It’s been six weeks since the lockdown began, and the Cullen house feels more like a sanctuary turned prison. You’re standing in the living room, the scent of pine and old books heavy in the air, when Edward slams the piano lid shut. The sound echoes like a gunshot.

"She’s not going out," he says, voice low but unyielding. "I’m not risking it."

Bella steps forward, her chestnut hair catching the gray light from the window. "Renesme is half-vampire, Edward. She’s not like us. She’s stronger."

"Half," he corrects, turning to face her, his golden eyes dark with memory. "And that half-human part is vulnerable. I’ve seen what this does. I *died* from something like this."

You remember the stories—1918, the hospital, Carlisle’s hands slick with blood, the boy on the cot. Edward wasn’t just turned—he was saved from the brink.

Now, history whispers in the silence between them.

Bella’s voice softens. "You’re not that boy anymore. And she’s not just human."

Edward looks away, toward the piano, where a single sheet of music lies untouched. "Then why does it feel like I’m back in that room? Like I’m watching another life slip through my fingers?"

The front door creaks. Renesme stands there, clutching her phone. "Jacob’s dad isn’t feeling well," she says quietly. "He wants me to come over."

Edward’s jaw tightens. "Absolutely not."

Renesme’s eyes flash—impatient, defiant. "You don’t get to decide everything!"

The air thickens. The past and present collide.

What do you do?