The future needed planning, but their current situation couldn't be ignored either.
Charlie's house was far too small. Even with just father and daughter, it was already inconvenient—manageable only because Bella would soon leave Forks for college.
But if Samantha and her daughter moved in, the place would instantly become overcrowded. And if Bella came home for a few days... the chaos would multiply.
Three women packed into a tiny house?
Charlie figured he might as well sleep in the yard.
For the first time, he seriously considered leaving Forks for a bigger city.
Propose. Get married. Buy a real house. Start over.
For a traditional man like Charlie, these were major decisions—not things he could take lightly.
The housing problem itself wasn't hard to solve. Prices were high, sure, but still within reach. Seventeen years of savings gave him that confidence. When the time came to buy a house, he could afford it.
The real challenge was the family's future income.
Bella pulled him aside and asked quietly, "This is about work, isn't it?"
Charlie now saw his daughter very differently. Nick Fury had viewed the spider incident with cold, objective eyes—and even he had concluded that Bella's contribution far exceeded Natasha's.
So what about Charlie, a father watching his daughter with his own eyes?
He thought she was smart and decisive—scatterbrained in daily life, perhaps, but when things mattered, she was utterly reliable.
His ex-wife had once claimed Bella was bullied at school, but Charlie had never believed that. If this girl got bullied, what chance did ordinary students have?
He spoke to her seriously now, no longer treating her like a child.
Charlie needed a career change, and Samantha had no intention of becoming a housewife—she needed a job too. Learning from his failed first marriage, Charlie believed couples should work in the same field, but not too closely together: close enough to understand each other, yet with enough distance to breathe.
Bella shot him a sideways look.
"So let me get this straight. To maintain a good income, the couple should work together, but not too close, not too far—and you still want more conditions?"
Charlie knew how ridiculous it sounded and smiled awkwardly.
"I'm just saying... that would be ideal."
"Let me think."
Finding jobs wasn't simple for Bella either. Most of her connections came from the Flight 180 incident, and only three were truly influential: Professor John Grey, Chris Redfield, and finally—Victoria Hand.
After weighing her options, she decided to call Victoria.
"Sister Hand... hehe." Bella opened with shameless flattery, keeping her tone sweet as she eased into small talk before steering the conversation toward her father's and Samantha's work situation.
On the other end, Victoria Hand paused. She never hid her refined, self-serving pragmatism—she helped only when the help benefited her.
Getting Bella into Stanford had already settled one favor. Helping again would mean Bella owed her another.
Victoria assessed the situation quickly.
Charlie and Samantha were lightweight figures in law enforcement, but not nobodies. They had seniority and years of experience. Their connections were limited to the local level—useful, but not immediately powerful.
"This is a small matter. Police departments everywhere are understaffed. Experienced sheriffs like them won't have trouble finding work. How about Los Angeles? I know someone on the LAPD Commissioner's Board. If your parents are interested, I can help make the connection."
Her phrasing was impeccable.
Sheriffs didn't have trouble finding work—but if they wanted specific conditions, then yes, connections were necessary. And yes, the favor would need to be repaid eventually.
"Thank you, Sister Hand."
Bella hung up with a smile. Favors were simple: you owe one, you repay one.
She relayed the good news to Charlie and Samantha.
"I talked to a friend. If you want to stay in law enforcement, Los Angeles is an option. Sheriff positions won't be available, but with your rank and experience, after confirming your intentions and passing some basic assessments, you can start as detectives."
"Work in Los Angeles?"
Both of them were stunned. Getting such precise information so quickly clearly meant high-level connections.
Samantha glanced at Charlie—What exactly does your daughter do?
Charlie returned the look—How would I know? I don't dare ask.
Life in Los Angeles wouldn't be as comfortable as life in a small town, but with the biggest obstacle—employment—resolved, they were genuinely relieved.
The spiders in Prosperity Town had been exterminated. Against modern weapons, oversized spiders never stood a chance.
But the town itself—already poor—had been completely destroyed.
Samantha and Natasha returned to what remained of their home. Mother and daughter sifted through the ruins, gathering a few photos and some clothes. Natasha even dug a ragged teddy bear out from beneath the collapsed beams.
Bella, who usually enjoyed teasing her, pretended not to notice and stayed quiet, standing solemnly beside them.
"You didn't tell them the truth, right?" Natasha asked.
She was referring to the mastermind.
The official explanation released to the public was that abandoned chemical waste had caused the spider mutation—essentially Samantha's initial report, repeated verbatim. Nothing was said about any mastermind.
They didn't find anything? They didn't know?
Bella didn't believe that for a second.
She lowered her voice. "Don't tell them. Sometimes the less you know, the better. By the way... what have you been up to these past two days? You've been acting strange."
Natasha hugged the teddy bear and remained silent.
Bella studied her for a moment, then chose not to press. Everyone had secrets—especially now.
The surviving townspeople salvaged what little they could from the wreckage, then came to thank Samantha and Charlie for saving their lives.
They were the lucky ones.
Even though the military had evacuated seven to eight hundred people, most were barely conscious—virtually vegetative. Severe brain, heart, and lung damage meant that even with modern medicine, surviving another ten years was uncertain.
The townspeople exchanged contact information, then scattered across the country—some to relatives, others to begin new lives elsewhere.