3.

My phone screen lights up again, the missed calls and messages building up. I've not replied to any since I arrived back home, even though I know Angie will be worrying. Our tiny apartment in the city isn't much but we made it a home while we both worked and studied. My trip home was long overdue but I wished now, more than anything, that I was sitting with her watching trashy tv with a takeout, oblivious to the ghost that's just walked back into my life.

I can't get the image of Edward out of my head.

Esme opened the door. I heard her cry as she wrapped her arms around him. It made the hairs on my arms stand on end. They stood in the doorway for a while in that embrace. I felt like an intruder watching but couldn't look away. I wondered if they were both crying.

Esme lived alone after enduring years of being the outcast in this town because of her son. It ate away at her and Carlisle, her husband. It broke his heart so much it stopped working one day when he was driving home from the car dealership. That was another wreck I was glad I'd not seen. I didn't go to the funeral. I couldn't bring myself to come back to the town which was poisoned by it's history. I did send Esme a card and some flowers. Not much compensation but she was always good to me.

I get on my hands and knees and pull out the old cardboard box from under the bed, dusting it off. I sit with in on my lap for a few minutes, feeling the rough edges and weight, knowing what I will find inside after all these years.

Despite this it's still a thump to my chest when I open the lid, and the back of my eyes start to burn. On top is the picture of me and Rose at the river. She's wearing a red bikini that sent the boys in this town wild. I'm in a white costume, my hair so wet it's almost black. Her arm is slung around my neck, and she's looking past the photographer, laughing. I can't remember what was so funny but I remember that day as clearly as if I was there . The heat, the sound of splashing in the river, the excitement that school was out and summer was here. The thrill of young love.

Three days later they found Rose's body in the woods.

I put the picture to the side and sort through the other memories; friendship bracelets we'd made from strawberry laces, sticky and covered with fluff; a pair of heart shaped sunglasses she'd left at my house one night; ticket stubs; handwritten notes about this boy and that. There were some missing but I couldn't bear to keep those with Edward's name on.

Under it all was a pile of news clippings, the investigation, the arrests, the trial. There was one clipping I found myself searching for. One I'd cried so hard over, I'd burst a blood vessel in my eye. It was a small snippet about his sentencing with a grainy picture in the top right corner. I didn't need a better resolution to know every detail about the image. It depicted Edward standing in court, hands clasped in front of him, head bowed as he was sent down for 12 years. He wore a smart, navy blue suit and white shirt. The same outfit he wore to take me to senior prom. The same outfit he wore when I fell head over heels for him. When I thought he was the one.

Mom calls me from downstairs. I swipe away the tears I've refused to shed for 8 years, shoving the picture to the bottom of the box and pushing it back under the bed with other forgotten things. I try to ignore the pull to the house across the road. I think about Rose. I hold her laugh in my heart and push Edward out.