Despite his love for Bella, Charlie was not blind; he’d seen her devotion to our relationship and her commitment to me very early on. Before I'd even left Forks, he constantly worried about the intensity of our connection. And, ultimately, as he frequently pointed out in his own mind, I had proven that his concerns were valid. I'd destroyed her life, I'd abandoned her, I'd left her in the woods. The woods…

And yet, despite the contempt he felt for me, and my sadness at the realization that I would probably never regain his trust, I'd still developed a very sincere admiration for Charlie. In truth, our aspirations for Bella were identical. His concerns for Bella, her future, and her happiness were for both of us, a longing. Although he’d said little to her about his true feelings, he worried constantly, just the same as I did. Only, the difference between us rested in the reality of my relationship with Bella.

Unlike Charlie, I was aware of the particularly impossible variables at work, such as the fact that my involvement in Bella's life was tragically ironic. We could not be apart, nor could we remain stationary and to pursue either course would equal the destruction of our lives, or in my case, my existence. And it was my involvement in her life that placed all of our dreams at risk. Everyday.

But, it was also very true that since Italy, things between Bella and I had changed. I knew all too well that the future was not set in stone. Somehow, it felt now as if our lives were directed towards some irreversible course. I couldn't quite pinpoint the source of that feeling or premonition, but it was true that we were inseparable now.

Yet, the essential question was: would our course be ruinous and lead to inevitable destruction? Of that, I wasn't certain. I’d tried to rationalize that we'd been on that course of inevitable destruction once and survived; Italy truly had changed everything in many ways. Yes, we had survived…

It was a feeble consolation and yet reassuring.

I bounced that thought around again, struggling to make sense of the feelings of satisfaction encouraged by the very reminder of Volterra. I wasn't certain why I'd felt it, but it was too strong to ignore. It seemed so ridiculous to feel satisfied at the notion that surviving the Volturi once somehow meant that we were past some kind of obstacle. If we were passing obstacles, what was truly the end result? I knew the answer to that. But, I was too cowardly to face it.