There wasn't enough space or air in the room for her to have this conversation now. Ezra was still too near, his touch still too recent on her skin for her to think clearly. Rosalie needed to pace and think and breathe. She couldn't breathe under the weight of his stare and her grief. She couldn't think beyond how desperate she was only minutes ago. Even as the anger seeped in, even as her eyes narrowed at him, she was still wishing for even an inch more space.

"And condemn our son to die, because I would somehow survive that? Because we could somehow make it through that unscathed?" Rosalie demanded.

---