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The Short Life of Lily King

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1948


“I had a baby,” 

 

The words flow out of her mouth almost on there own. Once it’s out she can’t help the fear that washes over her. But there’s a relief there too, a beautiful feeling of relief now that she no longer has to hold her secret so close to her chest, stealing her breath and lying heavy in her heart. 

 

Once her words are finally out, she continues quickly, not allowing her love a moment to interject. It was like a dam had broken inside her, everything rushing out all at once. “Before Carlisle, before—with Royce I mean. Before everything that happened. I had a baby.” 

 

Royce

 

How she hated that name. 

 

How she hated how much of a hold he had over her even though he was long dead. How she hated how the very memory of him filled her with fear even though she was now might as well be a god on earth. One made of marble. Unbreakable. Powerful. Unable to be hurt by mortal men the way she had been that horrible night.

 

She was safe now. Truly safe. She knows this. She knows Emmet is nothing like Royce. She knows that the man beside her is far too kind to treat her the way her ex-fiancée had done. 

 

And yet her instinct is to tense, to expect her warm gentle bear of a man to turn into something cruel and ugly. To validate the fear that Royce had placed in her heart so long ago. 

 

But as quickly as these thoughts flit into her mind they're dashed away by strong arms that pull her close, cradling her. Emmet’s embrace couldn't truly be described as warm—none of them were warm anymore. But it was warm in a way. Warm and comforting. Warm with the love she’d so craved and often felt she did not deserve.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Emmet asks softly.

 

Vampires don’t produce tears. It’s impossible for Rosalie to cry. But that does nothing to stop the anguish feelings that begin to spill out of her. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she croaks. It’s odd that she has never felt more human then she does now, when she’s in pain. While she waits for the flow of tears that’ll never come. “I should’ve told you before but I didn’t-I didn’t know how…couldn’t…it’s was just so hard—!”

 

It really is wrong that she’s waited so long to tell him. They’d fallen in love so quickly. Soulmates. Two pieces of a whole, completely devoted to each other. Their love burning hot and fast. But there was still so much they didn’t know about each other.  

 

Emmet was always an open-book. Extroverted and honest. There was no question she could ask that he wasn’t willing to answer. So really it was Emmet who only knew carefully chosen bits and pieces about her past. He never pried. He never pushed her to face things if she wasn’t ready. And she loved him for that.  

 

The piece of her life that was Royce had been a hard thing to disclose. But it was necessary. It was too raw and impossible to hide. Not when she’d flinch despite herself whenever Emmet tried to hold her or touch her in a more intimate way.  

 

She’d expected him to reject her. Throw her away as a ruined woman; broken and dirty. That was how it happened with girls around when she was growing-up. Girls, who were disparaged and sneered at and called dirty little slut and filthy whores. Written off as damaged goods by society.

 

She’d waited for him to act like everyone else. For him to call her all manner of filthy words before throwing her away like she was something sickening. But that hadn’t happened. Instead he’d held her like he was now, apologizing profusely before spitting venom at the men who’d hurt her. 

 

Rosalie had loved Emmet the moment she’d laid eyes on him. But it was then that she felt truly confident that he loved her in return. Loved her. Not just her beauty, but her . Rosalie Hale. Ugly pieces and all.



It was this love that pushed her to come clean today, finally ready to lay bare such a big piece of herself with the man she planned to spend eternity with. Things like love and marriage could only survive if things were equal. 

 

Equal trust; that was what she was showing today. Showing that she was finally ready to trust him with the memory of the one thing she held most dear.

 

“Tell me about your baby.” He asks, his arms wrapped around her. 

 

Not ‘tell me what happened to your baby ’ and for that Rosalie is greatful. That's a story for another time. For when she’s ready. She knows he’ll wait for her. 

 

“Her name was Lily,” she answers, her voice cracking as she becomes lost in her memories, “and she was the most beautiful baby in the world.”