The Journal of Carlisle Cullen, 13 September.

It all started out so well. Alice was beside herself with the prospect of getting to plan a party for Bella, and Edward - though putting up at least a mild front of trying to calm his sister down - was actually enjoying himself. Emmett placated both Rosalie and himself by installing the new stereo system he had acquired into Bella's decrepit truck; Esme went to the Staples to find envelopes that her tickets to Jacksonville would fit into without bending them. Paper. All it took was paper. Oh, Edward's piano. I had to be the doctor. Stitch up the love of Edward's eternity, make sure she was safe. Bella of course had other concerns. "I look at my...son. His strength, his goodness, the brightness that shines out of him -- and it only fuels that hope, that faith, more than ever. How could there not be more for one such as Edward? I burned the used gauze and blood trail; I listened to those trying to talk Jasper down and calm him - he was projecting like a madman and I felt his grief at the lack of control in my chest. Even my wife could not bear it, and I could not go to her. I tried to explain it all to Bella. I have to make her understand. "Tonight is exactly the kind of thing that he fears the most. You being put in danger, because of what we are." It did not work and I know it. I do not have enough sutures for this. C.C.