Submitted Fic of the Week: 10/17/11

October 20, 2011

Making Memories of Us by AngelGoddess1981
Reviewed by phoebes.promise

Rating: M
Genre: Angst/Tragedy
Characters: Edward & Bella

Summary: Edward & Bella's life together couldn't have been more perfect: their courtship, marriage & the birth of their beautiful baby girl. When tragedy strikes, can this family pull through? Rated M for language, dark themes & adult situations. AU/AH/BxE

AngelGoddess1981’s powerful storytelling will quickly sweep you into the most beautifully told pain and angst. Within the first chapter past go, Making Memories of Us will grip you in a helpless hold, begging and anxious for the next.

Edward and Bella in perfect romantic soul sold form of love began a path of successful, picket fence life to envy…

"Since that day I saved you from that football in our senior year of high school, I knew that we were fated to be together." I stated with a light chuckle. 

Bella's eyes widened in realization. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Edward Cullen?" Her chest began to heave with her heavy breaths. I pulled a small black box from my pocket and dropped to one knee beside her. "Put it away," she hissed. 

I laughed and looked her in the eyes as I took her shaking left hand in mine. "Isabella Marie Swan, I can't imagine my life without you. Marry me?" 

I opened the ring box and her breath caught in her throat. "It's beautiful," she whispered as she looked down at the half-carat princess cut solitaire ring nestled in the blue velvet pillow. She raised her tear-filled eyes and smiled. "Yes." 

My heart soared with joy as I took the ring and placed it on her finger, where it would stay forever. I stood and pulled her into my arms, and our parents started to applaud, which only caused the rest of the restaurant to join in on the celebratory cheers. 

I pressed my lips to Bella's, and could feel her smile against my mouth. "Forever, Bella. Without a doubt, you are my forever." 

However, as milestones drift and morph to years, layers of their story become raw reality, peppered with hints of truth. A marriage deteriorating, a sweet baby girl growing to know the only parent ever present. Flashbacks laid tenderly throughout each chapter tell and show the brutality of post partum depression and it’s emotional, physical torture. Bella’s battle so severe, it left her desperate, medicated and monitored.

I stood from the bed and gripped her waist firmly as I placed a kiss to her nose. "We always said we wanted more than one," I reminded her. "You loved being pregnant." 

She placed her hands on my jaw and smiled. "I did. It was wonderful, and one of the best experiences of my life. But the year after?" 

The memory of that dark time stung to the very centre of my being. "There's a chance that you wouldn't experience that again," I breathed. 

She shook her head. "And also a chance I could. Edward, you were there, you saw just how bad it was. I missed most of the first six months of her life." 

I smiled reassuringly and spoke softly, "I remember, but now we know what to look for, we'd be better prepared to handle it." 

Her face fell. "I'd be medicated again," she whispered sadly. 

"Again?" Placing my fingers beneath her chin, I forced her face up. "Bella, have you gone off your meds?" She didn't have to answer, her eyes spoke volumes. "Love, was Tanya okay with that?" 

Bella pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. "It's been a year since I started them. They made me feel foggy, so I stopped taking them slowly. And I've been doing really well these last two months." She paused for a moment before looking at me with conviction. "Even you couldn't tell the difference," she tried to explain. 

I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration. "So, you're telling me you came off your meds, and your psychiatrist has no idea?" 

"I am," she replied confidently. "I'm also telling you I'm not interested in having any more children. At least…not for awhile." She turned from me then and closed herself in the bathroom. 

Family and close friends become key players, supporting… knowing… the past and the present. It is only in Edward’s periphery relationships that he’ll find the healing and hope he craves and needs. A simple phrase, a turn and telling changes the trail to the end. Incredibly well thought and planned, AngelGoddess1981 will have you so wrapped in their world you won’t believe the page and words.

Gentle as it could be the most bittersweet glue and threads remain in the love between father and daughter. This is a beautiful bond that stirs and warms throughout the piece. Edward’s selfless devotion to his child’s heart and mind is intense and poignantly written…

"I drew you a picture, Daddy!" she told me excitedly. She ran over to my bed—where her pink baby blanket was now folded on top of my pillow—and grabbed an eight-by-eleven piece of white poster board. I stood up and moved to my bed, sitting on the edge, and pulled Nessie onto my lap so she could present me with her gift. My emotions caught in my throat as I looked at the image she had drawn with crayons.

"This is me right there," she said animatedly, pointing with her finger to the picture of herself. "You can tell 'cause I has red hair. I'm wearing a blue dress because blue is your favourite colour." 

She turned her head up to look at me. "Do you still like blue, Daddy?" her voice wavered with the uncertainty, afraid that maybe I had changed since being here. 

"Yes, bug. I still like blue," I assured her as I tucked a loose curl behind her ear before turning my attention back to her drawing. With a smile, I pointed at the person standing next to her. "And who's this handsome man?" 

Nessie giggled. "That's you, silly! Can't you see?" 

Though complete, Making Memories of Us, features a few lovely, important outtakes that only enhance the emotional journey of love, suffering and renewal. There are authored warnings throughout the postings, heed them for certain, but please don’t allow them to deter your experience. This is a stunning, wonderfully complicated peek of life and love’s greatest challenges.


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