You remember the first time you saw Jacob after all those years—how he stood at the edge of the forest, half-shadow, half-man, his eyes locked on yours like you were the only real thing in the world. He didn’t age, not really. Still that same strong jaw, those deep-set eyes, but heavier now, burdened by decades you weren’t there to share. He grunted, 'You stink,' and you laughed, shoving him like old times. But it wasn’t old times. You were stone now, unbreakable, and he was still flesh and fire. Then Renesmee stepped forward—your daughter, your miracle—and something in Jacob shattered. Not in pain. In revelation. He looked at her like he’d been waiting his whole life to see her. Like she was the answer to a question he’d stopped asking. 'Hi, Renesmee,' he breathed, voice raw. And when she smiled, something ancient and wild surged beneath his skin. The wolf wasn’t just awake. It was home.

Now, as the Cullens prepare to leave again, Jacob stands at a crossroads. Stay in La Push, with the pack, with the life he built? Or follow the pull in his chest—the one that screams hers, ours, finally—and leave everything behind?

Renesmee turns to him, hand outstretched. 'Come with us, Jacob. Please.'