A/N

Soo, I'm back. This story (formerly known as This Free Life) is back. I really had no idea where this story was going and I dropped off writing it because of that. But I have spent a long time thinking about it and I'm excited about finishing it.

THERE ARE CHANGES TO THIS STORY. I doubt anyone remembers a relatively unknown story from years ago, but if they do: It's different now. Very different. This comes from me having a much better understanding of the characters and plot. I almost deleted it and just started afresh, but a few people had it on alert, and I wanted to give everyone a chance to see it if they wanted it.

It's a lot heavier. Not so much angsty, but definitely heavy.

I hope to inject moments of levity into this story in a way that doesn't come across too jarring. The things the characters are facing are serious, but they're also still kids. I want them to have fun.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1

BPOV

"I really don't think this is a good idea, Bella. " Renee grips my arm tightly, pulling me to a dead stop in the middle of the busy airport traffic. The crowd parts around us as people frantically try to find their gates while my mother pleads with me to abandon mine. I sigh, feeling weary.

"We've talked about this, Mom." I keep my voice low and patient like I'm talking to a small child rather than the woman who's supposed to be in charge of me. "Dad is so lost now that Sue is gone. And with a toddler and a baby...it's a lot right now, Mom."

Immediately, I can tell this was not the right thing to say. Renee's eyebrows raise as her mouth puckers and her arms cross. "It is absolutely not your job to raise his kids, Isabella. You should be making decisions based on what is best for you. You're the child, not him,"

The burning hypocrisy of her statement courses through my veins like acid. I wonder if that's the first time in the history of my life that it's occurred to Renee what I am.

A child.

Most days, I think she labeled my place in her life as 'burden' and left it at that.

"This was my idea, not Charlie's," That's true, at least. He didn't ask me to move. Didn't even imply that I should.

But what else was I going to do?

Leave another two kids to raise themselves?

That was mean. I think to myself. And unfair. Maybe. Renee took off with me in the middle of the night, two days shy of my first birthday. She didn't exactly ask Charlie's permission.

Renee never asked anyone's permission. She did what she wanted, when she wanted, with no regard to anyone or anything around her.

But still.

Dad didn't exactly hunt me down. Didn't beg to see me. He honored his twice a year commitment with seeming happiness. Paid his child support on time. Never missed a birthday or a Christmas.

He was kind. Loving. He worked hard to make me laugh. Spent every second of my time in Forks entertaining me, playing with me, taking me here and there. Building a wonky kind of family down on the reservation, surrounding me with people who cared.

He was a good dad.

For the seven weeks out of the year that he had to be one.

Not fair. My brain chimes. And I'm right. Or I'm wrong. I never told Charlie what was going on with Renee. Never. I was the queen of avoidance and careful half-truths and pretending to be happy when I wanted to scream.

How could he know I needed him if I never told him?

Or maybe he should have pushed harder.

He loved me. I knew that. I never questioned that. And I loved him. Very, very much.

But I spent my whole life wondering if he really wanted me.

"And what about me," Renee sniffs dramatically, cutting off my cheery thoughts. "I'm your mother, you kn-"

An announcement booms across the airport. My flight is boarding. No more time for the guilt trip Renee had no doubt been working hard on. She makes a last effort.

"Bella, please. You hate Forks, honey."

I hate you.

Whoa. That was harsh. I feel so guilty that I hesitate for a moment, stopping my slow walk toward the attendant. Renee sees an opportunity, but I cut her off as she opens her mouth.

My decision has been made and I am steadfast.

"I have to go now, Mom. I'll call you when I get ho-" I stop short again and try again. "When I get to Charlie's." I peck her cheek, an unusual gesture no doubt driven by my mean thought moments ago, maneuver myself out of her death grip, and hand my boarding pass over. I feel a nervous, keyed up energy flowing through my veins as I take my seat on the plane, like at any moment Renee is going to bust in and demand I go with her. The feeling doesn't dissipate until we're flying 35,000 feet above all the emotional baggage I've left behind.

I close my eyes and try not to think about the emotional baggage waiting for me on the other side of this trip.

"Never have children, John," Renee's voice wafts from the front seat of the car. John's car. He's nice. Way nicer than Tim. Or Jackson. Or the guy before that whose name I don't remember who always smelled like gasoline.

I'm laying across the back seat, pretending I'm still asleep. I open my eyes the tiniest bit, just in time to see John's head turn toward me for a half-second before looking back at the road.

"Bella's right there, Renee." John admonishes quietly.

"She's asleep."

"Still."

"I'm just saying! So much work and for what!? Constant whining and demands and needs. It's exhausting!"

My eyes welled up. I was trying so hard to be a good girl. I didn't ask for the My Little Pony toy at the grocery store last week and I made my own dinner the past three nights. I walked myself to the bus stop and I didn't even cry when I fell down the front steps and scraped my hands.

But momma was never, ever happy. Never ever.

"Enough, Renee! She's a little girl, for Christ's sake," John's voice is harsh and low.

They fight.

I close my eyes.

Imagine Daddy.

And I hope hope hope he'll want me enough to ask me to stay next time.

"There's my girl!" a voice I know as my father's booms impossibly loud across the expanse of William R. Fairchild International Airport. A grin breaks across my face without my permission and I whip around to find him.

I see him standing in his standard off-duty gear: a plaid flannel, holey jeans, and a pair of Doc Martens that are as old as I am. He's holding a large brown shopping bag and he looks so, so happy to see me I start crying.

I regret my mean thoughts from earlier.

Charlie loves me. Wants me. He does.

I feel worse when he scoops me up in a hug, calls me "Bellybean."

A million memories accost me.

His hand on the back of my sweater, keeping me from falling into tide pools. Sitting on the kitchen counter while he pours Ragu into a giant pot of noodles and lets me stir. Building forts and hiking in the forest. Crying in his lap after King Trident blast Ariel's possessions to bits, then laughing after he promises not to ever blow up any creepy statues of boys I've never met. Learning to drive the police cruiser in the PigglyWiggly parking lot while the sun rises and he tries not to shout in alarm as I narrowly miss a light post.

They're the happiest memories I have.

I wonder why they make me so sad.

"I missed you too, Dad," I say as a pullback and we take a long look at each other. Mom made sure it was impossible for me to get to Sue's funeral, so I don't know if he's better or worse than he has been.

I think he looks okay. Maybe a little skinny. A little sad.

He wipes my tears. Smiles gentle, uncomfortable.

Not good with emotions, Charlie.

"You okay?" He questions awkwardly.

"Yeah, Dad, I'm fine, honestly. Just happy to see you," I think for a split sec, then tack on "and the babies," hoping he didn't notice my pause. "Where are they?"

He fidgets a bit before he answers. "They're with Billy and Jake, down at the reservation. EJ is… having a hard time, Bells, and I wanted to fill you in before you saw him. Everyone is doing all that they can, but… he's just... " He shakes his head warily. "He's just different. He misses his mom. And I don't know what to tell him because God knows I do, too," Charlie laughs once without humor.

I don't know what to say. Sue's death was sudden and jarring and I haven't really let myself think about it. And even if I had wanted to, grieving for my stepmother was not an option under the watchful eyes of my biological one.

I decide there's really nothing I could say, even if I wanted to, so I opt for sliding my arm though Charlie's and moving us toward the baggage claim.

"Sorry, Bella," Charlie's voice is steady again. "Didn't mean to dump all that on you right away. I'll figure it out and I don't want you to worry. I just want you to know what to expect."

I smile and nod, but it feels like I failed already. Like I should know what to say to a three-year-old with a recently deceased mother that will magically take all his pain away. Like I should offer to take the burden of dealing with it all.

The resentment bubbles up again.

I push it down. Remind myself to stop being so damn defensive. He hasn't asked anything of me my whole life. He is not Renee. I know that.

I repeat the mantra all the way to La Push.

Desperate to believe it.

But terrified to believe it, too.