years old, he moved to live with his Aunt and Uncle, Esme and Carlisle, and their two children Alice and Emmett.

"Emmett's worried about you," she says, ignoring my lie. "He's pacing around the living room. He almost didn't let me in here, saying you 'needed your space,' but I came in anyway," she continues with a slight giggle.

I can't help but smile. She would ignore her brother and come check on me.

"I'll be fine, Alice," I say, my eyes leaving the window and turning to look at her. "It's just… I'm really going to miss my sister."

"We all are," she says, her smile fading. "But think on the bright side, maybe she's happier now."

I'm giving her a quizzical look, and another smile makes its way onto her elfin face. "She's going to be with Edward now. Though it's under an unfortunate circumstance, at least she'll be happy."

She was right. She always is. That's all I wanted for Bella. And while she may not be here living on Earth, at least she'll be happy, no matter where she is.

"You're right," I say aloud, wiping the tears off of my face.

"I know I am," she responds with a wink.

I chuckle as she quickly turns and leaves the kitchen, just as my husband makes his way in, watching me wearily.

"I'm okay," I say with a smile and make my way into his muscular arms.

"You're sure?" he asks, uncertain.

"I will be," I add. He nods slowly before reaching for my hand and pulling me back out into the living room, where our families and friends are sitting around.

Everybody's here; our parents Renee and Charlie, Carlisle, Esme, some of Bella's colleagues, and even our childhood friends, Jacob and Billy Black.

I smile at each of them and glance over to the table in the small dining room. Sitting on top of it is Bella's phone. Without thinking I release myself from Emmett's grasp and make my way over the table. I'm remembering the prank call from my sister's cell phone earlier this week.

I pick up the small cellular device and flip it open. As I find where the dialed numbers are recorded I notice the silence that has fallen around me. I look at the last recorded phone call that Bella made.

December 5, 2010 5:48 P.M.
Rosalie

I quickly put the phone down when I suddenly feel like somebody else is in the room. I turn around and look but the only people are the people here for the reception, which are currently looking at me curiously.

"Babe, are you alright?" Emmett asks, looking concerned once again.

"I'm fine. I…" I glance at the phone again. "I… it's nothing."

The feeling of another presence is gone but I suddenly feel very calm. I glance up again and I know that my sister was here. Our guests are staring at me like I'm going to lose it but I assure them I'm fine. I'm more than fine.

I turn away from the phone and quickly return to everybody. I don't speak about what just happened.

I know my sister was here. I also know that she is happy.

Wherever she is.