As a little kid, I never thought to question my parents on certain things. Esme Cullen had always been open and forthcoming with all three of us. She’d explain things, teach us things, and she’d done it all with patience and love and hugs.
The sound of the splitting log sounded dull in the snowy late morning. I stood the next one up and swung again as my mind sorted through memories.
I was trying my damnedest to remember if my father had ever hugged me – or any of us, for that matter. Other than the occasional medical issue, I was pretty sure he’d never touched us. Actually, I’d never really wanted to be anywhere near the man. I’d been perfectly content in my mother’s presence.