Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The asphalt dug into her skin, leaving cuts and scratches, tears pooling from her chocolate brown eyes, falling from the sides of her eyes onto the ground. Her body ached, it felt violated and abused. Yet she also felt numb to the world around her, barely aware of the blonde male standing up from her with a smug grin zipping up his pants, his violet blue eyes shining in the dimly lit alley. Screeching tires alerted the man, whirling around he saw that the only exit was being blocked by cherry red BMW M3. glancing down at the unresponsive girl on the ground he grit his teeth, his jaw flexing as he realized he had nowhere to run. The slam of the door closing brought his attention back to the car, and stepped back at the sight of a tall blonde, who seemed to growling, her eyes were dark but only seemed to darken even more at the sight of the girl.
“Mind moving your car lady?” The man spat not worried anymore knowing now that it was just a woman.

“You’re going to regret what you just did.” The woman’s angelic voice dripped with venom, her heels clicking against the asphalt as she stepped toward the tall man. He just chuckled and started to speak before he was interrupted by a powerful blow to his stomach knocking him onto his bottom, the blow causing him to cough. “What is your name.”

“N..None of your business!” He continued to cough, groaning from the pain. The woman sneered and placed her heel right on his groin slowly pressing down causing him to cry out in pain.

“What. Is. Your. Name!” She bellowed, pressing down even harder.

“J..Jonathan Hale! Please s..stop!” He cried, sobbing from the pain. The woman stopped, her face freezing before it flashed in completely fury.

“You are going to sit here and wait for the cops to arrive do you understand?” She grit out removing her foot after kicking him in the ribs feeling slightly better after she heard a satisfying crack from it. The man didn’t answer and just wailed from the pain.

“I said. Do you understand!?”

“Y...Yes I understand!” He whined cradling his ribs, sirens could be heard from the distance.

“You are a disgrace to your family.” She spit out, realizing just who he was, and how she was familiarized with the man. Turning she knelt down next to the girl pulling up the girls bloodied panties and pants, using her jacket to cover her naked front. Lifting her up into her arms the woman walked toward the exit just as police cars and an ambulance arrived.

—

“Where is she? Where’s my daughter!” A strong male voice ringed throughout her aching head, she opened her eyes blinded by the lights above her, adjusting to it as she turned to where the sound was coming from. Flinching as the door of the white room she was in crashed open.

“Bella!”

“Dad..? Where am I?” Her weak voiced croaked, her entire body ached, her lower body seemed to flare from the pain mostly.

“Oh honey.. I got here as soon as I could, are you okay? Does anything hurt?” Her father worriedly asked panicking over his baby girl.

“What? What happened?” She groaned as tried to sit up but was stopped by Charlie.

“Don’t move honey, you got hurt. I... don’t know if you remember or not.” Charlie cautiously stated. Flashes of a blonde male, pain, her screams for help, his smug grin, a blonde woman snarling and growling. Pain. Comfort. Tears welled up in her eyes as she started to shake, her body and mind were violated, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. She was held against her will and abused.

“Daddy...” Bella whimpered looking at her father, his brown eyes welling up with his own tears.“I’m so sorry... I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you baby girl.” He pulled his daughter into his strong trembling arms, as she began to wail and sob. Her mind in shambles, her body broken and used.

— next day—

“Ms. Swan you have some visitors, would you like to see them?” A nurse asked carefully, being careful not to startle the small girl.

“Who are they..?” Bella answered, seemingly skittish, nervous and scared.

“Uh, they said they were the Cullens, seem to be a family.” Chewing at her scabbed lips she nodded.

“O..Okay.. but tell them to keep the m..men near the door please..” she replied with a weak voice as she dug her bitten and torn nails into her arm trying to stop her overrunning thoughts.

“Of course.” With that she left in a hurry, only to return five minutes with a family of seven. Four men and three women, all inhumanly beautiful with golden eyes to match. The four men staying by the door with serious looks as the women standing by the foot of the bed, but one of them, Edward, tried to step over to the bed but was held back by the other three. Bella flinched as the boy tried to come near her. Rosalie sneering at the boy.

“Hey Bella, how’re you doing?” Alice asked as she carefully stepped closer to the bed, a gentle smile on her face.

“Um.. doing as best as I..I can.. nice to see you Alice.” Bella stuttered gripping the sheets as tight as she could. Warily glancing at the men, she knew them but right now her mind wasn’t trusting them.

“Understandable, we wanted to check on you. I’m here for you if you need anything bells, we are best friends after all.”

“Y..Yeah..” She didn’t know what else to say as she avoided eye contact with all of them keeping her eyes on the bland rough textured sheets she was holding onto.

“Everyone leave, I want to talk to Isabella. Alone.” A stone-cold voice cut off the silence, stepping forward, her golden eyes never leaving Bella’s broken form.

“No! She is my mate Rosalie! I am the one who should be here right now you all need to leave!” Edward sneered and growled as he tried to attack the female.

“She is not your anything Edward! Leave before I make you.” Rosalie stated calmly, noticing how the bed ridden girl flinched at the yelling.

“C’mon bro..” Emmett growled and dragged Edward out of the room, leaving with the rest of their family, except for Rosalie.

“Is it alright if I sit down?” The blonde goddess asked, motioning towards the chair that sat next to Bella’s hospital bed.

“Um.. sure.” She awkwardly answered, glancing at the woman as she made herself comfortable.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to you in time Bella..” Rosalie frowned, which didn’t seem right on such a beautiful face.

“I..It’s not your fault, I shouldn’t have been alone..” Her voice cracked as she began to scratch at her arm. A cold yet soothingwarm hand stopped her.

“It isn’t your fault, and it never will be Isabella.” Rosalie stated unnaturally gentle and kind, “you aren’t alone in this, if you need anything just tell me okay? I’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

“I... Thank you... Thank you for saving me..” Tears welled up in her brown eyes as Rosalie stared at her with warm and caring eyes.

“I’d do it again.” She replied instantly.

“Did.. they get him?” She asked hesitantly.

“Yes, he will suffer for what he did to you.” Rosalie growled at the thought of the male.

“What’s his name..” Bella asked, looking out the window, watching as the wind shifted the trees.

“Are you sure you want to know, I know it can be a lot right-““Just tell me!” Bella snapped.

“Jonathan... Hale.” Rosalie almost whispered his last name, seeming to be ashamed.

“Is he..?” Bella asked an unknown question.

“Yes we’re.. related.” The blonde spat with utter disgust.

“We may be related by blood, but he is no family of mine.” Rosalie growled, the room growing cold before she took a deep breath calming down.“

"I uhm.. why do you care? I mean, not even two days ago you hated my guts and seemed to try to kill me with your glares..” Bella pointed out, avoiding the blondes gaze.

“I... don’t hate you Isabella, I just hate.. how you let Edward treat you like an object and let him put you down.. You aren’t an object, you are far from it.” Rosalie seethed looking down , her gold eyes fading to black.

“I..” Bella bit her lip, tears welling up in her eyes, she didn’t want to act that way. She had to if she didn’t want to get hurt.

“I..If I don’t then I get in trouble..” she whispered to herself, causing Rosalies head to snap up in surprise.

“W..What?”

Chapter Text

"What do you mean if you don't you get in trouble?" Rosalie's grip on the plastic chair tightened, the cracking of the weak material echoed in the hospital room.

"I... don't want to talk about it right now.. please." Bella begged, chewing on her bottom lip, skin torn and still bleeding. Rosalie frowned, slowly and carefully placing her gloved hand on Bella's own Scraped and bruised one.

"I understand Isabella, but.. if you need anything I'm here. No matter what it is." The blondes eyebrows furrowed, studying the girls thin heartshaped face and bloodshot eyes. Trying to figure out what she was thinking, how she was feeling.

"Thank you Rosalie, but if you don't mind.. could you have my nurse call my dad here? I really need him right now." Bella's voice trembled, and her eyes seemed to glitter and shine with unshed tears. Seemingly Unable to produce anymore.

"Yes, of course. And please, try to get some rest." Rosalie squeezed the small girls hand and stood leaving the room in a rush. Her golden eyes were narrowed, a fierceness shining in them. Her gloved hands were tightened in a first, so tight the leather of her gloves were cracking and splitting, a cold mist escaping the gaps. Realizing her mistake she shook her hands, checking around her. Letting out a sigh of relief noticing no one was around she took a deep breath.

"Control yourself Rosalie, you know better." She chided herself smoothing out her blouse. "Now, where is that damn nurse."

—

A gentle knock sounded on the wooden door, rousing Bella from her sleep. As if Wiping away the exhaustion would work, she rubbed her eyes, and painfully pulled herself to a sitting position.

"C..Come in.." Her voice croaked, still sore and raw.

"Hey honey, sorry it took me so long to get here. Had some stuff to deal with down at the station." Her fathers face came into view as the door opened fully. Charlie's brown thick hair ruffled and messy. mustache just as crazy. His face was etched with worry, matching brown eyes looking at his daughter with pure love and affection.

"It's okay dad, I just decided to sleep until you got here. I know how busy it can get there." The brunette gave him a weak reassuring smile, even if Charlie didn't believe it, he didn't show it. He took a seat next to her bed, raising a brow at the cracked arm of the chair.

"So, I heard you had some visitors?" He shuffled for a second, trying to get comfortable in the cheap chair.

"Yeah, it was the Cullen's." Bella looked down at her hands, tugging at the torn skin on her nails. "They wanted to check on me."

"Im glad they came to see you, they're good people." Charlie smiled, rubbing his mustache awkwardly. "So, um. How are you holding up kiddo?"

"I'm doing the best I can right now dad, I don't know what you want me to say.." Bella gave out an exasperated sigh, "That question is what everyone keeps asking me. Over and over again. I'm getting tired of it!" She let out a sob, her hands came up to her face, covering it. Her small shoulders shook with each trembling breath. Charlie frowned and placed his heavy hand slowly on her arm.

"I'm sorry kid, I just... don't know what to say. Or how to help." He hated feeling so useless, he couldn't help her then and couldn't even help her now.

"You don't have to say anything, just be here. Please." She begged him, leaning towards him with her arms outstretched towards him, he immediately stood and enveloped his daughter into his arms. Gently squeezing her as his frowned deepened.

"I'll never let anyone hurt you again. Daddy's here now. I'm so sorry I wasn't there, I'll never make that mistake again." He swore, burying his head into her hair. He glanced at the chair again, his eyes focusing on the imprint of a hand in the chair. "I promise."

---

"Alright Bella, looks like you're all set to be released." Carlisle stacked a set of papers, smiling warmly at the girl, still keeping his distance. "But remember, take it easy and dont strain yourself."

"Thank you Doctor Cullen for taking care of her," Charlie cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Its no problem Sheriff, she's family now." The doctor shook his head, a sparkle in his eye when he glanced at Bella who was clearly dozing as she stared out the window.

"Please have your oldest daughter come by, I want to thank her in person for saving my baby girl." He seemed to choke on his words, his throat tightening and his eyes glistening as he stared at his only daughter.

"I will see to it that she drops by," Carlisle assured the man in front of him before taking his leave to attend to other patient. Charlie returned his attention to his daughter, he ran his eyes over, taking in all the damage done to her. A black eye and a split lip that would most definetly scar with a matching deep gash in her eyebrow. It wasn't even the worst of it, her wrist was fractured in two places and was now being protected by a cast. Her back being encased with a brace. Dr. Cullen had explained that the man who had done this to his little girl was a cruel and twisted person. He had toyed with her, thrown her around and had beaten her with a crow bar. He was truly a horrible person. That man had beaten his daughter so badly that she had suffered a spinal injury with a possibility she could never walk again depending on how well she heals.

"ad. Dad!" Bella's tired voice broke through his deep thoughts, turning his attention to her he gave her a strained smile.

"Sorry bug, just thinkin' a little too hard" He patted her head gently as he moved next to the bed she was sitting up on, pulling the wheel chair Carlisle had left with him. "Ready?"

"No.." She frowned, tears welling up in her dark eyes, "I dont think I ever will be."

"I know bug, but you can do this." Her father encouraged her, "I wont leave you, I'll be here every step of the way." She nodded and grit her teeth as he slid his hand underneath her legs and back very gently, groans of pain slipped from her mouth as he lifted her off the bed and into the chair carefully. He may be a 41 year old man but he as in the prime of his life, stronger then ever.

"Thank you.." She whispered, pulling the very worn red hoodie she had found in the clothes she arrived with. She hadnt been wearing it that night, but it was still with her. She didnt care though, it was warm and smelt good, familiar, but good. It made her feel safe.

"Alright Kiddo, lets get you home." He got behind her unlocking the chairs wheels and pushing her out the room. The girl that was leaving this hospital room would not be the same girl everyone knew before. Something changed, something had snapped.

Chapter Text

“You are all set to go Isabella, your father just finished your paperwork.” Carlisle said from across the room with a tender smile. He had kept his distance, after seeing the fear instilled into her eyes when he walked into the room.

It wasn’t long before Charlie had walked into the room, a wheelchair with him and a nervous glance at Carlisle. He turned back to Bella and rolled up to her. “Do you want Carlisle to help you into the chair? I don’t want to hurt you in the process.”

Bella pursed her lips feeling uneasy, she glanced at Carlisle one more time, he was kind and gentle just like her father, but his blonde hair and masculine shape sent a shiver through her. She shook her head rapidly. “No I want you to do it, please.”

Charlie raised his hands in surrender, “all right I’ll do it, I was just making sure.” He moved the blanket from her body, tucking his arms behind her back and under legs gently lifting her from the hospital bed and onto the wheelchair. He helped her adjust carefully, then placed a small fluffy grey blanket on her lap. “Thought you would want something from home since it’s cold out, a blizzard is coming.”

Charlie gently wheeled Bella through the hushed corridors of the hospital, the fluorescent lights above casting stark reflections on the linoleum. Each squeak of the wheels echoed like a heartbeat in the stillness. Bella clutched the soft grey blanket in her lap, fingers entwined in the worn fibers. The scent of home—clean linen, wood smoke, a trace of her father’s aftershave—calmed the tremble in her chest.

As they turned the final corner, a solitary figure leaned against the wall.

Rosalie.

She stood like a marble statue under the dim hallway lighting, arms crossed over a pristine ivory coat, golden hair cascading down her shoulders in loose waves. But her eyes—those gilded, haunted eyes—were fixed solely on Bella. There was no glare, no pity, only a quiet, unwavering intensity.

Bella looked up and met her gaze. The noise of the hallway dulled. For a moment, she was back in that alley—shivering, helpless—and then she was here. Whole. Scarred, but alive. She gave Rosalie the smallest of nods, and it was returned in kind, the corners of Rosalie’s lips twitching with something unspoken. A promise, maybe. Or a thank you. The blonde said nothing as they passed, but her presence lingered like warmth in the cold.

The lobby doors groaned open, a gust of wind rushing in to greet them. The sky outside had turned to lead. Snow spiraled in furious whorls beyond the glass, blanketing the parking lot in pristine white. Charlie shielded Bella with a hand as he guided her toward the car, his coat flapping like a worn banner against the bitter air.

He opened the passenger door of the cruiser and helped her in, his touch gentle, practiced. As Bella settled into the seat, she stole a glance at herself in the side mirror. Her face was pale, eyes sunken but sharp. A constellation of bruises mottled her skin. And yet… there was something there. Beneath the trauma and silence. A flicker.

Resilience.

Rosalie’s words echoed in her ears—“It isn’t your fault, and it never will be.”

As Charlie climbed in and started the engine, the heater sputtering to life, Bella turned to the window and rested her forehead against the cool glass. Snow chased itself across the pane, a dance of chaos and grace.

“I’m ready to go home,” she whispered, unsure if it was to her father, herself, or the void.

—

The wind howled against the windows as Charlie fumbled with the key, his gloved hands stiff from the cold and dampened by sleet. Snow clung stubbornly to the cuffs of his coat and melted slowly on the brim of his weather-worn hat. The moment the front door creaked open, a blast of frigid air swept through the entryway, wrapping itself around them like icy fingers. Bella winced, hunching deeper into the soft folds of the blanket across her lap as Charlie quickly ushered her inside.

“Careful now,” he muttered, voice thick with concern as he carried her over the threshold. His boots thudded heavily against the hardwood floor as he crossed the living room and gently lowered her onto the worn brown couch. It dipped slightly under her weight. Bella sank into it, her body still fragile, limbs trembling from more than just the cold.

Charlie’s mustache was frosted, tiny beads of ice speckling the coarse hairs, and his usually thick brows were crusted with snow. He muttered a string of half-frozen curses under his breath, already shrugging off his coat and stomping toward the old fireplace. It hadn’t been used since last winter, but within moments he was on his knees in front of it, striking a match with shaking fingers. The flame flared to life, casting long shadows across the room as it licked the dry wood.

The first crackle of fire filled the silence.

“Almost there, Bells,” Charlie said without looking back, feeding another log onto the flames. Orange light spilled over the living room walls, warming them with gentle flickers that contrasted the white haze gathering outside the frosted windows.

Satisfied, he stood and disappeared briefly into the hallway, returning with an electric space heater tucked beneath one arm. He set it a safe distance from her feet, plugged it in, and let the soft whir of warm air begin to hum in the background.

Charlie turned then and gave her a long, searching look. She sat curled tightly into herself, the grey blanket draped over her lap like armor, her eyes distant and heavy-lidded. Her skin seemed nearly translucent beneath the firelight, pale and bruised in ways that hadn’t faded yet—and wouldn’t for a long time.

He cleared his throat, kneeling beside the couch.

“How long’s this storm supposed to last for?” he asked softly, not expecting an answer so much as trying to fill the silence that had settled between them.

Bella didn’t look at him right away. Her eyes lingered on the fire, watching the logs crackle and split, watching the tiny embers float upward like ghosts of breath. She swallowed hard, shifting slightly under the blanket.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper, almost lost in the hum of the heater and the groan of the wind outside. “Longer than I want it to.”

Charlie sat back on his heels, exhaling through his nose.

“Well,” he said after a beat, reaching up to gently squeeze her hand, “we’re safe now. Heater’s on, fire’s going. Got food in the fridge, and that generator’s still working in the garage if the power goes.”

His voice cracked a little near the end, but he covered it with a brisk nod. Bella finally turned her gaze toward him, and though there was sorrow etched into every line of her face, there was also something flickering behind her eyes. Quiet endurance. Fragile, but burning.

“I’m glad we’re home,” she said softly. “Even if there’s a storm.”

Outside, snow lashed against the windowpanes in furious swirls, burying the world in white. Inside, the fire burned on.

The living room had settled into a quiet rhythm of crackling wood and mechanical hum. The space heater Charlie had set up purred steadily at Bella’s feet, casting waves of warm air across her legs. It wasn’t much—it had that stubborn, aging quality to it, with a faded plastic casing stained by time and fingerprints—but it was doing its best. Each warm breath it offered rattled slightly in its vents, the orange glow from its coils creating shifting shadows against the plaid of the couch and the throw rug beneath them.

Bella watched the heater like it might stop breathing at any moment. She couldn't help it. The warmth was a fragile thing, and right now, everything fragile felt too precious to lose.

Outside, the wind howled as snow continued to fall in sheets, thick enough now that the pine trees out front were just vague smudges beyond the frosted window glass. The storm had devoured the world in white silence, and within that stillness, the heater’s steady hum became a lullaby... until it wasn’t.

There was a sputter.

Bella’s eyes flicked to the heater. The coils dimmed briefly, then relit—only weaker.

A flicker of dread settled in her chest.

Then the lights in the kitchen buzzed. Once. Twice.

And then everything went dark.

The heater stopped, the fire’s glow suddenly too small for the vastness of the room, and an unnatural hush fell over the space.

“Charlie?” she called, her voice brittle in the dark.

“I’m here,” he answered immediately from the hallway, his silhouette stepping into the now firelit room. “Power’s out... damn lines must’ve frozen.”

Bella’s heart pounded a little faster. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, pressing it to her nose to muffle her sudden inhale.

“I’ll check the generator,” Charlie said, grabbing his coat from the hook and pulling on his boots. He paused beside her and gently squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll have heat again in no time, I promise.”

She nodded, though the unease remained thick in her chest.

Minutes passed.

Then more.

The storm beat harder against the house, icy winds sliding through invisible cracks in the windows and along the floorboards. Bella’s breath fogged in front of her face. The fire still burned, but it was no match for the sudden chill sweeping through the house.

Then the front door opened again—just slightly—and slammed shut.

Charlie’s voice came from the entryway, muffled but tense. “Generator’s shot. Starter’s frozen solid, and I think the fuel line cracked.” His shoulders slumped as he came back into the room. “I’ll start calling around. See if anyone’s got a spare we can borrow.”

He retrieved the landline phone and began to dial, his voice tired as he repeated the same conversation again and again. Every shop he called had either closed for the storm or had their own outage. No deliveries, no extra units. Even the hardware store in Port Angeles had their phone lines down.

“I’ll keep trying,” he said, flipping through the contacts list in frustration. “Someone’s gotta have something.”

Bella tried not to shiver. Her teeth had started chattering.

And then—

Her phone buzzed to life in the depths of her purse, the vibrations rattling against a bottle of lip balm and a folded tissue like a trapped wasp. The sound startled Bella more than it should have—sharp and sudden in the hush of the firelit room.

She winced and leaned forward, biting down a gasp as pain lanced through her spine and hips. It didn’t travel past her waist—just like Carlisle had warned. Temporary, he’d said. But that didn’t make it any less terrifying.

Her fingers trembled as she unzipped the purse Charlie had placed beside her on the couch. It took longer than she liked to sift through the clutter. Her movements were slow, every motion echoing with hesitation. Finally, her hand closed around the familiar flip phone, cool and curved like a relic from another lifetime.

She flipped it open with a soft snap, blinking at the glowing green screen.

Incoming Call — Alice

Her thumb hovered over the button for a beat too long before she finally pressed it and lifted the phone to her ear.

“He… Hello?” Her voice was thin, uncertain, threaded with the kind of rawness that always comes after too many tears and not enough sleep.

“Oh thank God,” Alice’s voice crackled through the speaker, breathless and rapid. “Bella, I’ve been trying to get ahold of you! The power’s down all over town, and I had a vision of your dad nearly blowing a fuse swearing at your frozen generator.”

Despite herself, Bella let out a dry puff of air that might’ve passed as a laugh. It hurt her ribs, but it also thawed something small and stiff in her chest.

“I figured it was bad,” Alice continued, “but it’s worse. Cell towers are barely holding. It’s like this storm is throwing a fit over Forks. And it’s only going to get nastier before it even thinks about clearing.”

Bella’s gaze drifted to the nearest window. Outside, the storm had swallowed the world whole. What little light remained was ashen and cruel, casting shadows against the frost-bitten glass. The wind shrieked as it rattled the panes like brittle bones.

How much worse could it possibly get? she thought, her jaw tightening.

Her hands curled tighter around the phone, its plastic casing slick with sweat and cold.

The numbness in her legs, the fear lodged like a shard beneath her breastbone, the silence that followed every gust outside—it all felt like part of some cruel story she didn’t remember agreeing to star in.

“I don’t even know what day it is anymore,” she murmured, not entirely sure if Alice could hear her.

“You’re not alone,” Alice replied, her tone softening. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but we’re all watching out for you, Bella. Every single one of us.”

Bella swallowed hard, pressing the phone closer to her ear like it might let her lean into another reality—one where everything wasn’t so cold or heavy. “Do you see Dad fixing the generator?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Or maybe finding a replacement… in time?”

A pause crackled through the line, followed by Alice’s familiar sigh. “No, not even close,” she admitted, the frustration in her voice softened by sympathy. “But thankfully, Carlisle bought one a while back. For appearances, mostly—he wanted the neighbors to see us struggling like the rest of them during winter outages.”

Bella blinked slowly, her gaze drifting to the shadows dancing across the ceiling. Her father hadn’t mentioned that. She hadn’t expected anything more to go right tonight.

There was a muffled rustling on Alice’s end—movement, voices. A quiet feminine murmur, hushed and clipped. Bella couldn’t quite make it out, but something about the tone snagged on her attention. It was soft, but steady.

“Wait—what is it?” she asked, her voice sharpening slightly, like her mind had risen from the fog just enough to care.

Alice’s reply came quickly. “Rosalie said she’s taking Emmett’s Jeep and hauling the generator over to you. She’s already halfway out the door. Oh—and Esme insisted on sending a pot of soup with her, if that’s okay?”

There was a beat—too brief to be silence, but just long enough to hold a thought. Bella’s brows pinched faintly. Soup. Warm, heavy, real. The hospital food had been a series of cold trays and metallic tastes. Nothing stuck. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d felt genuinely hungry, but her stomach churned now with the kind of ache that meant yes, she needed this.

“…Yeah,” she murmured, the sound catching in her throat. “That would be… awesome.”

The word felt foreign in her mouth. Not because she didn’t mean it—but because gratitude had started to feel like currency she hadn’t earned. Her cheeks flushed with quiet shame. She tugged the blanket higher over her legs, wishing she could disappear into it.

“Tell Rosalie and Esme… thank you,” she added, softer still. “Really. I mean it.”

Alice didn’t press, didn’t tease. Her reply came with the warmth of someone who knew exactly how to read between the lines. “I will. Just hold tight for a little longer. She’s nearly there.”
Bella nodded reflexively, even though Alice couldn’t see her. As the call ended, she flipped the phone shut with a quiet click and let it rest on her lap.

She was exhausted and frayed—and yet, a strange warmth had started to creep beneath her skin, curling around her ribs. Not just from the fireplace. But from the realization that someone—Rosalie—had heard about her need and decided to act. Again.

Not for appearances. Not for pity.

She should probably tell Charlie.

Bella rubbed at her forehead gently, the pads of her fingers brushing over skin pulled tight with exhaustion. The ache sitting behind her eyes was persistent and dull, a lingering weight that throbbed with every flicker of movement or sound. It didn’t lessen—just shifted, like grief or dread sometimes did.

She turned her head, careful of the pull in her lower back, and spotted her father moving in rigid circles near the kitchen counter. Charlie was pacing—again—his broad shoulders hunched beneath his flannel coat, phone clutched in one hand like it might provide some magic solution he hadn’t thought of yet.

He flipped through his contacts with growing frustration, murmuring under his breath, eyes darting between the screen and the kitchen window that looked out into a swirling wall of white.

He chewed at his thumbnail with nervous energy, and despite the cold, there was a light sheen of sweat on his brow. He didn’t notice her watching him.

“Charlie,” she said softly, then again, louder, “Charlie… Dad!”

He startled hard, nearly dropped the phone, then turned to her with wide eyes and raised brows. His mustache twitched, face suddenly flushed with embarrassment.

“Sorry, bug. I was so focused, I didn’t hear ya.” He slid the phone into his pocket and stepped closer, knees cracking faintly as he crouched next to the couch. “What’s up?”

Bella held up her flip phone, still glowing faintly in her lap. “Alice called. She said the whole town’s out of power, and they figured we might be, too. She said they’re sending over one of their generators.” Her voice was quiet, casual. She didn’t mention the vision, didn’t tell him how Alice had known without asking. Some things were easier left unsaid.

Charlie let out a long breath, part laugh and part prayer of thanks. “That’s a huge relief,” he muttered, easing down onto the couch beside her and sinking into the cushion with a weighty sigh. “Those Cullens, man… I swear. That family’s a godsend.”

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a second, scrubbing a hand across his mustache. “I don’t know how that boyfriend of yours managed to luck into a family like that, but they're the best part of him.”

Bella didn’t answer right away.

Boyfriend. Edward. She should’ve flinched at the word, or felt something—unease, annoyance, guilt. But she just blinked and looked down at her lap. Her fingers tensed around the soft hem of the blanket, the fabric puckering beneath her nails.

He felt so far away. Distant in a way that had nothing to do with geography.

Rosalie, on the other hand…

She cleared her throat gently and nodded. “Yeah,” she said, “they’ve been really good to me.”

Charlie smiled and patted her knee before rising, stretching his back with a groan. “I’ll clear a spot in the garage, make sure there’s a dry path to hook it up when they get here. You just rest, okay, kiddo?”

“Yes, chief.” She offered a weak, empty smile before turning back to gaze at the fire.

—
The storm was unrelenting.

Snow fell in torrents, not gentle and drifting, but sharp, wind-driven sheets that blurred the trees, erased the road lines, and devoured headlights into murky halos.

Rosalie squinted into the swirling white-out, windshield wipers slapping furiously against the glass, clearing only brief flashes of visibility before the next curtain of snow claimed it again. Her gloved hands gripped the steering wheel with precise control—steady, mechanical. Emmett's Jeep rumbled beneath her, all torque and brute power, crawling through the storm with the generator trailer hitched behind like some lumbering beast.

She saw the Swan residence only when she was almost upon it—its porch lights flickering dimly through the blur of frost. The police cruiser parked in the driveway was half-buried, dusted white like an artifact in a snow-globe. As she turned toward the garage, a figure emerged from the side door—thick brown coat, snow-powdered hat, a flashlight in one hand.

Chief Swan.

Even through the chaos, she recognized the squared shoulders and the quick scan of his eyes—searching, watchful, paternal. He moved to unlock the garage, tugging the sliding door open with a strained grunt. Metal scraped against metal, wind screaming around him like a warning.

Rosalie pulled forward carefully, the tires crunching over buried gravel. She eased past the driveway and began the slow process of backing the trailer into place. Her foot never so much as tapped the brake too hard. Not once. Every inch was calculated, aligned, deliberate.

By the time she cut the engine, the air had gone deathly still inside the vehicle. The blizzard raged beyond the windshield, but Rosalie sat for one more second—eyes half-closed, jaw tight. Her breath didn’t fog the glass.

It never did.

She reached for her hood, tugging it up over her golden hair—not for herself, but for them. To look cold. Human. Vulnerable in the face of the storm.

Stepping out into the wind was like stepping into static. Her coat billowed slightly behind her, catching the air like wings tucked too tight. Charlie turned toward her, nodding once, gratitude etched deep into his lined face, but he didn’t speak yet. His fingers were visibly red from the cold, jaw clenched against the bite in the air.

She met his eyes, then dropped her gaze briefly to the generator. “It’s full on fuel and primed,” she said evenly. “We’ll just need to wire it into the box—you’ve got a panel in the garage, right?”
Charlie nodded, visibly relieved. “Yeah. I’ve got the tools. Come on—before this damn wind tries to take my eyebrows off.”

Rosalie moved in silence beside him, steps purposeful and crisp, boots crunching over ice-glazed snow. Her hands didn’t shake. Her cheeks didn’t flush. But her eyes—her eyes flickered toward the house once.

Toward the window where firelight breathed against the frost.

Toward Bella.

The generator clanked noisily into place, wheels squealing against the cold cement as Rosalie and Charlie hauled it toward the far corner of the garage. It had taken longer than she’d planned—much longer. Every movement had been carefully measured, every grunt feigned, every strained breath choreographed. Her strength, so innate it was nearly thoughtless, had to be buried beneath layers of pretense. She let Charlie bear most of the weight, allowing her gloved fingers to slip or fumble just enough to be believable.

She hated it.

The charade of fragility, the deliberate slowness, the constant battle between efficiency and appearance—it clawed at her. She could have finished the entire task in thirty seconds if she were alone. Instead, she played the part of the capable but winded young woman, murmuring affirmations, brushing frost from her sleeves, adjusting her hood like the cold might actually touch her.
By the time they bolted the garage shut again, the storm had swallowed the neighborhood whole.

She stood by the Jeep, eyes narrowing at the horizon that no longer existed. The whiteout was complete. Snowdrifts had piled above the tires, reaching toward the side windows, and the path they’d driven up was now invisible—swallowed beneath a thick blanket of ice and wind-packed powder.

Even if she could get the Jeep free—and she could, easily—Charlie was watching her with too much attention for her to make a convincing exit. His concern was genuine but focused, a father’s gaze sharpened by instinct and recent helplessness. She wouldn’t get away with vanishing into the storm without raising suspicion.

So she was stuck.

Rosalie Hale—predator, perfectionist, impossibly fast—snowed in by circumstance and sentiment.

She exhaled a slow breath and turned away from the sight of the buried road. Her hood shifted slightly, snowflakes clinging to the edge of her lashes like glittering ash.

She stepped back into the house with cold clinging to her coat and firelight spilling across the floorboards.

Bella was inside.

And whether Rosalie liked it or not, she was going to have to stay awhile.

Rosalie had thought naively—that if she drove fast enough, if she timed every turn just right, she might outrun the storm and make it home before it sealed off the roads. But maybe… maybe being stranded wasn’t so terrible. At least it spared her from another evening trapped in the Cullen house, listening to Edward spiral into another self-indulgent monologue about his Bella—how she was broken, how she needed him to swoop in and fix her.

No. Bella wasn’t a damsel. She was a victim. And more importantly, she was a survivor navigating her pain with quiet endurance. She didn’t need smothering. She needed stillness. Space. Gentle consistency.

Rosalie could give her that.

Edward couldn’t. He was too wrapped in his savior complex to realize that sometimes the best way to love someone was to step back and let them breathe.

Rosalie wouldn’t crowd her. She’d simply be there—a steady warmth at Bella’s side when the cold felt endless. And maybe, just maybe, Bella would come to understand that healing didn’t mean walking alone—it meant choosing who walked beside you.

Chapter Text

The low whirrrrr of the power restoring hummed to life beneath the floorboards, vibrating faintly through the walls like a pulse returning to a sleeping body. The sudden shift pulled Bella from her haze, her lashes fluttering as she blinked against the amber light that now glowed warmly from the hallway lamp. The painkillers in her system dragged like syrup through her veins, heavy and drowsy, but the change in energy—however small—shook her loose from the gray tide of sleep.

Her head lolled slightly on the cushion as she looked around. The soft purring of Rosalie’s portable heater had quieted, replaced now by the familiar sputter of their old HVAC system kicking back to life. Vents breathed heat with a gentle whoosh, settling a ghost of warmth over her legs beneath the blanket.

She might’ve drifted off again, except—

Creak.

The unmistakable groan of the kitchen door swinging open caught her attention. Bella turned her head slowly, blinking the blur from her eyes.

In the soft glow of the overhead light, two figures stepped through the threshold. Her father and Rosalie. Snow clung to their coats in thick, uneven patches, sparkling like crushed quartz along their shoulders and hoods. Charlie was muttering something under his breath, shaking slush from his sleeves as he nudged the garage door shut with the back of his heel. His cheeks were wind-burned and flushed, his fingers red from cold and effort.

Rosalie stood beside him like a statue sculpted from moonlight and ice.

Her hood was still up, though her golden hair had slipped free in places, dusted now with melting snowflakes that clung to her temples and collar like jewelry. She brushed at her sleeves with unhurried grace, eyes sweeping the room briefly—until they landed on Bella.

A second passed.

Maybe two.

Then Rosalie’s gaze softened, almost imperceptibly, like frost catching firelight.

Bella blinked again, suddenly very aware of the blanket tucked under her arms, of how small she felt against the vast quiet between them. Despite the medication and lingering aches, a flutter passed through her chest—light, quick, uncertain.

“She’s still awake,” Charlie said with a faint note of surprise as he walked past, leaving a trail of melting snow in his wake. “Rosalie, could you grab the soup?”

Without speaking, the blonde nodded and turned back toward the front door, her steps silent on the floorboards.

Bella watched her go, her fingers curling tighter around the edge of the blanket—unable to explain the strange relief that settled in her ribs at the knowledge that Rosalie would be coming back.
The front door whispered open with a low creak, a swirl of cold air trailing behind Rosalie as she stepped back into the Swan home. The wind reached into the hallway like a jealous thing, tugging at her coat before she pushed the door firmly shut behind her. Snow still clung to the hem of her wool jacket and gathered in the folds of her scarf, but she moved with the kind of grace that ignored the cold altogether.

In her gloved hands, she carried a matte silver thermos tucked carefully into the crook of one arm and a small, towel-wrapped container nestled against her chest, steaming faintly even through the fabric. The soft scent of roasted vegetables and thyme escaped into the air as she stepped forward—quiet comfort wrapped in stainless steel and patience.

Bella turned her head at the sound, lids heavy from pain and fatigue but eyes sharpening as they landed on the tall blonde reentering the room.

Rosalie paused at the edge of the living room, just inside the soft circle of firelight. “I brought the soup,” she said, voice quieter than it had been outside, the edge of command sanded down by something gentler. “Esme made it earlier this afternoon. She thought you might prefer something warm that actually had flavor.”

Her lips quirked faintly—not quite a smile, but softer than her usual expression. She crossed the room with unhurried steps and knelt beside the couch, placing the wrapped container on the coffee table with quiet precision.

“Are you still cold?” she asked, eyes flicking briefly to the blanket tucked around Bella’s frame. There was no condescension in the question, just direct attention—like Rosalie was cataloguing her discomfort and weighing how best to solve it.

Bella hesitated. “A little,” she admitted. “But… better. Since the power came on.”

Rosalie’s gaze lingered on her face for a moment longer—brown eyes rimmed with fatigue, lips pale, lashes heavy. Still beautiful in that quiet, battered way. Still trying to pretend she was fine when everything in her posture said otherwise.

Without asking, Rosalie reached out and gently adjusted the edge of the blanket, tucking it higher up over Bella’s arm with a careful, gloved hand. Her touch was light but deliberate.
“I’ll heat this up for you,” she said simply, rising with the thermos in one hand. “It’ll only take a minute. Then you should eat.”

Bella nodded, something tight in her chest loosening just a little. As Rosalie disappeared into the kitchen, her long shadow stretching across the hardwood floor, Bella let herself breathe in the scent lingering in her wake.

Not just the soup—but something clean and crisp and quietly fierce.

Rosalie returned with the bowl cradled in her usual gloved hands, She knelt again, gracefully and without a sound, placing the soup on the coffee table. The soft glow of the fire warmed the side of her face, casting deep shadows beneath her cheekbones. Her eyes flicked up to Bella’s, and for a moment, they just looked at each other.

“Here,” Rosalie said quietly. “Try again. Slowly.”

Bella reached for the spoon, her fingers brushing Rosalie’s as it changed hands. Warm skin against cool porcelain. She stirred the broth once, then hesitated.
“You don’t have to pretend in front of me,” Rosalie added, not unkindly.

Bella blinked. “Pretend what?”

Rosalie sat back on her heels, arms resting lightly on her thighs. “That you’re okay. That this is normal. That you’re swallowing because you’re hungry and not because you’re trying to prove something to yourself.”

Bella’s jaw tightened. Her lips parted like she might protest—but then she closed them again, gaze shifting back to the bowl.

A long silence passed.

“I don’t want to be seen like this,” Bella murmured finally. “All… helpless. Messy. Broken.”

“You’re not broken.”

“I feel like I am.”

Rosalie’s head dipped slightly. Her golden eyes darkened with memory.

“When it happened to me,” she said slowly, “I remember waking up and realizing my body wasn’t just mine anymore. I hated it. I hated the way clothes felt, the way eyes looked at me—even if they were kind. Everything felt like a threat. Even the mirror.”

Bella’s eyes widened slightly, her breath catching. “You… you remember?”

A nod. “Every detail. The pain, the smell of the alley, the hands.” Rosalie’s voice didn’t shake—but it thickened. “It never leaves you. But it doesn’t control you forever.”

Bella looked down at her own lap, her hands pale and trembling over the soup.

“I thought I was being dramatic,” she whispered. “Like I should just bounce back. Keep going. Be grateful I’m still here.”

“You survived something that tried to erase you,” Rosalie said, her voice lower now, fierce with quiet conviction. “You don’t owe anyone your recovery on a timeline. Least of all yourself.”
Bella exhaled—shaky, uneven. Tears welled without falling.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said.

“You don’t have to know how,” Rosalie replied. “You just have to keep breathing through it.”

Her hand reached forward then, not quite touching—but close. An offering, not a demand.

Bella stared at it, her lips trembling, then set the spoon down carefully. She didn’t grab Rosalie’s hand. But she let her pinkie brush against hers—small, tentative contact. A heartbeat’s worth of trust.

They stayed like that—fingers barely grazing, grief shared wordlessly—for a long, long time.

Rosalie remained still, crouched beside the couch, as Bella brought another spoonful of soup to her lips. The firelight played gently over the edges of her face, softening the shadows beneath her eyes, warming the pale hollows of her cheeks.

She moved slowly, almost ritualistically—savoring each bite as if the act of eating were less about hunger and more about reclaiming something.
Rosalie didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

She simply watched. Watched the way Bella’s shoulders dropped, bit by bit, the way tension began to melt from her frame. The bruises ringing her wrists looked faded now in the dim light, like ghosts retreating into skin. Her hands, still trembling, had steadied just slightly—enough to hold warmth again.

And Rosalie felt… something stretch and settle inside her chest. Not sympathy. Not pity.

Resolve.

You don’t need someone to save you, she thought, studying the flicker of life returning behind Bella’s tired eyes. You just need someone to keep the world back while you gather your pieces.
She could do that. She would do that.

Not like Edward, who charged through people’s trauma like a battlefield he thought he was meant to win. No. This wasn’t about winning. This wasn’t about claiming.
This was about guarding.

Rosalie reached out when Bella wavered, helping guide the last spoonful to her lips. There was no embarrassment from Bella, no guarded glance—just a soft exhale as she leaned back into the couch, bowl now resting empty on her lap. Her eyes were already beginning to close.

“You’re safe,” Rosalie whispered, unsure if Bella heard her. Maybe she didn’t need to.

The blanket slipped slightly as Bella shifted, and Rosalie pulled it higher, fingers tucking it in near her collarbone with quiet reverence. Bella turned into it instinctively, burrowing against the warmth, a faint, sleep-heavy sigh slipping from her lips.

Then—without thinking—Rosalie sat back and folded her legs beneath her, nestling beside the couch. She didn’t get up. She didn’t leave.

She stayed.

Eyes locked on the fire, jaw set like marble, her mind quieter than it had been in days.

Let Edward come.

Let the storm howl.

If he tried to push into Bella’s recovery, tried to bury her hurt beneath his guilt—he’d answer to her.

Rosalie Hale didn’t make promises easily. Not anymore.

But this one anchored deep, like stone settling at the bottom of a river.

I will protect you.

Chapter Text

Winter break had slipped through Bella’s fingers faster than she expected. Not in the way a holiday usually does—drowned in festive lights and lazy afternoons—but in the hollow, grey blur of painkillers, physical therapy appointments, and the quiet routines of healing.

The days blurred together, tethered by calendar reminders and morning alarms set not for rest, but for progress. Most of her memories from those two weeks were traced in antiseptic air and the sterile chill of exam tables. The clinic had become her second home—clinical, cold, lined with hushed encouragements and the low hum of fluorescent lighting.

And slowly—so agonizingly slowly—her body began to respond.

At first, it was little things: the faint tingling in her calves, an involuntary twitch in her toes during her second session, the ache in muscles that hadn’t moved in days.

Then came controlled effort—scooting forward in the chair without trembling, transferring from bed to seat with only minor assistance, the awkward but monumental process of standing with the help of parallel bars and a steel-eyed therapist who never let her give up mid-push.

Charlie never missed a single session. He drove her every time, hands gripping the steering wheel with the same pressure he used to hold a fishing rod in a storm. He didn’t hover—he simply stayed close enough. A constant.

By the end of the break, she had progressed enough to retire the wheelchair.

Well, mostly.

Now, with a pair of adjustable crutches and a brace wrapped snugly around her left knee, she walked the fragile line between independence and recovery. Her gait was slow, movements measured and cautious, but she could move. That alone felt like rebellion—a quiet defiance against everything that had tried to make her small and still.

She was no longer stuck.

But that didn’t mean she was ready.

Here she was now, parked just outside Forks High, seated stiffly in the passenger seat of her father’s cruiser as her chest tightened with every second. The building loomed ahead, familiar and suffocating in the same breath. Students shuffled toward the front doors in insulated coats and layered scarves, laughing, yelling, bumping shoulders like nothing in the world had changed.
For them, it hadn’t.

Beside her, Charlie drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel, casting sidelong glances at her with the kind of worry that had become his default expression these past few weeks. He hadn’t said anything since they’d pulled into the lot, hadn’t needed to—her silence spoke volumes. But even still, the words weighed down his throat like gravel.

She stared out the window, jaw tight, heart thudding. She could already feel their eyes—imagined or not—pressing in. Whispers behind lockers. The careful avoidance. The too-long glances laced with pity or fascination.

Confidentiality meant nothing in a town like Forks.

She knew the nurses hadn’t meant harm when they spoke to their neighbors, or the store clerks, or their sister-in-law who happened to coach the junior varsity volleyball team. But secrets didn’t stay buried long in a place where gossip circulated faster than weather alerts.

They didn’t know details. Not really. But they knew enough. Enough to assume. Enough to chew on behind closed doors.

The girl who disappeared. The girl in the hospital. The girl who came back different.

Bella Swan was no longer just a quiet transplant from Phoenix. She had become a story.
And she hated it.

“You want me to walk you in bells?” He father asked, genuine concern lacing his tone.

She loved his kindness and appreciated his generosity, but she knew she couldn’t continue to rely on his help, she needed to get back on her feet–literally and figuratively. She wanted to move on, she didn’t want to keep feeling so helpless anymore, she just wanted to forget the pain–forget him.

Knock knock

She jumped slightly, shocked to see Alice at the window, along with Edward right behind her, who was rocking back and forth on his heels, all to eager to speak to her.
She took hold of the doors handle and opened it, shivering as the cold air blasted into the cars cabin.

“Hello Bella, chief swan! I was hoping I could walk you to class?” Alice beamed, happy to see her best friend, sending an excited wave to Charlie.

“Alice it’s good to see you, and please I’ve told you so many times to call me Charlie.” He sputtered, the girl always made him feel so embarrassed with her bright smile and upbeat attitude, but her brother on the other hand always made him glower; everything about that boy set his instincts on edge.

Bella looked at her father, unsure of how to answer be he only smiled at her and nodded, sparing a glance at Alice. “You’ll be okay bells, remember if you want to come home just give me a call all right?”

She nodded, hesitantly and grabbed her crutch from the back, allowing Alice’s cold hand to grab her own helping pull her from the seat. Edward went to step forward to help—his hand outstretched, but a flinch from Bella and a heated glare from Alice stopped him.

“I’ll make sure she gets to her classes safely Charlie, you can count on me.” Alice dropped her smile, exchanging a stern look, it eased the worry in his heart.

“Thank you hon, that takes a weight off my shoulders. I’ll head out then, you girls have a good day.” He smiled nodding at her, only narrowing his eyes at the boy behind her. “Edwin.”

“It’s Edward…” he mumbled, but it was clear the chief did not care, as his thoughts were full of different thoughts on how he could beat the boy seven ways to Sunday. Charlie never liked him, especially since the baseball game, and more so after he had abandoned Bella in the forest nearby. He didn’t blame him, but Bella was his and only his, so Charlie would have to get over it, or risk never seeing his daughter again.

“Alice, allow me to walk Bella to her classes, I am her mate, it is only natural I do so.” He offer them his award winning lop sided grin, but alice only narrowed her eyes at him before looking at Bella, earnestly in her stare.

“Do you want Edward to walk you instead of Bella, or would you feel more comfortable if I did it?”Alice asked genuine generosity, only caring for her friends response and not her brothers.
“I–I would prefer if Alice walked me… Sorry, Edward.” Bella avoided their gaze, squeezing her crutch so tightly she heard the plastic creak underneath the pressure.

“No, I will not allow this, I get to decide, as you are my ma–” He was about to blow a fuse before a large shadow over his lanky form, his eyes squinting with uncontrolled anger.
“You heard bella-bear, Dickward, Alice is walking her to class, so why don't you go to yours?” Emmetts massive form looked over his brother, his usual kid glittering gold eyes dark and threatening, his muscles twitching as if ready to attack any second, Bella felt a small sliver of fear towards but it faded when emmett glanced at her, the ager fading only warmth and brotherly love shining through them towards her.

THat was right, emmet would never hurt her, emmet truly cared for her, but it didnt stop the fear that spread throughout her shaking body.

“You good, Bella-Bear?” he asked, voice low and careful, meant only for her.

Bella nodded slowly, her body relaxing an inch.

He gave a short, satisfied nod before pivoting toward Edward again, his earlier intimidation back in full force.

“Move along, brother.” Edward let a snarl, his lips curled back, revealing glistening, sharp teeth just before stalking off angrily.

“Thank you Emmet, I appreciate it. “

“Anything for you bella-bear, Now get to class, the bell is about to ring.” He turned to leave, waving briefly as his massive form disappeared into the sea of students.

“You have English with Mr. Mason, right?” Alice asked, and Bella only gave a confirming nod.

–

By the time they reached the English wing, the warning bell had already rung, leaving the hallway nearly empty. The familiar buzz of fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in that sterile yellow that always felt colder in winter. Bella’s steps were careful, her crutch tapping lightly with each shift, Alice staying close but never crowding.

When they stopped just outside the door to Mr. Mason’s class, Alice turned to her, her bright energy softened into something quieter, more reverent.

“You good?” she asked.

Bella gave the faintest nod, though her stomach coiled tight.

“You’ve got this,” Alice said, brushing a light hand over Bella’s shoulder. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll be right down the hall.”

With that, she slipped away—just a flick of motion and then gone, giving Bella one last glance over her shoulder before the classroom swallowed her up.
Bella pushed the door open.

The low murmur of student voices dropped off. Not abruptly. But in that subtle, uncomfortable way that always made your skin itch.

Mr. Mason—older now than she remembered, with a slight stoop and salt-and-pepper beard—looked up from his desk and blinked as if startled.

“Bella,” he said quickly, rising a bit too fast. “It’s good to have you back.” His voice was kind, if a little uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if saying welcome back would feel like too much or too little.
She offered a slight smile. “Thanks.”

“I’ve got your seat ready,” he added, gesturing toward the back corner.

She followed his motion—and saw Jessica already sitting at their usual table. Her perfectly styled hair was slightly frizzed by the mist outside, and her lip gloss sparkled more than the winter light should allow. But her face wasn’t painted in curiosity or gossip—not this time.

Jessica looked up.

And for the first time in their on-and-off friendship, she smiled at Bella with something that resembled tenderness. Not pity. But a quiet, uncertain kind of care. As if she didn’t quite know how to talk to someone who had been through a war—but she wanted to try.

Bella moved slowly toward the seat, her legs stiff, her balance careful. Jessica stood halfway to help steady the chair but caught herself and simply stepped back, letting Bella ease herself in.
“Hey,” Jessica said softly, as she settled. “If you want notes for the stuff you missed, I’ve got them. I color-coded, if that helps.”

Bella blinked. Her throat swelled slightly with gratitude—because it wasn’t the gesture. It was the change. The kindness without expectation. The space.
“Thanks, Jess,” she murmured. “That’d be really nice.”

The class began to stir again. Mr. Mason shuffled papers. Voices picked up. But for a few moments more, Bella let herself sit in the warmth of a seat she thought she might never return to.

Class passed just as everything else did, life was starting to become dull to her, unlikable and a nuisance, its not that she wanted it to be like that, but she couldn’t help it. The dread of waking up, the dread of even falling asleep and being consumed by the painful nightmares. She wanted it all to stop.

She passed through each class with a sense of numbness, her conversations with Alice through each transition to class felt faraway-distant as if she was watching through a fogged window.
As they made it to the opposite side of the school for lunch, the cafeteria hit her like a brick wall.

The moment they stepped inside, the air shifted—thick with heat and overcrowded noise. A cloud of clashing smells hung in the space like a trap: greasy mystery meat, boiled vegetables, the cloying sweetness of artificial fruit drinks, and underneath it all, the sharp tang of overused cologne and adolescent sweat.

It slammed into Bella’s senses.

She stopped short. Her stomach pitched sideways.

She slapped a trembling hand over her mouth, eyes widening in panic. Her breath hitched.

Alice whipped toward her instantly, alarm cutting through her usual glow. She darted a glance around, eyes scanning for something—anything—and then bolted toward the nearest trash can. She dragged it back just in time for Bella to double over, one hand braced on her crutch, the other clutching the metal rim as she lost the meager contents of her breakfast into the bin.

A wave of silence rippled outward from the nearby tables. Conversations halted. Plastic forks froze mid-air.

Bella’s hair hung around her face like a curtain as her shoulders shook. Her throat burned. Her chest felt too tight for air.

Alice dropped beside her instantly—fingers brushing her back, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s okay, Bella. It’s okay. Just breathe.”
Bella wanted to believe her.

She wanted to stand up straight and pull herself together.

But in that moment, bent over and shaking, surrounded by silence and invisible eyes, she felt stripped bare again. Why did they have to sit there, and watch her. She wanted to scream at them to look away and mind their business, but just taking a breath it into speak sent another roll of nausea to hit her, causing her to continue to spew sickness into the trash can.

But like a saint, Rosalie strolled up to them, hips swaying and heels clacking as slitted golden eyes peered upon her, before slowing dragging across the student body turning into a cold gaze, “this isn't a show, look away before I make you regret watching.” The woman hissed, the air growing cold around her, the coldness sending a relief throughout her hot sick body. “Pathetic humans.” As the students awkwardly looked away–ashamed–Rosalie walked up to her sister and bella, pulling back the younger girls hair with a gentleness that bella began to learn the older woman had secretly hidden from others.

The leather gloves that always covered the blondes hands, were icy to the touch, she didn’t expect to feel the coldness against her damp forehead, but she didnt pull away, she leaned into it.
“Come Isabella, lets take you to the nurse.” Rosalie stated, “you dont seem to have a fever, but I would still like to get you checked out.” Alice glanced at her sister, hesitant as she held onto her best friend. Her eyes seemed to doze off, growing clouded, before slowly regaining their spark.

Alice stood there, panic reaching her eyes, only Rosalie being able to decipher it in that moment, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow in question. The seer could only shake her head, as if to say ‘not not, not with bella here’.

“I’ll come with, come on bella, we’ll help you get to the nurses office.”

–

“98.7,” Ms. Thompson said matter-of-factly as she withdrew the thermometer and tapped it against the edge of the tray with a small clink. “Perfect temperature.”

She didn’t sound pleased. If anything, she sounded mildly annoyed. As if Bella vomiting in the middle of the cafeteria had personally disrupted her morning.

Bella sat stiffly on the exam table, legs dangling, one crutch propped beside her while she twisted her fingers in the hem of her sleeve. Her coat still smelled faintly like cafeteria grease and antiseptic soap.

“So,” the nurse continued, pulling off her gloves with a snap, “are you feeling any anxiety at all, dear?”

Bella blinked at her. “Um. No—not really. I mean…” She rubbed at the curve of her arm, skin flushed with the shame of earlier. “I have anxiety, but it’s never made me vomit. Not like that.”
Her voice felt too loud in the small office. The silence that followed was louder.

Ms. Thompson frowned thoughtfully, arms now folded over her chart. “Well, if it’s not a stomach virus—and you’re sure it’s not anxiety—let’s talk about how you’ve been feeling overall. What about the past few days?”

Bella inhaled through her nose, trying to sort through the swirling exhaustion in her body. She was too tired for lies but too guarded for total truth.

“I guess… mostly just really tired,” she said. “But Dr. Cullen said that’s normal with my injuries. And the medication. He said it’d get better.” She paused, then added more slowly, “I’ve had cramps. Bad ones. And I’ve been feeling really… tender?”

She touched her chest lightly with the back of her hand, her brows pinching as she tried to articulate the sensation. “Like bruised or something, I don’t know. I thought maybe it was just part of healing. And there’s nausea—but only sometimes. This was the first time it actually happened.”

Behind her, Rosalie shifted. Bella didn’t turn to look, but she heard it—the deep, careful inhale, the tension in that breath. Like someone bracing themselves before a wave. She could only assume Rosalie and Alice were exchanging silent looks behind her back.

Ms. Thompson tapped her pen against the clipboard, then looked up. “And when was your last period?”

Bella’s gaze dropped. Her throat tightened.

“It ended December fifth… I think.” She almost whispered it.

It ended a week and a half before the alley. Before everything.

The nurse scribbled, then lifted her gaze again. “Are your periods regular? On time?”

“Yes.” Bella nodded, but the word broke at the edges. “Always. I’ve never been… l—”

Her voice cut off.

She turned slowly toward the far wall, eyes locking on the calendar just above the shelf of cotton balls and disposable gloves.

January 16th. Two weeks. Two whole weeks late.

A cold sweat spread across her back.

“And when is your next expected period, Ms. Swan?” the nurse asked, the concern in her voice now impossible to ignore. “Do you track them?”

Bella didn’t answer. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

She felt the ground slip sideways beneath her, breath catching in her throat like a hook. Her pulse screamed in her ears. Her stomach clenched again—not from nausea this time, but something far worse.

It couldn’t be.

“I—” she choked out. “I need to go to class. I can’t—”

The edges of the room blurred. Her crutch scraped the floor as she reached for it blindly. Her shoulder knocked into the counter. She needed out. Now.

“Ms. Swan, please—”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Thompson,” Alice cut in gently but firmly, raising a hand to halt the nurse before she could stand. “We’ll go after her.”

Rosalie was already gone.

She’d slipped from the room the second Bella had spoken. Her boots had barely made a sound against the linoleum floor as she moved—swift, purposeful, furious. Alice remained behind only long enough to offer the nurse a tight-lipped smile, then followed.

The door swung shut behind her with a quiet finality.

Rosalie’s fists clenched as she stormed down the corridor, eyes scanning frantically for any flash of brown hair, any telltale sway of a crutch. Bella’s scent still hung in the air—panic-salted, sharp. When Alice caught up to her, she didn’t say a word.

She didn’t need to.

Rosalie knew.

That’s what Alice had seen—back in the cafeteria. Not just the panic, not just the sickness. The possibility.

And if it was true, if what they all feared was about to collapse into certainty… She had to find Bella.

Rosalie’s boots echoed sharply down the hall, each step like a heartbeat, a countdown. She didn’t call Bella’s name. Didn’t shout after her. She knew better. Words would be useless right now. What Bella needed—what she always needed—was presence.

And Rosalie was nothing if not present.

She rounded the corner and saw her.

Collapsed near the lockers like a ghost folded in on herself, Bella’s body shook with a sob so broken it sounded stolen. One crutch lay clattered beside her, the other still clenched between trembling fingers. Her forehead pressed to the cool metal locker door as if trying to fuse herself into it—to vanish.

Rosalie slowed.

Her heart—whatever it was these days—thudded once, hard and unrelenting.

Too much. Too fast. The words echoed through her mind like they’d been carved there in advance.

She didn’t approach too quickly. She didn’t kneel yet. Instead, she crouched beside the fallen crutch, lifting it gently, setting it upright. A calm offering. A reminder: You are not alone.
Then, slowly, she lowered herself to the floor.

Not beside Bella—with her. Shoulder to shoulder. Close enough to feel the shudder of Bella’s breath, but not so close that it overwhelmed.
Rosalie didn’t say a word.

Bella was already dissolving, gasping against her knees, breath hitching in short bursts as if panic had clogged her lungs.

“I can’t,” she finally choked. “I can’t do this. Rosalie—I can’t—” She hiccuped another sob, voice cracking. “Why would this happen to me? After everything—after all I’ve already survived…”
Rosalie swallowed. Her jaw flexed.

“I know,” she said softly. “It feels cruel. Like fate missed the first time, so it came back for seconds.”

Bella didn’t respond at first, just cried harder. Rosalie let her.

Then—carefully—she reached out and tucked a hand around the back of Bella’s neck. Her thumb brushed lightly against damp strands of hair, grounding. Not controlling. Not leading. Just there.
“It’s okay to fall apart right now,” she murmured, her voice steadier than she felt. “You don’t have to be brave for anyone. Not even for me.”

Bella shook her head, but didn’t pull away.

“I just wanted to feel normal again,” she whispered. “I wanted a life. Something that didn’t have his fingerprints on it.”

Rosalie’s hand moved—to Bella’s shoulder this time, anchoring.

“Then we’ll make that life,” she said. “Together. One breath at a time. Even if it means dragging fate, kicking and screaming, away from you.”
Bella finally looked at her then, eyes red-rimmed and shining.

“Even if I’m—”

“You’re not anything,” Rosalie said, gently but with the edge of steel beneath the softness. “Not until we know. And even if you are…” Her voice dropped, rough and low and full of something unspoken. “No one gets to decide what that means for you. Not Edward. Not the town. Not even Charlie. You have options, Isabella.”

The use of her full name settled around them like a vow.

Alice appeared then, sliding to her knees in front of Bella, her expression stricken but composed. She reached forward and took Bella’s trembling hand in both of hers, squeezing firmly, grounding her with touch.

“She’s right, Bella,” Alice said softly. “We’re here for you. You’re not alone in this—you have your dad, and us, and our whole family. You won’t have to face anything by yourself. And if… if you decide you want one of us to go with you to—”

She hesitated.

Didn’t finish.

The word hovered unsaid in the air between them like broken glass: terminate. She wouldn’t say it in front of Rosalie—not with everything Rosalie had endured, everything she’d lost.
“I don’t know,” Bella choked out. “I don’t know if I could do something like that, Alice. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Her voice fractured as she pressed a shaking hand to her chest. “What is Charlie going to think of me?” she whispered. “Oh God—he’s going to be so disappointed. He trusted me and I—”
She couldn’t finish. Shame wrapped its cold hands around her throat.

Alice’s expression folded into something close to sorrow. If she had been capable of tears, Bella was sure they would’ve spilled freely.

“Oh, Bella,” she murmured. “Charlie adores you. Jasper says he’s never felt love that loud come from a father—not in decades. He would never be disappointed. Not in you. You’re his baby.” She gave Bella’s hand another squeeze, voice trembling with insistence. “He’ll support you no matter what decision you make. He will, Bella.”

Bella’s breath hitched again. Her chest heaved beneath the weight of it all—her body, her fears, the silent ticking of a decision she hadn’t yet made.

She squeezed Alice’s hand like a lifeline, her voice nearly inaudible. “Can… can one of you take me home?”

Rosalie leaned closer, listening, ready to move the second she spoke.

“I don’t think I can stay,” Bella went on. “Not today. I just… I need to be alone. I need to think.”

No, a quiet voice inside her corrected. She didn’t just need to think.

She needed to figure out if she could live with what might be growing inside her. If she could love it. If she could carry a piece of her trauma and not crumble beneath it. If she could ever look at her body and see something worth keeping.

Her hand fell unconsciously to her stomach.

She was almost the same age Renee had been when she got pregnant. And Renee had ended up flighty, lost, unmoored—never really made for the long game of motherhood. She loved Bella, sure… but did love always translate to staying?

Bella didn’t know if she had it in her.

And that bitterness—sharp, jagged, suffocating—sat with her like a shadow.

Alice saw it. Rosalie felt it. And neither of them said a word to push her through it. They were just there. Quiet. Steady. Present. Exactly what Bella needed to start breathing again.

Chapter Text

The sound of the front door clicking shut was too loud in the silence Rosalie left behind. For a moment, Bella stood motionless in the entryway—shoulders curled, crutch clutched in one hand, breath barely leaving her lungs. Then she heard the low purr of Rosalie’s Jeep retreating down the drive, tires crunching through gravel, swallowed slowly by the quiet hum of the neighborhood.
And that was when she broke.

Her body folded in on itself, dropping like a puppet with its strings severed. She collapsed to the floor in a graceless heap—crutch clattering beside her, knees pulled tight to her chest. The sobs hit before she had a chance to brace. Raw, unrelenting, messy. Snot and spit and hiccupping gasps she couldn’t catch, tears that burned down her cheeks so fast they soaked through her sleeves before she realized she was even wiping them.

The more she tried to calm herself—tried to breathe, to think—the harder the wave crashed. There was no logic, no pacing herself through it. Just despair. Loud and wide and bottomless.
Her arms curled around her stomach like she could hold it all in—grief, fear, the unthinkable possibility. She gripped at the fabric of her sweater, nails biting into her side, and rocked there on the cold hardwood like the motion might keep her anchored.

It didn’t.

She didn’t know how long she had cried. Time blurred and bent around her grief. The house didn’t offer comfort—just corners that echoed her sobs back at her like ghosts. But eventually, her body began to still. Her ribs ached. Her mouth was dry. Her eyes burned. And she was too exhausted for another tear.

It wasn’t peace. It was just emptiness.

She tilted her head back against the wall, vision swimming until the soft, rose-gold hue of the setting sun came into view through the front window. It painted warm stripes across the floor, bleeding up the wall in quiet ribbons. Outside, the snow glittered like something beautiful. Inside, she felt like rubble.

Charlie wouldn’t be home for another two hours.

And she needed that time.

Not to rest.

Not to escape.

To search.

She dragged herself to her feet with shaking limbs, using the wall for support, and limped toward the stairs. Her movements were slow, mechanical, like her bones weren’t quite hers.

-Cullen House-

“Why’d you take Bella home so early?” Emmett asked from the couch, barely glancing up from the television as his thumbs thrashed away at his controller, the sharp clicks of the Xbox remote echoing through the high ceilings of the Cullen home.

Rosalie didn’t look at him. “She wasn’t feeling well after the cafeteria,” she said shortly, unzipping her coat with clipped precision. “She asked to go home. I did what she asked.”

Her voice was edged with finality—sharp enough to ward off further questions. But Emmett, ever tactless when lost in a game, kept going.

“Yeah, but did something happen?” he pressed. “I mean, Alice looked tense. She doesn’t usually look tense, she's-well-Alice.”

Rosalie paused at the base of the stairs, her jaw tightening just slightly. She didn’t answer.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have answers.

She simply couldn’t afford to think about them—not yet. It was only a matter of time before Edward caught on, if he hadn’t already. She was gambling on the fact that he’d gone hunting, just as Alice had assured her. Jasper was keeping him occupied in Olympic National Forest, their minds locked between trees and instinct. Out of town. Out of reach.

That bought them time.

But not much.

She needed to speak to Carlisle before her brother got back—before he read it in someone else’s thoughts. It had to be her who laid the groundwork.

Rosalie rapped once, then twice, on the heavy oak door of Carlisle’s home office, her heel tapping an anxious rhythm on the polished floor. From inside, she heard papers shifting and the soft call of “Come in.”

She stepped in, shutting the door carefully behind her.

Carlisle sat behind his grand mahogany desk, rimless glasses perched low on his nose, flipping through a stack of medical notes. He looked up at the sight of her and smiled—a quiet kind of paternal warmth. “Rosalie,” he said, setting the papers aside, “to what do I owe the visit?”

She didn’t sit right away. “I need to talk to you.”

At his nod, she moved to the armchair across from him, spine straight, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“What is it?”

“I was wondering if you knew of any… discreet Planned Parenthood clinics,” she said, carefully keeping her tone neutral. Her gaze fixed just above his shoulder. “Not the ones listed in obvious directories. The kind that won’t ask unnecessary questions.”

Carlisle’s head tilted slightly, not unkindly. “And… may I ask why?”

She hesitated. “Just curiosity,” she said too quickly. “I thought about volunteering. Maybe lending a hand. They’re usually underfunded, and—”

“Rosalie,” he interrupted gently, leaning back with a quiet hum. “Don’t lie to me. You’ve never had any interest in volunteering.”

His voice wasn’t accusatory, but it wasn’t fooled either.

Rosalie rolled her eyes, lifting her chin in defiance. “Can’t I be allowed to change?”

Carlisle chuckled lightly. “Not that fast.”

There was a long pause between them.

Then, quietly: “Is this about Isabella?”

Rosalie stiffened. “No. Why would it be?” she said sharply. “You know how I feel about her.”

He smiled faintly, unconvinced. “I also know how fiercely you protect the people you claim not to care about.”

She scoffed, crossing her legs, forcing her expression into something bored. “That’s projection.”

Carlisle leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Rosalie. I’ve practiced medicine for nearly three centuries. I’ve delivered children, sat with women making hard decisions, listened to the quiet signals their bodies send before they even know how to interpret them. Pregnancies… leave a scent.”

Her breath caught.

He didn’t gloat. Didn’t press.

“I smelled it on Isabella weeks ago,” he said quietly. “The moment the embryo formed. You weren’t imagining what Alice saw.”

Rosalie’s throat tightened, but she didn’t speak. She couldn’t—not yet.

Carlisle’s voice stayed low, level, like he’d said it to dozens of frightened young women before her. “She hasn’t made any decisions yet. But when she’s ready—if she’s ready—we’ll support whatever she chooses. That includes protecting her from your brother.”

And finally, Rosalie looked up. Her golden eyes burned like flame behind a pane of glass.

“She won’t go through this alone,” she said. “Not like I did.”

Carlisle’s expression softened. “I know.”

“How do we keep this from Edward?” Rosalie hissed through clenched teeth. She paced the office now, like a caged flame. “He’ll pressure her to keep it. He’ll throw a tantrum the second he realizes she’s even considering another option—and she doesn’t need that right now. He’s stuck in the past.”

Carlisle didn’t look up from the file he’d quietly closed and slid aside.

“We don’t.”

Rosalie froze mid-step, her jaw snapping toward him. “Excuse me?”

Carlisle finally met her eyes. Calm. Controlled. Ageless.

“We don’t hide it,” he said again.

She surged forward, rising from the armchair in a fury. Her gloved hands clenched at her sides, and cold mist began to spool around her knuckles.

The air dropped ten degrees in a breath.

“You can’t be serious,” she snapped. “The second he finds out, he’ll make it all about him. He’ll corner her—manipulate her—and she’ll think she owes him something just because they played star-crossed lovers once upon a time.”

Carlisle raised a hand slowly, palm out—not in warning, but in reassurance. “Rosalie.”

“She’s barely holding herself together,” she continued, her voice fracturing beneath the heat of her anger. “If he even looks at her wrong—if he tries to force his goddamn guilt into her decision—I will freeze the whole forest to stop him.”

“He’ll know the moment he sets foot in this house,” Carlisle said gently, but with authority. “He’ll read it in your thoughts. In Alice’s. Mine. We can’t stop him from knowing.”

She turned away, teeth clenched, breath fogging like frost in the air.

“But what we can do,” he continued, “is make sure he understands this choice is not his to make. It never was.”

Carlisle’s voice softened—warmer now, heavy with conviction. “We stand between him and her, if we have to. Not to keep secrets. But to protect her will.”

Rosalie’s shoulders slowly rose, then fell. Her rage cooled, not gone—but harnessed.

“I won’t let him take this from her,” she said quietly.

Carlisle nodded once, his voice like steady hands. “I know you won’t.”

“Besides,” Carlisle said quietly, glancing toward the window as something shifted in the air, “he’s just arrived.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. He already sensed how poorly Edward would handle this—how quickly he’d take the situation and turn it into something unbearable. Something his. With a sigh, Carlisle stood from behind his desk and moved to Rosalie, placing a firm hand on her rigid shoulder.

“Take a breath,” he murmured, glancing down at her gloves that were slowly beginning to form frost. “Calm yourself before you freeze my entire office. We have much to discuss—with the whole family.”

But the shouting downstairs interrupted him before Rosalie could even answer.

It started suddenly—loud and vicious, echoing like thunder cracking through the walls.

She hadn’t expected it to unravel this fast. She knew Edward would lose his composure—of course, he would—but this? This was a storm let loose.

By the time she and Carlisle reached the bottom of the stairs, the great room was a chaos of stance and fury.

Edward and Alice were crouched opposite one another like animals ready to strike, snarling low and sharp enough to chill the blood. Their eyes burned gold-dark, post-hunt black creeping in at the edges of their irises. The air buzzed with the tension of it—one twitch away from fracture.

Jasper hovered behind Alice, wary, his posture rigid with instinct. Emmett stood closer to the fireplace, fists clenched but still, waiting, watching.

And Esme—

Esme stood just behind Alice, her hands pressed to her chest, eyes glassy with restrained emotion. Her expression was torn between horror and fury, jaw tight as she stared at her eldest son. She loved Bella like one of her own, loved her without conditions, and to know what had happened—what might be happening inside her now—sickened her. Not because of the pregnancy, but because of the violence that had made it possible.

“You will not make this decision for her, Edward!” Alice snarled, her voice piercing through the house like glass shattering. “You don’t get to declare her future!”

Edward’s eyes flashed. “I am her mate, dammit! She’s a fragile, broken human—she won’t survive this. She’ll give birth, and we’ll leave—all of us. So she can raise the child in peace, without our shadows.”

“No.”

Alice’s voice was low now—dangerously soft.

“I’m not leaving her,” she said. “Not again. Not because you say so. You don’t lead this family, Edward.”

Her hands shook, but not from fear. From rage. Her once-bright amber eyes had gone almost coal-dark, and Rosalie had never seen her sister look more terrifying.

“She’s my sister,” Alice spat. “I failed her once—I won’t do it again.”

Edward let out a snarl—sharp, guttural, too loud in the vaulted space of the living room. His eyes flared wild and gold-black, blood surging beneath his skin with a fury that bordered on fanatic.

He turned to Carlisle, voice ragged. “Tell her!” he demanded, nearly shaking. “Tell her we have to leave. It’s the only way. If we stay—if we let this happen—we’ll damn her soul. And the child’s!”
Carlisle didn’t respond right away.

But before he could even attempt calm, Emmett scoffed from the fireplace, his massive arms still crossed. “That’s if she decides to keep it, you self-righteous idiot.”

Edward’s head snapped toward him, fangs just barely bared. “It would be a sin if she—” he spat, but Emmett cut in again, voice louder, firmer.

“You don’t get to play holy prophet just because you're scared.”

“She’s my Bella!” Edward shouted, eyes wild. “She would never damn herself to hell like that!”

Silence cracked through the room like lightning.

Then Rosalie stepped forward—slow, deliberate—ice frosting her breath.

“She’s not your anything,” she said.

“You will not decide this for her,” Carlisle said, his voice suddenly louder—firm, resolute, echoing through the house like a gavel struck clean.

He stepped forward, matching Edward’s fury with steel in his spine and a gaze that didn’t waver. “We will respect her choice, Edward. Not yours. Not mine. We will face it together, as a family. Do you understand me?”

For a second, the room held its breath.

Edward’s eyes burned—wide and furious, lips curled back over clenched teeth.

“No,” he seethed, every syllable venom. “No, I will not accept this!”

And then he turned sharply, coat snapping behind him as he bolted. There was no hesitation, no apology—just fury, slamming against the walls with the speed of his retreat.

CRACK.

Rosalie’s pointed heel struck the ground so hard the hardwood groaned. A jagged burst of ice exploded beneath her boot, frost racing across the floor like a living thing. It shot straight toward Edward—hissing, curling like a serpent—but missed his foot by centimeters, freezing over the threshold in a flash of blue-white shards.

The door banged open. Then silence.

He was gone.

For a long moment, no one moved. The air was brittle with rage, thick with things left unsaid.

Emmett let out a low, rumbling growl, fists flexing at his sides. Alice stared at the door, her frame rigid, hands trembling—not from fear, but barely-contained fury.

Rosalie exhaled through her nose, the mist still curling from her lips.

And somewhere upstairs, the quiet hush of the house returned—but it was no longer peaceful.

“Better clean that up, Ice Queen,” Emmett grinned from across the room, arms crossed as he gestured toward the now-glossy frozen streak across the floor. “Mom’s gonna blow a gasket if you flood the parlor again.”

“They're redwood, Rosalie,” Esme added from the archway, exasperation tinged with affection. She stepped forward, folding her arms delicately as she surveyed the spreading web of frost anx ice across the hardwood. “Imported. Custom milled. Beautiful and very expensive.”

She gave her daughter a long, pointed look. “Emmett's right. Before it melts—clean it up, young lady.”

Rosalie clenched her jaw, lips pursing in a barely-contained scowl. “Yes, Mother,” she muttered, biting the words around the edge of her tongue.

She bent gracefully, brushing her fingertips along the frost, the ice evaporating beneath her touch with a soft hiss—like her power itself was trying to remind her it was still there, restless and waiting.

Emmett chuckled to himself and disappeared into the next room, satisfied with his successful provocation.

But Rosalie didn’t smile.

Her eyes remained distant, her thoughts snapping back to Edward’s retreating form—the echo of the door slamming still lingering in her memory like a slap. He was impulsive on a good day. Reckless when emotional. And right now? He was a liability.

Her stomach knotted.

Please don’t do anything stupid, she thought, staring blankly at the rapidly drying wood. Not while Charlie’s in the house.

The man was no fool. He was watching Bella more closely these days—longer stares, furrowed brows, a stillness behind the eyes that meant he was putting puzzle pieces together. Charlie had the instincts of a small-town cop, sure, but beneath that soft-spoken exterior was someone trained to sniff out lies like blood in the water.

If Edward pushed too hard now… if he made one wrong move…

Rosalie rose slowly, wiping her hands against her jeans even though they were dry.

She was furious. Still burning. But more than that—she was afraid.

And that fear was starting to look a lot like preparation.

It probably wouldn’t be long before Charlie figured them out, but what concerned her the most was about how he would react to the truth of what they truly were.

–

Alice arrived just after dawn—early enough to catch Bella in her half-woken haze, but late enough to miss the morning shuffle of Charlie’s cruiser pulling out of the driveway. She stood on the porch like a vision plucked from a fashion spread, arms full of shopping bags, her glossy light purple trench coat cinched tight around her waist. The coat was unnecessary, of course—she didn't feel cold—but the color brightened the gloom around them, and Alice always did have a flair for dramatic contrast.

She rang the bell once, then pushed the door open before Bella could even answer it.

“Good morning, Bella!” she chirped, beaming, her voice like sunlight through glass. She bounced once on her toes for emphasis—like energy was threatening to crack her open if she didn’t move.
Bella blinked blearily at her from the hallway, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. Her hoodie was wrinkled, her hair pulled up in a messy knot, and the soft puffiness around her eyes told Alice everything she needed to know.

“You didn’t sleep,” Alice said gently, more a statement than a question.

“I didn’t know you’d be stopping by,” Bella mumbled, voice hoarse from crying, from silence, from weight she hadn’t put down since the nurse’s office. She looked down at the floor. “You didn’t have to—”

“But I wanted to.” Alice stepped over the threshold with practiced grace and nudged the door shut behind her with her heel. “And what you need right now isn’t fussing. It’s me, armed with carbs and coffee and an entire lineup of distractingly terrible reality shows on my tablet.”

She held up one of the bags for emphasis. Inside, wrapped in tissue and still warm, were two pastries from Forks’ one halfway-decent bakery. Comfort food dressed in sugar and flaky crust.

Bella’s throat tightened. The lump there hadn’t gone away overnight.

Alice saw it—the way her face tilted down and her arms wrapped around herself like she was afraid of shattering if someone touched her too gently. She hated it. Not Bella, never Bella. But the helplessness. The fact that no matter how many bags she brought, no matter how upbeat her voice, she couldn’t undo what had been done. And it made her heart hurt.

She should have seen it.

She should have seen it.

If her visions weren’t so finicky, so easily twisted by choice and chance, maybe she could have stopped it before it happened. Maybe she could have gotten Bella out of that alley, taken her hand and told her not to turn left, not to linger.

Maybe Bella wouldn’t have been forced to carry something she never asked for.

“I’m not here because I feel sorry for you,” Alice said softly, grounding herself again as she set the bags on the table. “I’m here because you’re my sister. And sisters don’t vanish when things get ugly. They show up. Even if it means bringing half a bakery with them.”

Bella looked up, her eyes glassy, lids heavy with the weight of a sleepless night. She opened her mouth, but for a moment, nothing came. Then—

“Alice…” Her voice cracked on the name, a whisper frayed by tears she didn’t have the strength to fight anymore. “Thank you.”

It was small. Fragile. But real.

Alice smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t try to fix anything—just held space around it. She stepped through the threshold with a quiet, deliberate bounce to her step, her coat swinging around her in a lavender arc like a comfort she hoped might spill into the room with her.

She crossed to the table and began setting her bags down, organizing everything with precise care. Behind her, Bella closed the door slowly, her hand lingering on the handle as if the click of it sealing the outside world out made it harder to breathe.

“I know,” Alice said without turning. “You probably don’t want to talk about it. Hell… maybe you don’t even want to think about it.” Her voice stayed steady, but there was something tired buried beneath it—something aching.

Bella stood frozen in the quiet behind her, arms folding over her chest like armor.

Alice glanced back, her face creased with worry as she rummaged through the largest paper bag. “But, Bella… we need to be sure. No–you need to be sure.” Her family knew, carlisle confirmed it with her scent, but she knew Bella needed her own proof, to see it for herself

She pulled out a small white box.

Simple. Clinical.

But it may as well have been a live wire, the way Bella recoiled.

Her entire body stilled. Her expression darkened, like the light in the room dimmed by the knowledge in Alice’s hand alone.

Her stomach turned—not from nausea, but dread so sharp it curled around her spine.

Alice’s eyes immediately softened, cautious now. She hadn’t meant to drop it like that, hadn’t meant to make her feel cornered. But there was no gentle way to offer the truth—not when it came sealed in plastic, waiting on two blue lines.

“No… no, I can’t—”

Bella’s voice cracked as she stumbled back a half-step, her head shaking sharply, eyes wide. Her hand gripped the edge of the kitchen counter like it might anchor her to something solid, something before. She felt lightheaded, like the floor might drop out from under her at any moment.

Her gaze dropped to the small white box resting in alice’s hands—so ordinary, so sterile—and yet it held the weight of a thousand futures pressing against her ribs.

“I can’t do this, Alice,” she whispered, voice growing smaller. “I can’t know.”

Alice moved forward slowly—no sudden movements, just presence. She didn’t reach for her, didn’t push. Her hands were clasped lightly on the box, brows drawn tight with something more than worry. It was care. Fierce, knowing, unshaken care.

“Bella,” she said softly. “Please. I know it’s terrifying—I do—but we need to know. You need to know.”

Bella's breathing picked up, shallow and rapid. She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, but Alice stepped just close enough to dip her head, catching her eyes.

“If you can’t do it for yourself right now,” Alice murmured, “then do it for me. So we’re not guessing. So we can help you—for real this time.”

Her voice didn’t shake. But it was close. It ached with the weight of everything left unsaid: all the ways she’d blamed herself for what happened, all the times she wished she'd seen the future fast enough to stop it.

Bella looked at her—really looked—and for a moment, it was like looking into someone else's grief.

The kind that cared too much to walk away.

And slowly, painfully, she nodded.

Chapter Text

Bella sat on the closed lid of the toilet, curled inward like she was trying to take up less space in her own skin. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her middle, as if pressure might quell the nausea twisting deep in her gut. Her leg bounced restlessly, a nervous tremor she couldn’t stop—like anxiety was trying to shake its way out of her body.

The pregnancy test lay facedown on the counter beside the sink. Small. White. Harmless-looking. It might as well have been a landmine.

Alice leaned against the wall across from her, arms folded, her posture deceptively relaxed. But Bella could see the tension beneath the surface—how her knuckles were bloodless from squeezing her elbow, how her jaw worked slightly every few seconds. The only sound in the bathroom was the rhythmic ticking of the silver watch on Alice’s wrist, each second loud as a gunshot in the silence.

Then, finally, Alice glanced down at her watch.

“And… time,” she said gently. “It should be ready, Bella.”

Bella’s throat closed. She didn’t move.

“I don’t know if I can look at it,” she whispered, her voice thin and raw, like it had been used too much in the night and never fully recovered. She couldn’t lift her head. Couldn’t let her eyes meet the test. Couldn’t risk knowing .

Alice pushed off the wall, crouching down until she was eye-level with her. Her face was calm, her golden eyes soft but unwavering.

“Bells,” she said, voice low and steady. “I can’t be the one to look.”

Bella’s brows pinched together, her chest heaving slightly as tears threatened again—fresh, unwelcome.

“But I can be right here,” Alice continued, reaching out to gently take Bella’s hand. “Holding on. The whole way.”

Bella’s fingers twitched beneath her grip.

“This choice—everything that comes next—it belongs to you ,” Alice said. “Not to Edward. Not to Charlie. Not to fate. Just you.”

And that was what terrified her most.

The future was slippery in Alice’s mind. Blurred. There were no clear paths ahead, only fractured glimpses of Bella alone, consumed by darkness, all with a possibility of death… and other, quieter flickers that glowed soft around the edges—warmth, love, maybe even peace. But only if Bella chose them. Only if she didn’t surrender herself to fear, and defeated her inner turmoil. 

Alice had seen darkness before. She would fight tooth and nail to pull her sister from it.

But the first step … that had to be Bella’s.

Bella slowly turned her head toward the counter. The test still lay facedown, silent and waiting. A single flip away from certainty.

Her breath hitched.

Alice squeezed her hand.

“No matter what it says, I’m here, and I will protect your decision, even if it means going against my families beliefs and values, but knowing esme and rosalie, they will be with you all the way.” 

Alice’s words seemed to give Bella a surge of confidence to lift her head up and look at the test, her eyes were shut and with a shaking hand she reached toward it and brought it to her. She flipped it over and took a deep breath before opening her eyes. As her eyes focused on what was before her, she inhaled sharply.

Two small faded blue lines laid before her. Her hand began to tremble, the test falling out of her hands, landing with a small clack. 

Her eyes began to well up with tears, and her lips wobbled with unease. Before they could fall, Alice lunged forward wrapping bella up in a tight embrace, letting her collapse into her cold arms. 

Alice stayed quiet, only stroking her back as her body shook with each hiccup and sob.

 Bella clawed at Alice’s coat, trying to ground herself . “What am I going to do Alice, I can’t tell charlie, he’s going to freak out. I can’t do this, edward he’s going to–” 

“Don’t you worry about Edward, Rose and I have that handled.” ALice shook her head, slightly pulling back so she could look at Bella. “It will be okay, I promise.”

“What’s going to happen, ha-have you seen whats going to happen?” She was hoping Alice would have the answer for her, so it would be easier, or maybe it was because she was so use to edward making the decisions for her. 

She shook her head, equally as frustrated as Bella was. “No, but you shouldn’t have to rely on my visions bella, this is your decision, it is your body.” She sighed, she hated having to tell bella she could make her own decisions, edward has sunk his claws too deeply into the girl, so deep that it would take a long time for those wounds to heal. “What is it you want bella?” 

What did she want? That was something Edward never asked her, what did she want…

“I want to talk to my dad, I-I need my dad.” She squeezed her eyes, she couldn’t keep this from him, not after everything she put him through during the phoenix incident, and when edward left her behind. 

“Okay,” Alice took an unneeded breath and stood up, “Okay do you want me to call him or do you want to?”

“Can you?” Bella rubbed her forehead, already feeling the oncoming migraine, “I need to prepare myself.”

She nodded and stepped out heading downstairs, bella hung her head as soon as she heard her retreating footsteps. 

How would Charlie react to this, sure he reacted positively when renee fell pregnant with her, he immediately took responsibility by becoming an officer and his parents getting them a house to start their life. But, this was her, his only daughter. Someone who he of all people didn't want to fall pregnant as a teen, he wanted to prevent the same fate he had gone through.

But, Charlie was the most loving and caring person she has ever had in her life, Renee was neglectful and childish, the opposite of what a mother should have been. And bella was terrified she would be just like that woman. 

She just hoped he didn’t throw her out.

–

“Bells?” Charlie called as he stepped into the house. His eyes landed instantly on his daughter, curled up on the couch beside Alice, who had an arm wrapped around her in a protective gesture of comfort.

But what caught Charlie off guard was the way Alice was already looking directly at him—before he had even spoken. Like she’d heard him arrive. And he was sure he’d been quiet.

“Charlie, you got back sooner than I expected,” Alice said softly, stepping away as Bella lifted her head, fear flickering in her eyes at the sight of her father.

“Yeah… had one of the guys cover the rest of my shift,” he replied, quirking a brow. He crouched in front of her, his voice low and careful. “What’s going on, Bells? Did something happen?”

Her lips trembled. Her hand shook as he gently took it in his—rough, calloused, grounding. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again. But no sound came. The words wouldn’t form.

So instead, she glanced at Alice.

Alice gave her a steady, reassuring nod. It’s going to be okay. That’s what she was saying without words.

Bella reached into her pocket with her free hand, fingers trembling as she pulled out the pregnancy test. She held it out to her father, avoiding his eyes. She couldn’t bear to see what might be there—rage, disgust, disappointment. She wouldn’t survive it.

She heard his breath catch—shaky, rattling in his chest.

Then a long, slow exhale. Measured. Like he was grounding himself.

She braced for the explosion, the judgment— just like Renee would’ve done . But what came instead was a voice so soft, so warm and scared and steady , it undid something in her chest.

“Isabella,” he said. “Look at me.”

She hesitated. Then slowly, she turned her face toward him.

He reached out, fingers brushing under her chin as he tilted her head up until her eyes met his.

Brown to brown.

So much love in his gaze it hurt to look at.

Not like Renee’s bitter green, laced with regret and rejection.

Charlie wasn’t mad.

He wasn’t disgusted.

He was just there .

And he loved her.

“Why are you so afraid to look at me?” he asked gently, voice barely more than a whisper. Like he didn’t want to scare her off.

“Be—Because I know you’re probably disappointed,” she stammered, tears building again. “Or mad. Or disg—”

He cut her off with a raised hand, shaking his head.

“Baby girl, I’m not feeling any of those things. I’m worried for you. That’s all.” He paused. “It’s not Edward’s, is it?”

Bella grimaced, unable to help the small twist of disgust that crossed her face.

Charlie caught it immediately—and so did Alice, who said nothing, but stayed rooted at Bella’s side.

“No. No, it’s not Edward’s,” Bella said. Her voice went cold. “It’s… his .”

And Charlie felt something in him fracture.

He leaned forward without hesitation, gathering her in his arms, wrapping her tight in an embrace that said you’re safe . Bella melted into him, burying her face in his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of sandalwood and aftershave.

It smelled like home.

Because Charlie was home. He always had been.

He wasn’t perfect. But he was hers . And he wasn’t leaving.

“It’s going to be okay, Bells,” he murmured against her hair, voice cracking with conviction. “I swear. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here every step of the way.”

He squeezed her tighter.

“You and me—we’ll get through this. Together. ”

And those words— together —settled deep in her chest, a quiet anchor amid the storm.

She didn’t feel alone anymore.

–

Charlie stood in the doorway of Bella’s room–Alice already gone, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest as she slept. Her face, turned slightly toward the window, was soft now—stripped of the weight she carried in daylight. The shadows beneath her eyes looked deeper in the moonlight, but the tension in her brow had finally eased.

She’d cried herself to sleep an hour ago, curled on the couch against his shoulder. After she calmed, he’d helped her upstairs, wordlessly tucking the blanket around her like he used to when she was little. And now, like then, he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

He leaned against the doorframe, fingers resting just above the light switch.

How the hell had it come to this?

He’d always known he couldn’t protect her from everything. Still, a small, stupid part of him had hoped—naively, fiercely—that being her father meant he could at least shield her from the worst. But life hadn’t given her mercy. It hadn’t given her warning.

He had become a cop, mainly to protect his daughter from the evil out in the world, and he had failed her.

 He failed his baby

Charlie exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck as he quietly stepped into her room. He made his way to the old cedar chest at the foot of her bed—the one he’d kept when she left, the one that hadn’t been opened in years.

Inside were pieces of her childhood.

Stuffed animals. A music box from her grandmother. The worn baby blanket Renee had almost thrown out during one of her purging fits—Charlie had salvaged it when Bella wasn’t looking. Pale blue with faded sunflowers stitched into the corners.

He lifted it now. Held it in his hands. It was small enough to fold into his palms, soft from years of washing. He pressed it to his chest and sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, not wanting to wake her.

He didn’t cry.

But God, his chest hurt with the weight of it all.

If someone asked him yesterday whether he was ready to be a grandfather, he would’ve laughed, muttered something about early retirement and fishing trips. But now? Now it wasn’t about him . It was about her —and whether she could bear this new weight, or if it would break her the way it almost had before.

And if she chose not to keep it?

He’d still be here. He’d hold her hand in the clinic or at home or anywhere she needed to go, and he’d never let her think for a second that it made her any less.

This wasn’t just about being a dad anymore.

It was about being her anchor in a storm he couldn’t see the end of.

He looked over at Bella again.

His baby.

Not a little girl anymore. Not someone who needed to be rescued. Just a young woman who had survived something unspeakable—and was still standing. Still trying.

Charlie didn’t have all the answers. He rarely did.

But he’d be here.

When she woke up.

When she fell apart again.

When she didn’t know how to ask for help.

He’d be here.

He stood up again, walking over to his daughter. Gently, he tucked a lock of brown hair—so much like his own—behind her ear. A soft sigh of contentment slipped from her lips.

He remembered the day Bella was born, how happiness had hit him like lightning. The way his heart had leapt when he first saw her matching brown eyes, wide and curious. And as she grew, the more she began to look like him. Sure, she had plenty of her mother’s features—Renee’s nose, lips, and face shape—but she had his pale skin, his hair, his eyes. And most of all, that quiet, endearing awkwardness.

She was his .

But he knew, even then, that Renee resented Bella for that resemblance. That she treated her differently because of it. He had fought so hard in court— so hard —but he still lost. The system always seemed to side with the mother. And it had broken him to be torn away from his daughter. From his world .

He wasn’t going to fail her again. He’d be damned if anyone tried to take her from him now.

Especially Edward.

There was something wrong with that boy. Something that unsettled him deep in his bones.

Charlie had grown up trusting his instincts—they rarely steered him wrong. And ever since the day Edward Cullen showed up with those too-calm eyes and polite, calculated smiles, something inside him had recoiled.

He liked Alice. Loved her, even—like the daughter he never knew he needed. She lit up a room, and she loved Bella with her whole soul. And Emmett? Solid kid. Big-hearted, loyal, always down to talk football or lend a hand without making a big show of it. Carlisle was respectful, professional, and deeply principled—the kind of doctor Charlie was proud to call a friend. And Rosalie most of all, his daughter’s savior, such a well put together woman, respectable, a delight to conversate with despite her cold and collected attitude. 

But Edward?

Edward was different.

There was something unnatural in the way he moved—too smooth, too quiet. The way he looked at people like he was studying them, cataloging every detail. His gaze was too still. Too knowing.

Charlie couldn’t shake the feeling that when Edward looked at him, he wasn’t just seeing him—he was listening . Digging. Twisting.

It made his skin crawl.

And what terrified him most was how easily the boy could cloak it. How effortlessly Edward wore the mask of a gentleman—earnest, protective, even humble. He knew how to say all the right things.

But Charlie had known manipulators. Had arrested them. Had stared into the eyes of con artists and predators who could charm a jury before showing their teeth.

Edward Cullen had that same edge. That same hollowness behind the shine.

Charlie couldn’t prove anything. Not yet.

But he would.

He had to.

Chapter Text

She had finally come to a decision.

After two days spent weighing every pro and con, lost in a sea of research and restless thoughts, Bella had made her choice. And the first person she told wasn’t her father. Nor was it Alice.

It was Rosalie.

Because if anyone could understand—not just the fear, but the gravity of the choice—it was her.

She’d called and asked if Rosalie could come over. And true to form, she had. It hadn’t taken her long to arrive. Charlie had been the one to let her in, wearing a soft, grateful smile. He always seemed pleased to see the woman who had saved his daughter’s life.

“Rosalie, it’s good to see you again,” he said, stepping aside to let her in. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been good, Chie—” She caught herself at his pointed look and let out a soft laugh. “Sorry. I’ve been good, Charlie. And you?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line, trying for a smile that didn’t quite make it all the way to his eyes. “Doing about as okay as we can.” He tilted his head slightly. “I’m guessing you’re here to talk to Bella?”

Rosalie nodded. “She said she had something important to tell me.”

“She’s upstairs in her room. Holler if you need anything,” he said, gesturing toward the stairs. He already had a strong suspicion about the topic. It only made sense that Bella would confide in the person who had quite literally saved her from death.

Rosalie knocked gently on the bedroom door, hearing a soft voice grant her permission to come in. She entered carefully and closed the door behind her, frowning as she took in the sight before her.

Bella’s room was a mess. Not just messy—but the kind of chaotic disarray that echoed inner turmoil. It was clear her mental state had been deteriorating, but Rosalie didn’t judge.

“Hello, Isabella,” she greeted quietly.

“Hey, Rosalie,” Bella mumbled, eyes fixed downward as she picked at her torn cuticles—a new habit she’d clearly developed. Blood dotted the edges of her fingers, but Rosalie didn’t flinch. Bella’s scent didn’t affect her the way it did Edward.

Rosalie stepped farther into the room and sat delicately on the edge of the bed, eyes scanning Bella with careful intent. She looked thinner. Her eyes were bloodshot, rimmed in red. The dark circles beneath them were nearly purple. She still wasn’t sleeping. That much was obvious.

“You said you wanted to tell me something?”

“Yes, um…” Bella hesitated, letting out a breath. Then she looked up at the blonde with fragile resolve. “I think… I want to… terminate it.”

Rosalie took a slow breath in, then exhaled and nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. That’s good—you’ve come to a decision.” She paused, searching Bella’s face. “But you said you think . Are you a hundred percent sure this is what you want? There’s no going back once it’s done.”

No, she wasn’t completely sure.

But it felt like the right decision. She was eighteen, months from graduation. She couldn’t ask her father to help her raise a child. And Edward—that was an entirely separate storm. After everything, she doubted she’d make a good mother at all. And if Renee ever found out…

It would destroy whatever fragile peace she had left.

Bella had spent the last two nights glued to her phone, reading articles, watching confessional videos, trying to understand what young parents went through. And the more she watched, the smaller she felt.

She didn’t feel strong enough.

And what if the child looked like him ?

She didn’t know if she’d survive it.

That whisper in the back of her mind twisted cruelly.

Rosalie looks just like him.

Bella shook her head, furious at the thought for daring to exist.

“I’m sure,” she whispered. “So… will you come with my dad and me? I could really use your support.”

She reached out and grasped Rosalie’s gloved hand. It was colder than the others'—not in a lifeless way, but in a way that had always made her feel oddly safe. Steady.

Rosalie tensed for a heartbeat, surprise flickering in her eyes.

But then she relaxed.

And if her heart still beat, it would’ve been racing from the look Bella gave her—wide, brown eyes filled with fear and the faintest flicker of hope.

“Of course I’ll go with you.”

Bella let out a slow sigh of relief. Having Rosalie by her side would make breaking the news to Charlie easier. Yes, her dad respected any decision she made, but having another pillar of support—especially one like Rosalie—meant everything.

She walked alongside her out of the room, purse in hand, and headed down the stairs. Charlie was reclined on the couch, watching a rerun of football, one arm tossed lazily over the back cushion.

“Dad?”

He paused the game immediately and sat up, all attention now focused on her. “What’s up, Bells?”

“I’ve made my decision,” she said quietly, but with conviction. “I want to go to the clinic.”

His eyes widened, but he nodded without hesitation and stood. “Alright. Let me grab my shoes and coat, and we’ll go.” He glanced over at Rosalie. “Is she coming with?”

“Yeah,” Bella nodded, casting Rosalie a look filled with trust. “For support.”

Charlie nodded again and moved to the door, slipping on his shoes and grabbing his keys along with the coat from the rack. “We’ll take the cruiser.”

Thank God, Bella thought. Rosalie’s car was far too flashy—sleek and expensive. The cruiser, though old and a little beat up, blended perfectly with the rhythm of their small town.

After locking up the house, the three of them climbed into the cruiser. Rosalie offered to take the back seat, and Charlie—ever the dry humorist—quipped something about her being his next jail-bound passenger. But Bella barely heard the joke.

As they pulled out of the driveway, a strange chill settled in her bones. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a tall shadow standing in the tree line, unmoving, watching.

She wasn’t the only one.

Rosalie’s posture went stiff, her jaw clenched, and her eyes darkened in the rearview mirror. She’d seen it too.

Bella couldn’t suppress the shiver that raced down her spine, a sick feeling blooming deep in her gut.

—

The clinic was moderately busy.

Several heavily pregnant women sat waiting patiently, while new mothers bounced infants on their knees. A couple of nervous-looking teenagers sat nearby—girls Bella recognized from school, though none she knew well.

Her eyes caught on a particular young mother seated beside them, gently bouncing a red-haired toddler in her lap. The baby giggled, her curls dancing with each bounce, bright blue eyes sparkling with joy. At one gurgling laugh, the entire waiting room cooed softly—including Charlie, who smiled warmly and gave the baby a little wave.

The child’s gaze locked onto his mustache, and she reached out toward it before her mother, blushing, gently pulled her back with an apologetic smile.

Bella felt her stomach twist as the baby continued to gurgle and grab at her mother’s necklace, completely enraptured. Something about that moment—so full of joy, of uncomplicated love—made it suddenly hard to breathe.

She turned away, the image seared into her mind, and stared down at her lap.

Rosalie glanced at her, clearly concerned, but Bella shook her head and avoided her gaze.

A nurse stepped into the waiting room, calling out, “Isabella Swan?”

Bella stood slowly, fists clenched, nausea curling in her chest.

Charlie rose with her, and so did Rosalie—but they were stopped as they approached the hallway.

“Sorry,” the nurse said gently. “Only family may accompany the patient.”

Rosalie scowled, her glare sharp and icy—but when she turned back to Bella, her expression softened into something warm and resolute.

“I’ll wait out here,” she said quietly. “You’ve got this.”

Bella nodded but couldn’t hide the fear creeping in again. Without Rosalie beside her, the room suddenly felt colder.

She reached for her dad’s hand as they followed the nurse, her fingers gripping his tightly. Charlie responded without a word—just a steady, comforting squeeze.

They were led into a quiet exam room lined with medical posters and soft grey cabinets. A modern ultrasound machine stood in the corner, wires neatly coiled, the monitor glowing faintly with a static screen. The nurse handed Bella a folded cotton gown and instructed her gently.

“Go ahead and change from the waist down, then lie back on the table with the sheet draped over you. The doctor will be in shortly.”

Charlie turned away instantly, taking sudden interest in the faded anatomy chart on the wall. Bella offered a weak smile, appreciating the gesture. She changed quickly and folded her clothes into a chair, her body tense as she slid up onto the padded table and adjusted the paper sheet across her hips. Her stomach churned as she tried to calm her breathing.

When the door clicked open again, the physician stepped in—clipboard in hand, expression calm and professional. Mid-30s, clean-cut, with the hint of a northern accent that softened his vowels.

“Isabella Swan?” he confirmed, glancing at the chart. “I'm Dr. Lorne. I’ll be doing your ultrasound today.”

Bella nodded mutely.

The doctor’s eyes flicked to Charlie. “And you’re her father?”

“I am,” Charlie answered, protective but respectful.

“Great, you’re welcome to stay for support if Bella’s comfortable with that.”

She nodded again, clutching Charlie’s hand. His presence was the only thing keeping her anchored.

Dr. Lorne pulled on a pair of gloves and wheeled the ultrasound machine closer. “We’re going to perform a transabdominal ultrasound first to estimate gestational age,” he explained. “This means some gel on your lower abdomen—it’ll be cold, but completely painless. If visibility is poor, we may need to switch to a transvaginal method. But we’ll cross that bridge only if necessary.”

Bella swallowed hard. “Okay.”

He dimmed the overhead lights. The machine beeped softly as it powered up. Then came the squirt of cool gel onto her belly, and the gentle pressure of the transducer probe as he began to move it across her skin in small, practiced strokes.

The monitor remained quiet for a beat, the grainy screen filled with gray static as he adjusted angles.

Then—

A flicker.

A tiny flutter.

He tapped a few keys and froze the frame. A soft thump-thump-thump sound began echoing from the speakers.

Bella’s breath caught.

Charlie’s grip around her hand tightened—just slightly.

“There it is,” the doctor said gently, his voice almost reverent. “Estimated six weeks along. Cardiac activity is present. That flutter you see—that’s the heartbeat.”

Bella’s eyes stayed fixed on the screen. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling—terror, awe, nausea. It didn’t look like a baby. Just a vague shadow, a speck in a sea of black.

But it was real .

And it was there .

The room was quiet but thick with emotion. Charlie didn’t speak. Bella didn’t dare blink.

“Do you want a printout?” the doctor asked carefully.

She hesitated.

Then shook her head.

“No,” she whispered. Did she mean to say no?

Dr. Lorne simply nodded, wiping the probe clean before gently clearing the gel from her skin with a towel. “I’ll give you a few moments to get dressed. Then we’ll go over next steps outside, okay?”

Bella nodded numbly.

As the door closed behind him, she let out a shaky breath, struggling to swallow the lump rising in her throat. Charlie remained beside her, silent, still holding her hand.

It was alive. It had a heartbeat.

It was a baby.

Not just a thoughtless embryo or a clump of cells—no matter how hard she’d tried to convince herself otherwise. It was a living, soon-to-be breathing human being growing inside her. A child that might laugh. Cry. Curl its tiny hand around her finger. A baby that could look like the ones in the waiting room.

And now, she couldn’t unsee it.

“Dad…”

Charlie turned toward her, voice gentle. “Yes, Bells?”

Bella’s eyes stayed locked on the frozen image on the monitor—the tiny shape curled in a sea of grey. A flicker of life, a rhythm that had no name. Her chest tightened.

She couldn’t do this.

She couldn’t end something growing inside her—not now. Not after seeing it. She wasn’t built for that kind of decision. Yes, she was quiet. Isolated. Awkward. But she liked children. Always had. Their clumsy wonder, their crooked smiles. The way they made chaos into joy. They were soft in all the ways she never let herself be.

Tears spilled before she could stop them.

She turned to her father, vision blurred and voice breaking.

“Daddy…” she whispered. “I—I can’t do this.”

Charlie said nothing. Just held her hand tighter, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles.

She looked away, ashamed, wrecked. But the words kept coming.

“I know how it happened. And I know it’s complicated. But that thing on the screen…” Her voice cracked again. “It’s not just a cluster of cells anymore. It has a heartbeat. It’s… a baby. And it didn’t ask to come into this world, just like I didn’t ask for what happened.”

Her shoulders shook. “But it’s innocent. Just like I was.”

Charlie reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his rough fingers trembling at the edges.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she whispered. “But I know I can’t be the one to end something that never did anything wrong.”

“Then don’t,” Charlie said softly. “Whatever you decide—like I’ve told you—I’ll be there. No matter what.”

His hand remained firm around hers. “Through all of it. You’re not alone.”

Before Bella could respond, the door eased open and the nurse stepped back into the room. Her gaze shifted immediately to Bella’s tear-streaked face, and her expression softened with quiet understanding.

“Ms. Swan? Are you ready?”

Bella looked up, eyes glassy, voice shaking. “I… I can’t go through with it.”

The nurse didn’t flinch. Instead, she nodded with a kind smile. “That’s okay, honey. Plenty of people change their minds.”

She stepped further inside, her tone gentle but sure. “Are you certain this is your decision?”

Bella nodded quickly, pressing her lips together. For once, she felt one hundred percent certain. No hesitations. No shadows. Just... clarity.

“Could I possibly…” she hesitated, her voice small with guilt, “get the photos Dr. Lorne mentioned?”

She expected a pause. Judgment, maybe. But the nurse’s smile only widened.

“Oh, of course you can, sweetheart. Give me just one moment.”

She moved toward the monitor with practiced ease, tapping a few keys. The printer beneath the machine whirred to life, and one by one, the ultrasound images slid into the tray—soft grey snapshots of something she hadn’t expected to mean anything.

But they did.

God, Bella thought, as her hand trembled toward the printouts. This is real. It’s actually real.

They stepped out of the exam room together, the envelope of ultrasound printouts clutched tightly in Bella’s hand. She wanted to show them to rosalie and alice. The hallway felt colder now—brighter somehow—and as they re-entered the waiting room, her gaze immediately found Rosalie’s.

Of course she’d heard everything. Even with the best intentions, vampiric hearing didn’t allow for real privacy. But Rosalie said nothing. She just met Bella’s eyes with a steady, quiet smile—a gesture of respect, not judgment.

Whatever the decision had been, she honored it.

Charlie gently placed a hand on Bella’s back, guiding her toward the front desk. It was time to schedule follow-up appointments—checkups, prenatal essentials, the first threads of something real being woven into the weeks ahead.

By the time they made it back to the cruiser, a weight had lifted from Bella’s shoulders—no more impossible decisions, at least for now.

Instead of sitting in the front with her father, she slid into the backseat beside Rosalie. There was a quiet sense of comfort in Rosalie’s presence, a warmth that had settled in Bella’s chest since the day they met. It was different from Edward’s warmth—his had begun to feel cold, judgmental, even frightening. But Rosalie’s... Rosalie's felt safe.

“So,” Rosalie began, her voice hesitant, almost awkward—a rarity. “You’re… keeping it?”

There was no judgment in her tone, only curiosity. Innocent.

“Yeah,” Bella sighed, her shoulders sagging as tension bled from her body. “The baby is just as innocent as I was.” She laid a nervous hand against her stomach, eyes soft.

“I agree with that. Every child’s innocent... unless you’re Edward, that is. Alice and Emmett swear he’s been this way his whole life.” Rosalie let out a faint laugh.

Charlie chuckled as he pulled onto the road. “You’ve got some smart siblings, Rosalie.” He cast a glance into the mirror, amused. “So even his own family thinks he’s... off.”

Bella smiled faintly, then hesitated. “Do you… want to see the ultrasound photos?” she asked, holding up the envelope.

Rosalie’s amber eyes widened just a bit. Slowly, she reached for the envelope, sliding one photo out with practiced care.

She stared at it. There wasn’t much to make out—just soft shapes, the beginnings of life. But to Rosalie, it was enough. A living, breathing human being was growing inside Isabella. Something precious. Something she herself had once longed for more than anything. She couldn’t help but swear—silently, fiercely—that she would protect this child. No matter what. It was family now. It carried her blood. Even if that blood had been tainted by him.

Her eyes burned with venom tears that would never fall, and a watery smile curved her lips.

Bella caught the flicker of emotion.

Awkwardly, she cleared her throat. “You… you can keep one of the photos, if you’d like.”

Rosalie’s head jerked up. “Truly? I can keep one?”

Bella gave her a small nod. “Yeah. I mean it.”

Charlie pulled into the driveway before either of them noticed how long they’d been talking.

“We’re home,” he said gently.

Bella’s stomach tightened. Her eyes drifted to the trees near the house. The shadow she’d seen earlier haunted her thoughts, but Rosalie remained composed—watchful, but calm.

Charlie stepped out and opened the doors for them, a proud smile quirking beneath his mustache. It matched Bella’s—a subtle mirror of hope.

Rosalie exited the vehicle last, still staring at the ultrasound. Human life was precious to her—something she had once desperately wished for but had been denied. Her gaze shifted to Bella. Maybe fate was trying to give her a second chance at happiness.

But deep down, Rosalie didn’t feel like she deserved it.

Edward was right about her. She was vain. Selfish. Hateful. She took her pain and self-loathing out on others—on her family—on people who didn’t deserve it. Bella didn’t need someone so broken by her side. Not while she was in the stages of healing mentally and physically.

“I guess it’s time I head home,” she said quietly. “My mother’s probably wondering where I am.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Her fists clenched at her sides, and frost began creeping along the gravel beneath her boots. She couldn’t always control it—especially when her emotions flared.

Charlie’s sharp eye caught the faint shimmer of ice, but he said nothing. Just smiled softly.

“You get home safe, sweetheart. Let me know if you need anything, alright? You saved my little girl, and I’ll always owe you for that.”

He slipped an arm around Bella, pulling her into his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I never got the chance to thank you properly,” he added. “So… thank you, Rosalie. Truly.”

“It—it was just the right thing to do, Chief Swan,” she said, her voice low. “I couldn’t let that happen to someone else. It’s not right.”

Bella frowned, catching the pain in Rosalie’s tone—wounds buried deep beneath her polished armor.

“But… I really should be going now. Have a good day—and congratulations, Isabella.” She nodded politely to Bella, avoiding further eye contact as she turned toward her car.

The engine roared to life, and within seconds, she disappeared down the road.

Charlie watched her go, a flicker of sadness crossing his face.

“She… had a tough life, didn’t she?” he murmured.

Bella didn’t answer. But Charlie knew that look—the one Rosalie had worn in that last goodbye. He’d seen it on girls who came into the station to make reports. The same look his daughter had worn.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Rosalie had been sitting in her car for the past fifteen minutes in the Cullen driveway, frozen in place. She was stuck again—trapped in that familiar pit of self-loathing darkness. The weight of her hatred toward herself and what she’d become pressed down, threatening to consume her entirely. Some part of her wanted to let it. To fall into it. She didn’t want to ruin anyone else's life with her presence.

But a knock on her window pulled her back.

Her rock wouldn’t let her slip so easily.

Emmett.

He always knew when to find her—like it was his gift. His superpower wasn’t strength, not really. It was being the shoulder she didn’t know she needed until he was there. Someone to cry to. Someone to rant at. Someone who just stayed.

She was so thankful for him—grateful in the quiet way people are when they know they don’t deserve the light someone else brings. She didn’t know how he put up with her for so long—how he hadn’t given up on her moods, her spikes of venom, her walls.

She blinked up at his grinning face, dimples etched deep.

He opened her door patiently, waiting.

“Glad you’re home, Rose!” he beamed, bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excited child. Honestly, he and Alice were more like twins than she and Jasper ever were.

“Hello, Emmett,” she said softly, clutching the ultrasound photo to her chest like something fragile. She didn’t loosen her grip even as they walked inside.

The family was gathered in the living room, some half-watching a random movie Alice had put on. Rosalie’s eyes instantly found Edward at his piano. Her jaw tightened.

She held the photo closer.

She’d picked up his scent in the woods. It had been him in the trees, lurking like a shadow.

Disgusting stalker.

The thought hissed through her mind with venom.

He scoffed—as if he were the wounded one. As if invading Bella’s privacy was justifiable.

“Rosalie,” Carlisle said gently, turning from his place on the couch. “How did it go? Is she adjusting well… to the termination?”

Rosalie’s eyes narrowed, her voice sharp. “That’s not my place to share. I’m sure Isabella will tell you herself.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. Alice nodded in agreement. Edward, of course, bristled.

“I can’t believe you would help her do something so atrocious ,” he spat. “You, of all people—I thought you’d understand my decision for her. You’ll surely be going to hell.”

“Edward Mason!” Esme gasped, rising to her feet. “How dare you speak to her that way. You apologize— now. ”

“No,” he snapped. “Someone needs to say it. Rosalie’s always ranting about how she always wanted a child, how much it means to her. And now she helps Bella get rid of one? Hypocritical. Disgusting.”

Rosalie’s throat tightened. Her chest ached. But she said nothing.

Emmett’s voice was low and furious.

“Hey. Back off, man. You are way out of line.”

He stepped in front of her, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders. “She was supporting Bella’s decision. That’s what a real friend does.”

His gaze sharpened. “It’s not like you —her supposed boyfriend—have even tried to be there for her. You’re too busy ranting about her soul while she’s been suffering alone. ”

Edward hissed, rising to his feet as if ready to pounce, but Carlisle reached him in a flash, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. The disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable.

“You need to hunt. Calm yourself and come back to apologize. This isn’t like you, son.”

Edward shot Carlisle a glare—sharp, wounded—then stormed out of the house without another word, his exit nothing short of a childish tantrum.

Carlisle sighed and turned to Jasper. “Would you mind keeping an eye on Bella and Charlie tonight? Your physical ability makes you well-suited for… defense. Edward can be unpredictable during these fits.”

Jasper nodded and stood, already making his way to the door. “I was just about to offer, anyway. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

Alice let out a quiet sigh as her mate left. Edward had been growing increasingly erratic over the past few decades—especially since meeting Bella. His so-called "mate." As if. She shook her head. That boy was unraveling, and she was certain of it.

“Alice,” Esme asked gently, “have you seen anything?”

“Let me check.”

Alice closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, tuning herself toward the future—toward Bella , her friend, her sister.

It was hazy. A blurred hole, edges too soft to track clearly. But she caught a glimpse: Bella standing outside their front door, hesitant and scared, Charlie’s cruiser idling just behind her as he waited. Bella lifted her hand to knock—

Then the vision snapped away.

“Tomorrow morning,” Alice murmured, opening her eyes. “Bella will arrive. Charlie will be with her. I’m not sure if he’ll come inside though.”

“Thank you, Alice,” Carlisle smiled warmly, and she nodded, happy to help.

“Well, we’ll find out soon enough tomorrow,” he continued, “but remember—support her as much as you can, without smothering the dear girl.”

“Oh! I should make her favorite lasagna. I’m sure Charlie would enjoy some too!” Esme gasped, already bubbling with excitement. “I’ll need to start cleaning—goodness, where’s the duster?”

She zoomed off in a blur of motion, flitting through rooms like a woman on a mission.

Esme always loved Bella’s company. She hadn’t visited recently, not because she didn’t want to—but because she didn’t want to overwhelm her. With Alice and Rosalie already surrounding Bella in support, Esme had chosen to wait. Sometimes, people needed space to feel loved. She just wanted to be there when the moment was right.

“Whelp,” Emmett chuckled, watching their mother vanish around the corner, “she’ll be dusting the house all night. Want to play a few rounds of something, Rosalie?”

Rosalie offered a faint smile. “I’ll have to pass. I think I’m going to read. Good night, Emmett.”

He gave her a mock salute as she started her quiet retreat up the stairs. On the landing, she could still hear Alice and Emmett’s familiar bickering drifting up behind her:

“What about you, Alice? Wanna play some Mario Kart so I can turn your ass into a pile of loser dust?”

Alice scoffed. “As if ! You know I always win.”

“That’s because you cheat—with your all-seeing demon eyes!”

“Do not!”

“Do too!”

Their banter faded behind her door with a faint smile tugging at Rosalie’s lips.

They really were siblings.

She sat at the edge of her bed, gently pulling the ultrasound photo from her chest. It had never left her side—not since the moment she’d held it. Her eyes traced its grainy edges again and again. She couldn’t look away. In the waiting room, she’d tried not to listen, tried to honor Bella’s privacy—but the rhythmic thump of the heartbeat, Bella’s sharp inhale…

It had pierced straight through her.

It had been beautiful.

But even in beauty, there was danger. Was it really safe to bring a human infant into a household of vampires? Rosalie didn’t fear her own control—nor Jasper’s, not with Alice at his side—but Edward… Edward was another story.

He was unraveling. Carlisle had said it himself: unpredictable.

Rosalie inhaled shakily, her fingers curling around the photo.

Let fate decide, she told herself. Just this once.

She only hoped it wouldn’t burn her the way it had before.

Esme was the first to hear the car pulling into the driveway. Her famous lasagna was already in the oven—bubbling, golden, and comforting. Sure, it was only eleven in the morning, but she’d learned over the years that humans never turned down a good piece of her cooking, no matter the hour.

She heard the footsteps first—light, careful, hesitant. Bella.

Esme flew to the door, beating Alice and Emmett both, who huffed in dramatic defeat as she waved them off with a shooing gesture.

“Let me get this one.”

She stood perfectly still, listening. She could hear Bella’s heart, hammering anxiously behind the door—and just beneath it, faint but present, a second rhythm.

A flutter.

Esme’s eyes widened.

So she hadn’t gone through with it after all. Suddenly, her daughter’s tight-lipped insistence on Bella’s privacy made perfect sense.

Esme smiled. Despite what rosalie believed, she knew her daughter was the kindest person behind those ice walls of hers. 

It took another minute before she heard a knock, a gentle one. She carefully opened it, greeting the smaller girl with a soft warm smile. “Bella, its good to see you.” 

Bella opened her mouth—but it snapped shut with a soft clack. Then, without thinking, she rushed forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Esme. The older woman gasped in surprise but recovered quickly, returning the embrace with one arm around Bella’s waist and the other cradling her head gently.

“I missed you so much…” Bella sniffled into Esme’s chest, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. Esme might not have been blood, might have come into her life later—but she was the mother Bella had always dreamed of.

“I missed you too, darling,” Esme whispered, her heart squeezing with warmth as she held Bella tighter. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit sooner—I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

“No, don’t apologize. I did need the space—thank you for giving it to me.” Bella smiled softly as she pulled back. “I’m just happy to see you.”

“Come inside, it’s still freezing out.” Esme ushered her in, helping with her coat. “Will your father be joining us?”

“No, he said he’d wait outside. You know him—antisocial and all,” she said with a weak laugh, limping slightly as she stepped inside. The pain in her back and hips hadn’t faded. It had been a while since her last checkup with Carlisle. Maybe... maybe she should ask.

“So, what brings you here?” Esme asked, leading her to the living room. “Not that I’m complaining—I love your company. I have so many new housing articles to show you. I’d love your opinion on a few.”

“I know you’ve all been worried about me,” Bella murmured. “Alice told me how often you were checking in, how much you asked.”

Esme helped her settle on the couch, frowning slightly at the grimace that passed over Bella’s face. She’d stopped taking the painkillers after she found out. Esme gently rested a hand on her leg.

“Yes, we’ve all been very worried. You’re family, Bella. Of course we asked.”

“Bella-bear!” Emmett’s booming voice cut through. “I’m so happy to see you. Oh, how I wish I could pick you up and squeeze you!” He held out his arms, making grabby hands.

Rosalie kept a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him back.

Bella laughed, warm despite the ache. “Missed you too, Emmy-bear.”

She glanced around at the faces gathered nearby. “Thank you… all of you. For being so patient with me. It means a lot. I know I’m far from okay, and it’ll probably take a while before I even feel close. But… please bear with me just a bit longer.”

“We’d wait forever for you, Bella,” Alice hummed, eyes shimmering. “We’ve got eternity, after all.”

Bella nodded, emotion thick in her throat.

“Alice mentioned you had something you wanted to tell everyone?” Carlisle prompted, drawing Jasper’s attention from across the room. Edward remained perched near his piano, his expression stormy, scowling from the shadows. Alice and Jasper subtly shifted between him and Bella—intentional. Protective.

“Yes, well…” Bella laughed nervously, her voice catching on a lump. Her throat burned. She was still so sensitive to it—to all of it. “Because of the incident… it seems I’ve… I’ve fallen pregnant.”

She cleared her throat, trying to compose herself, to keep the emotion from spilling over. “And yesterday… I went to terminate the pregnancy but—”

“You insolent bi—” Edward stood abruptly, hissing.

“Stop it! Let her finish!” Rosalie snapped, stepping forward with fire in her voice and fury in her stance.

Bella flinched, instinctively leaning into Esme’s side, who wrapped an arm around her protectively, glaring at her son with disbelief.

“It’s okay, Bella,” Carlisle said gently. “Ignore him. We will never judge you. I promise.”

Bella nodded, blinking quickly. “Right. As I said… I went to the clinic yesterday, but I couldn’t go through with it. I decided to keep the baby.” She laid a hand over her stomach. “With my dad’s help, of course.”

There was a beat of silence, then soft, warm smiles blossomed across the room.

“Well,” Carlisle said kindly, “congratulations, Bella. On the little one.”

Esme hugged her again, holding her close. “I hope you’ll let me be there for you through it all.”

Alice and Emmett lit up, already buzzing with the thought of a child in the house. Alice was mumbling about outfit options before she could even stop herself.

Rosalie stood quietly by Emmett’s side, her hands clasped tightly. She smiled—but it was small. Hesitant. Inside, she wrestled with the thought that she might be a danger to the child. Her powers were difficult to contain when emotions ran high, and she had so many.

And Edward… slipped into the silence as if nothing had happened at all.

He rose from the piano and approached slowly, arms open.

“Oh, my sweet Bella,” he crooned. “I’m so glad you didn’t go through with that awful plan. This will be a golden opportunity for you. You can keep your humanity—we can raise this child together. As husband and wife, if you’d like.” He smiled like it was still charming. “The baby will need a father figure. I’m sure of it.”

Bella stood quickly, backing away, arm curling protectively over her stomach. Her breath hitched. Her skin crawled.

Edward’s face twisted, hurt. “My Bella, why are you afraid of me? You should be happy. I thought this was what you wanted—a life together. This is perfect.”

He tried to offer that familiar, crooked smile.

It landed like a knife.

“No,” she breathed. Then, stronger: “ No. I won’t be marrying you. And I sure as hell won’t be raising my child with you.”

Her voice cracked—sharp and furious.

“I’m tired of you trying to shove your 18th-century ideals down my throat. Tired of you treating me like I’m your property—like I’m just some mindless lamb.”

She shook her head, teeth clenched.

“We’re done, Edward. You’ve been nothing but a controlling creep. And you weren’t even there for me! You know who was? Alice. Even Rosalie—someone who used to hate me.”

Her voice lowered, but it didn’t waver.

“Where were you? Hiding. Wallowing in your own self-pity. I won’t let you drag me down with you.”

dward’s expression twisted. Whatever mask of civility he’d worn cracked—shattered completely in the space between one breath and the next.

His hand twitched.

“You dare to speak to me like that?” he seethed, his voice low and venomous, his eyes no longer golden but dark and wild. “You ungrateful—”

He moved.

Fast.

Too fast for a human eye to follow. One arm reared back, not with passion but cruelty, like he thought pain might still teach her something. Put her back in her place.

But he never made it.

There was a thunderous roar —raw, feral—and Rosalie collided with him mid-motion, a blur of blonde fury and white-hot rage. The sound of shattering glass erupted as they crashed through the front window in a burst of glittering fragments.

They hit the hood of Charlie’s cruiser with a metallic crunch that echoed down the street.

Bella gasped, instinctively shielding her stomach, while Esme pulled her further into the room, protective and trembling.

Rosalie pinned Edward with both hands, her teeth bared, eyes glowing with fury. “ Touch her, and I swear I’ll end you myself,” she snarled. “You ever raise a hand to her again, I don’t care what you call yourself—I’ll make sure there’s nothing left to raise.”

Edward hissed, dazed but writhing beneath her grip. “You’re defending her over your own brother?”

“I’m defending a mother, ” Rosalie snarled, venom sharp in her voice. “And she’s more my family than you’ve ever been.”

But what she didn’t say—not out loud—burned hotter than anything she had ever admitted, even to herself:

I’m defending my mate.

No matter how Edward had twisted the word, no matter how warped his version of love had become, Rosalie felt it. Knew it. Down to her bones. Bella had never belonged to him. She had never wanted to belong to anyone. But Rosalie… she never asked Bella to be anything but herself. And yet, something between them had tethered silently in the dark.

And he dared to call her his?

“No!” Edward bellowed, as if sensing it. “No, that’s not right! She is mine! My mate! I can do what I want with her! If she needs to be taught a lesson, then I will do so with punishment! ”

He thrashed beneath her. His fury was volcanic. Her grip tightened—and with it, the frost came.

Rosalie’s power slid like glass across his throat, creeping, hissing, freezing . It cracked against his stone skin like biting steel, and for once, he felt it . Real, cold, and sharp.

Inside the cruiser, Charlie sat frozen. The growls, the crash, the impossible ice spreading across his hood like a living thing—none of it made sense. But he recognized rage. And he recognized protection when he saw it, too.

On the hood, Edward writhed.

Rosalie leaned down, her face inches from his. Her golden eyes weren’t soft now—they were wildfire through ice.

“ She was never yours. And she sure as hell doesn’t need your permission to live her own life.”

The frost curled down her wrists, threatening to crack him open if he moved.

“You think ‘mate’ means control,” she whispered, deadly calm. “But I know better. Because when I see her…” her voice broke with something closer to reverence, “…all I want to do is protect. Not possess.”

–

The tension in the air was ice-thick.

Charlie had seen a lot in his years—murder scenes, hostage standoffs, things that left permanent shadows behind his eyes. But nothing prepared him for the sight of this —Rosalie Cullen pinning Edward to the hood of his cruiser like an avenging fury, frost blooming around her fingers, spreading in webbed spirals along Edward’s neck. The glass shards of the front window still sparkled like frozen rain across the gravel.

And Edward wasn’t backing down.

He writhed beneath her with feral indignation, eyes wild, lips curled back in a snarl that had nothing human left in it.

Then Charlie heard the words.

“She is mine! My mate! I can do what I want with her. If she needs to be taught a lesson, I will teach her. With punishment! ”

That was enough.

The cruiser door slammed open. Charlie stepped out slow but sure, his boots crunching the debris-strewn gravel as he raised his sidearm with steady hands honed by years of police work. The safety clicked off, the sound slicing the air like a drawn sword.

“ Get off my car. And stand the hell down. ”

His voice was steel. Cold. Final.

Edward froze. Rosalie’s grip tightened, the crackle of shifting ice echoing down the street.

From within the house, the sound of running footsteps erupted—Bella’s voice first.

“Dad?! Rosalie? What—”

She stopped on the porch, breath stolen from her lungs at the sight.

Esme and Carlisle appeared behind her, followed by Alice and Emmett. Jasper was already slipping outside silently, instincts sharp as a blade. Alice’s mouth fell open. Emmett's eyes narrowed. Esme put a hand to her chest.

Charlie didn’t flinch, didn’t even glance over.

“Sheriff’s orders,” he said, eyes locked on Edward. “You put hands on my daughter, and I don’t care how many centuries you’ve survived—I'll end you."

“Charlie—” Carlisle moved forward, palms up, “please. Let me de-escalate—”

“Not while he’s still snarling like a damn animal on my hood.”

Rosalie’s voice dropped to a dangerous hush.

“He’s not snarling for long.”

Bella, still frozen, looked at Rosalie—saw the pulsing frost crawling along Edward’s collarbone—and then down at Charlie, gun drawn and steady. Then she did something no one expected.

She walked down the steps.

Straight toward the wreckage.

“Bella!” Charlie shouted, instinct snapping him forward, but she raised a hand and he stopped—hesitated.

She reached Rosalie’s side carefully, her hand brushing lightly against her arm.

“Rose,” she whispered. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Rosalie blinked. For a moment, the ice stopped its advance. Her head turned just slightly toward Bella, shoulders tight with restrained violence.

“He was going to hurt you,” Rosalie murmured, almost dazed. “I saw it—I felt it.”

“And you stopped him,” Bella said softly. “You protected me. Just like you always do.”

She laid her hand on Rosalie’s shoulder. Slowly, gradually, Rosalie shifted her weight back, releasing Edward with a final shove that sent him rolling off the cruiser in a heap.

Edward landed hard, growling low in his throat, but stopped cold when Charlie stepped forward again—gun still trained on him.

“I want you off this property,” Charlie growled. “Now.”

“But she’s my—”

“She’s my daughter,” Charlie snapped. “And she told you ‘no.’ That means something where I come from.”

“You’re all fools,” Edward sneered, straightening his shirt. “She needs structure. Guidance. Someone to show her the right path.”

“And if you really believed that,” Esme said coldly, “you would have stayed when she needed you most.”

Edward’s jaw clenched. But he didn’t argue.

Didn’t try to charm.

Didn’t try to stay.

He turned—and vanished into the forest, a gust of wind and resentment trailing behind him.

For a long moment, no one moved.

Then Charlie lowered the gun with a long breath and turned to Rosalie. Her hands were still trembling, the fading mist of frost evaporating from her fingertips.

“You all right?” he asked.

Rosalie nodded once. “I am now.”

Bella wrapped her arms around her waist from behind, hugging her tightly.

“You saved me again.”

Rosalie didn’t say anything.

She just rested her hands over Bella’s—gentle, grounding, unshaking.

Then Charlie’s voice rang out like a gunshot.

“You all have an explanation to give me,” he barked, stepping closer, fury blazing in his eyes. “And I want it. Now. ”

He was in full cop mode—commanding, unwavering. Not just a father anymore, but a lawman who’d just watched his pregnant daughter nearly get struck by something that wasn’t entirely human.

His hand twitched by his holster.

“I don’t care who—or what —you are,” he growled. “My daughter was endangered. While carrying a child. And you all just stood around like this is normal!”

They shifted uneasily. No one dared interrupt.

Charlie’s jaw clenched. Deep down, he’d always known something was off. The strange silences. The sharp eyes. The unnatural stillness.

He’d grown up hearing stories.

Whispers passed around fires on the reservation. Tales told by his old friend Billy—warnings about the cold ones cloaked in legend, dismissed as superstition. Charlie had never believed them. Had never wanted to believe them.

But maybe if he had…

Maybe he could have protected Bella.

“Why don’t we go inside?” Esme offered gently, a careful look crossing her face. “We can talk while you two eat, and I’ll take care of the... mess.” She sighed, glancing at the shattered window with an exhausted tilt of her head. “I just replaced that window, too.”

“Sorry, Mom…” Rosalie muttered, looking genuinely apologetic.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I know why you did it.” Esme gave her a small smile. “But you’re still helping me clean it up.”

Rosalie gave a small nod, lips twitching toward a reluctant grin.

Esme led the group toward the house, her presence calm and grounding. Charlie followed quietly, still rattled but collecting himself with every step. His protective instincts remained on high alert, but for now, he was willing to listen.

Emmett peeled away from the group to catch up with Bella, his trademark grin stretching across his face.

“So, Bella-bear,” he said teasingly, bumping his elbow against hers, “does this mean I get to teach the future Bella-cub how to play video games?”

Bella laughed despite everything—the tension, the residual terror, the storm still humming in her chest.

“I think it’ll be a long while before that happens,” she said, rolling her eyes fondly. “But sure, why not?”

“ Yes! ” Emmett pumped a fist in the air. “Gonna make the next Smash Bros champ. Start 'em young.”

“You’ll scare them away with your trash talk,” Alice chimed in, a smirk playing at her lips.

“Character-building,” Emmett retorted.

As the front door closed behind them, the warmth of the Cullen household wrapped around Bella like a blanket. There was still so much to unpack—so many truths Charlie had yet to hear, choices she had yet to process—but for now, laughter softened the edges.

Bella had missed this; it helped with the inky blackness in the back of her mind that seemed to grow constantly when she was alone.

Chapter Text

Charlie stood before them, pacing—one hand anxiously rubbing his mustache as he mulled over the information he had just received. “So, the legends are true then? You’re the original Cold Ones?”

Carlisle watched the man with a serious expression. “Yes, what they told you is true, though the proper term would be ‘vampire.’ That said,” he added with a faint smile, “I do like ‘Cold Ones.’ Kind of catchy, don’t you think?” His family couldn't help but agree with a few nods.

Charlie’s brow furrowed. “Are your weaknesses still... a stake through the heart? Silver bullets?”

Carlisle chuckled. “No, that’s just a myth—courtesy of modern cinema.”

Charlie nodded slowly, then hesitated. His daughter had been seriously injured under the Cullen family's care: a broken leg, a ‘sprained’ wrist, a severe concussion, and significant blood loss. “The Phoenix incident,” he murmured. “Did you all have something to do with that?”

Alice was the one to respond this time, guilt etched across her face. “That was my fault. My visions failed me—again,” she admitted. “A nomad vampire, a human drinker, caught Bella’s scent when we were playing baseball. Since Bella smells... very good, he wanted her.”

Charlie swallowed hard.

“We were watching her, but she slipped away. James made her believe he had her mother—it was a trap. I should have seen it coming.” Alice’s voice shook with remorse.

“Alice, it wasn’t your fault,” Bella interjected gently. “I went behind your backs... and I paid the price.” She rubbed the cold, crescent-shaped bite mark on the inside of her wrist.

“When we got there,” Alice continued, barely able to meet Charlie’s eyes, “James had already started draining her. His venom was turning her. But Edward—he couldn’t bear the thought of her changing. His obsession with her humanity drove him to suck the venom out... and he nearly lost control.”

Charlie sat stiffly on the edge of the velvet couch, his arms crossed tight across his chest, jaw flexing with barely contained emotion. The explanation had been given—cold ones, immortality, the blurred line between myth and memory. Carlisle had spoken with calm precision, and Bella had filled in the rest with trembling honesty.

But Charlie couldn’t speak.

Not yet.

His eyes stayed locked on the floor, chest rising and falling a little too fast.

“Dad…” Bella said softly.

He shook his head once, not in denial—but in sheer disbelief. He looked up, eyes glassy with a storm of worry, fear, guilt, and anger. “We’re gonna talk more. About everything . But not tonight.”

He stood abruptly. “I need air.”

No one stopped him. The door clicked gently behind him a few seconds later.

The silence he left behind wasn’t uncomfortable—it was respectful.

And Bella let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

Rosalie’s Bedroom — Later That Evening

The house had mostly settled. Charlie’s footsteps had stopped pacing. Edward was gone—though his shadow still clung to the edges of the evening, trailing behind every new silence. The broken window had been swept, boarded up. Esme’s lasagna was cooling on the stove, untouched but still warm with care. The flickers of chaos had dimmed, leaving only aftermath and breath.

Rosalie sat by the window in her room, posture rigid, like marble with a heartbeat.

She hadn’t changed out of her blouse, though a faint smear of frost still shimmered on her sleeve. The overhead light was off—only the silvery pull of moonlight lit the room. Everything was in its place, exactly where she always left it: the lined books on her shelf, her untouched vanity, the vase of pale flowers on the side table. Perfection and control. Always.

And yet, her hands were trembling.

The ultrasound photo rested on her lap—creased slightly, folded once over—but she kept smoothing it with her palm, over and over, like it might vanish if she let go.

There was a quiet knock at the door.

Rosalie didn’t move. Just said, softly, “It’s open.”

Bella stepped in.

Her steps were slower now. She wasn’t limping exactly, but every shift of her weight seemed measured. Rosalie’s eyes darted to her immediately—watching, cataloging the subtlest indicators of pain.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Bella said, voice soft, almost apologetic.

Rosalie gave a nod, gaze dropping. “I didn’t want to be around… everyone.”

Bella smiled faintly. “Me neither.”

There was a long pause before Bella crossed the room and sank beside her on the low window bench. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The moonlight spilled across them both, softening Rosalie’s features and catching the shadow beneath Bella’s eyes.

“I never got to say thank you properly,” Bella murmured.

Rosalie blinked. “For what?”

“For earlier.” Her fingers twisted gently in her lap. “You stopped him. You didn’t even hesitate.”

“I couldn’t let him hurt you,” Rosalie said quickly, too quickly.

“No one else even saw it coming. You did.”

Rosalie inhaled slowly, lips parting—but words didn’t follow.

Instead, Bella continued, carefully.

“You said something… back there. Something that surprised me.”

Rosalie still didn’t look at her. Just kept smoothing the photo in her lap. Her voice, when it came, was lower than usual. “I know what I said.”

“You said I was yours too,” Bella whispered.

At that, Rosalie’s hands stilled.

The silence that followed wasn’t cold—it pulsed with something tentative. Something precariously sacred.

When Rosalie finally turned her face toward Bella, her eyes glowed soft gold under the silver light, but there was fear flickering just beneath them.

“I didn’t mean it like he did,” she said quietly. “Not like ownership. Not to control you, or trap you, or… anything like that.”

Bella tilted her head slightly. “Then how did you mean it?”

Rosalie hesitated. And when she spoke again, it sounded like the truth clawing its way out of a very old, very deep place.

“I meant that I would fight for you,” she said. “Not just today. Always. That I’d stand between you and anyone who tried to take your voice, or your strength, or that child from you.”

She looked down at the photo again. Her voice grew smaller.

“You make me want to be better. Softer. And I… I didn’t think I could still want those things, not after becoming this dead husk of myself.”

Bella stared at her, heart stuttering.

“I guess what I meant,” Rosalie whispered, “is that you’re the only person in this world who’s ever made me feel like I wasn’t broken beyond repair.”

Bella reached out—slowly—and laid her hand over Rosalie’s again.

“And that terrifies me,” Rosalie said, voice unsteady. “I’m so afraid I’ll destroy everything good around me. I’m scared I’ll hurt you—and the baby—if I get too close.”

She pulled her hand away from Bella’s and took a few steps back, distance growing as the pain in her voice deepened.

“Edward wasn’t wrong when he said we were monsters,” she whispered. “Every person in this house has killed… myself included.”

Rosalie’s arms remained wrapped around herself, her back still to Bella, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I wasn’t always like this,” she said. “I used to be... happy. Normal. Human.”

Bella said nothing. She simply stayed, her presence quiet, waiting.

Rosalie let out a trembling breath. “I—I had a life. Parents. A little brother. Dreams that felt so big back then they barely fit inside me. I was engaged—to a man everyone thought was charming and handsome. A banker’s son. Royce.”

Even saying his name made her shoulders knot with tension.

“He had the right smile. The right pedigree. The kind of man you’re taught to want when you're raised to be ornamental. And during the Great Depression, a man with money was worth more than affection. He had enough to make my father beam and my mother call me lucky.”

She swallowed hard, her voice warping under the strain.

“I thought we were in love. That he wanted the same things I did—a family, a home. Stability. I believed he saw me.”

A silence settled—so dense it felt like it might break under its own weight.

“Until the night he stopped pretending.”

Rosalie turned slightly toward the window—not to look out, but to avoid seeing her own reflection. It would only show what she'd built atop the wreckage.

“He and his friends were drunk. Celebrating. I don’t even remember what for—maybe their own egos. I had just left my friend's house. I was walking home.”

She paused, fingers ghosting over the side of her neck.

“I wore a new dress—white lace, with a pale ribbon at the waist. I loved that dress. It made me feel… bridal. Innocent. Untouchable. That’s how naive I was.”

Bella’s breath hitched. Her hand closed over her own wrist.

“They called me a tease. Said I was flaunting myself. That I must have wanted it. They pulled me off the road, into the alley behind the post office. My shoes scuffed the pavement. I remember the sound.” Her voice cracked like glass. “Like something breaking before it could scream.”

She shut her eyes. Just once. And then forced herself on.

“They laughed while they shoved me down. Royce first. He wanted to make a show of it. Of me. My screams—” Her throat constricted. “—they said my screams excited them.”

Bella sat frozen, pulse thudding in her ears.

“When they were done, they left me in the street like garbage. My dress torn. Blood in my hair. The sky so big above me, and I felt... cold. colder than I’d ever felt in my life.”

Rosalie breathed in sharply.

“No one stopped. No one helped. Except Carlisle.”

She turned back to Bella, voice quieter now—tender and raw.

“I remember thinking how cold the street felt beneath me, how I wanted those men to feel just as cold as I did, to suffer as much as I did. How the stars blurred in the sky. How badly I wanted to die—not because I gave up, but because I was just... so cold and so tired. ”

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips. “Carlisle believes that coldness—my last feeling as a human—manifested into a gift. I think it was a curse. A poetic cruelty.”

She folded her arms tight across her ribs.

“I don’t know if he changed me to save me or because he couldn’t stand the sight of another girl discarded by men. But when I woke up—everything burned.”

Her hands flexed, the tension in her wrists taut and sharp.

“And when the fire faded… I wasn’t a girl anymore. I was something else. Cold. Beautiful. Strong. Unbreakable. And all I could think about was them. ”

Her golden eyes lifted slowly, locking onto Bella’s.

“I hunted them down. One by one. I stitched that same dress back together with shaking fingers. I wanted them to recognize me. I wanted their terror. Not for justice. Not for closure. Just... fear. ”

Her lips curled—not in satisfaction, but self-disgust.

“I didn’t drink their blood. I didn’t want it. I wanted to be the last thing they ever saw.”

She exhaled hard. “Compared to my family, I have the second-best control—Carlisle being the first. But I’m the only one of our kind who’s never tasted human blood. Not once. ”

She sat on the edge of the bed now, her hands trembling.

“That was seventy years ago. And still, every time I look in the mirror, I see her. The girl they broke. The woman who sewed herself back together with anger. I learned how to smile. How to glide through rooms like I belonged. How to speak without shaking.”

She swallowed.

“But that cold fire is still there. It makes me strong, but its taking me over. And it terrifies me.”

She lifted her eyes to Bella again, and this time, they shone with unshed venom tears.

“You’ve already survived what I couldn’t. You chose. You didn’t let anyone take it from you. But what if I take it from you? What if this… weakness—this need to protect you and that baby—brings back that part of me?”

Her voice cracked entirely.

“I don’t want to be the monster Edward desperately thinks I am. But more than that... I don't want to prove him right.”

“Rosalie…” Bella choked out, tears streaming down her cheeks as the older woman confided in her. SHe dropped to her knees in front of her, brown eyes pleading with the woman. “You are not a monster, you never were. You-You are so strong, and so beautiful .”

Rosalie stared at her—speechless.

Bella’s trembling voice cracked through the walls Rosalie had spent decades perfecting. Those brown eyes—wide, earnest, tear-soaked—looked at her not with fear, or pity, but something far more dangerous.

Love.

“You’re not a monster,” Bella repeated herself again, voice thick with emotion. “Not for surviving. Not for protecting me. Not for fighting back.”

Her small hands reached forward, gently taking Rosalie’s freezing ones. The contrast burned in the best way.

“You’re strong,” she repeated, “because you lived through something that should’ve destroyed you. You stitched yourself back together from something unspeakable, and you didn’t lose your heart in the process. That’s not monstrous. That’s... extraordinary.”

Rosalie’s chin quivered. Her throat felt too tight to speak.

“And beautiful?” Bella added, a weak laugh escaping through her tears. “Rosalie, when I look at you, I don’t just see your face. I see everything —your fire, your loyalty, the way you hold everyone else up without asking for anything back. I see the way you look at that photo like it’s sacred.”

Rosalie looked down at their joined hands—hers rigid and pale, Bella’s warm and trembling.

“Bella…” Her voice finally found its way out. “I nearly killed someone tonight.”

“And you didn’t,” Bella replied, voice firm. “You stopped. You protected me again without losing yourself to it. That line you’re afraid of crossing? You didn’t cross it.”

She rose to her feet, slowly, shakily, and cupped Rosalie’s cheek.

“You're not what he says you are. You never were. And whatever this is—” her other hand pressing rosalie’s gently to her belly “—I want you to be part of it. Of us. If you want to be. I don’t think I can do this without you.”

For the first time in over seventy years, Rosalie didn’t feel like the ice in her veins was something to fear.

She felt warmth rising from the center of her, from Bella’s touch, from the frozen tiny heartbeat inside that black-and-white photo, from something new and terrifying and good.

“I do,” she breathed. “I want to be there. For all of it.”

Bella nodded, cheeks still damp, smile trembling. “Then you already are.”

“Bella…” THe blonde whispered, feeling so vulnerable in front of the young woman

“Rosalie, aside from Alice, you’re the person I consider my closest friend. And in these past couple months… you’ve come to mean more to me than I ever could’ve imagined.” Bella stepped back smiling her, her haunted brown eyes, just barely brightening. “You have a good day rosalie, it’s probably best I get charlie home before he starts testing his gun out on you guys.”

“Ahem, yes. That’s probably best.”

Rosalie cleared her throat, trying—failing—to smother the unexpected warmth blooming in her chest. Emotions she wasn’t prepared for, wasn’t ready to name.

“You have my number,” she added, reaching for composure, “so... call me. If you need anything. Anything at all.”

Bella nodded, her expression soft and bashful. A flicker of something unreadable danced behind her eyes.

“Thanks,” she murmured, offering a shy smile before turning.

She stepped toward the doorway, boots padding softly down the stairs, until—

“Don’t forget this,” Esme’s voice called gently.

Bella blinked as she nearly collided with the older woman, who stood in the hall holding out a foil-covered container with both hands.

“I’m sure your father’s worked up an appetite after all that excitement,” Esme chuckled, pressing the dish into Bella’s arms. “Stress-eating is practically a tradition in this house.”

Bella grinned. “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll inhale it. Thank you, Esme. Really.”

Esme touched her arm softly, then let her go.

With a final glance over her shoulder, Bella offered quiet goodbyes to the rest of the family and stepped out onto the porch, lasagna tucked against her side.

Charlie was standing a few feet away, hands stuffed into the pockets of his worn coat, breath fogging in the chill air. His eyes were locked on the cruiser in the driveway—specifically, the new dent on the hood and the long crack spidering across the windshield.

“I guess it’s time to retire ol’ Betty,” he muttered, not looking up. “Had her since I graduated the academy.”

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his coat, popped it open with a practiced thumb, and slid one between his lips. With a flick and a soft hiss of the lighter, he took a long drag, the smoke curling upward into the twilight. His brow furrowed deeply, concern etched into every line.

Bella’s eyes widened. “Dad, since when do you smoke?”

He gave a dry laugh, the cigarette bouncing slightly. “You wouldn’t believe it, but your old man was kind of a punk back in the day.”

She raised a brow. “Seriously?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, exhaling through a wry smile. “That’s probably why your mom liked me so much—wild met wild. I was always getting into something—vandalism, underage drinking, sneaking out, hell, even smoked pot a couple times with Billy.”

His expression softened into something more distant. The warmth was still there, but laced with loss.

“But then you came along.”

He stepped toward the car, rubbing a rough hand affectionately across the dented hood.

“I was scared, Bells. Ready to bolt. I didn't think I could be a father—not really.” He gave a quiet chuckle. “My dad sure thought otherwise. Beat some good sense into me, threatened to lock me in the garage if I didn’t clean up and get a real job.” He paused. “But then he told me something I never forgot—he said if I ran, I’d miss everything. Your first word. Your first steps. Your first laugh.”

Charlie turned, eyes wet now, though no tears had fallen.

“And when I walked into that hospital, fresh out of the academy, and saw your mom holding you for the first time… I knew. I was meant to be there. With you.”

Bella’s throat tightened.

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you better,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m so damn sorry I didn’t fight harder for you. For what you went through.” He dragged a hand down his face. “If my old man were here now, he’d be ashamed of me.”

Bella stepped forward, slowly setting the lasagna container on the railing.

“He’d be proud,” she said quietly.

Charlie looked at her, startled. But she meant it.

“You were there. Maybe not in all the ways I needed, but you’ve always been my safe place. You’re still here. That matters.”

Charlie took one last drag of his cigarette, nodding faintly, and flicked the ash to the gravel.

“Guess we’ve both been through some hell, huh?”

Bella smiled—tired but sincere. “Yeah. But we’re still standing.” She pulled open the passenger door, then paused, brushing away a scattering of broken glass from the seat with the sleeve of her jacket. “Seriously though,” she added as she slid in, “no more smoking. I need you healthy. Preferably with working lungs.”

Charlie chuckled under his breath as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “Noted,” he muttered, turning the key. The cruiser gave a loud, mechanical groan before sputtering to life. He winced at the sound but didn’t comment as he backed out of the Cullens' driveway, the gravel crunching beneath the tires.

They drove in silence for a moment, the low hum of the engine filling the space between them. But Charlie’s brows had drawn together again, his jaw tight with something more than stress.

“So…” he said finally, voice low, eyes never leaving the road. “The Cullens drink animal blood?”

Bella nodded, glancing at him. “Pretty much. It’s… kind of like a diet. It doesn’t fully satisfy them the way human blood would, but it keeps them in control. Keeps them... decent.”

“Huh.” He didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Is that why their eyes are so… weird? That gold color?”

“Yeah. Nobody really knows why exactly—it just happens. Part of the transformation, I guess. Human drinkers have red eyes, though.”

He nodded slowly, lips pursing as something flickered in his expression—distant, cautious.

A memory tugged at the edges of his mind. Blurred by time and childhood imagination. He couldn’t say when it was—maybe four, maybe five years old. There had been a man in a dark coat. Pale. Too pale. With eyes like blood in the snow.

He always thought it had been a dream.

But now…

Charlie blinked, steering them onto the main road. “Your grandpa…” he muttered absently, like he was speaking more to himself than to Bella. “He once told me we had… relatives. People who didn’t come around much. Said they were better left alone. I always thought he meant they were just—y’know, criminal or something.”

Bella turned slightly toward him. “What do you mean?”

Charlie’s hand tightened briefly on the wheel. “I was little. Still living at the old house—before I moved into town. I remember he got real weird whenever I asked about the attic. Kept it locked, told me if I ever tried to sneak up there, he’d tan my hide.”

He gave a low chuckle, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “Said there were family things up there that were too… complicated.”

Bella raised her eyebrows. “Do you still own it?”

“Yeah. Been sitting quiet ever since the old man passed right after you were born. I haven’t been back in years, but I’ve got the keys.”

They both fell silent again, but the air had shifted. A tremor in the quiet, like the wind before a storm.

Charlie squinted at the horizon. “Maybe it’s nothing. Just an old man trying to scare his kid straight and trying to hide his stash of porn mags.”

But neither of them believed that.

Not really.

Chapter Text

Charlie and bella decided it couldn't hurt to stop by the old swan residence, peek around, and see what was inside. After all, she didn’t remember the home her grandparents passed in. Besides, she loved history—especially ones family history.

The old Swan residence sat hunched at the edge of the woods like it was trying to shrink from time. Paint peeled in long, curling ribbons. Ivy strangled the porch pillars. One of the shutters clung to its hinge by stubborn rust alone, creaking faintly in the breeze like a breath the house hadn’t exhaled in years. It was beautiful despite the years taking toll, the wrap-around porch just as breathtaking.

Charlie parked the cruiser beneath the same gnarled pine that had always stood beside the gravel drive—now taller, meaner, casting crooked shadows across the windshield.

“Didn’t think I’d ever bring anyone back here,” he muttered, stepping out with a grunt. “Let alone you. ”

Bella followed slowly, eyes scanning the flaking wood, the sagging gutters, the collapsed garden gate half-swallowed by weeds. The air smelled faintly of rain-soaked rot and long-forgotten lives.

“It’s not as creepy as I imagined,” she said softly, though her voice didn’t sound convinced.

Charlie smirked. “Give it five minutes.”

The front door resisted with a groan before swinging inward, revealing a hallway thick with dust and time. Sheet-draped furniture lined the walls like ghostly sentries. A grandfather clock, long silent, watched from the landing. The air inside was dry and still, like the house had forgotten how to breathe.

They wandered room by room. Childhood remnants surfaced like flotsam: faded photographs in tarnished frames, yellowing wallpaper curling from corners, a toy sheriff’s badge rusted onto a bookshelf.

But what drew them forward was the stairwell at the end of the hall—the one Charlie always avoided. The one with the attic door at the top, bolted tight.

He hadn’t remembered the lock being that heavy.

The chain was thick, rusted bronze, secured with a padlock that looked a century old.

“I guess he meant it when he said to stay out,” he muttered, fiddling with his key ring. “This was definitely added after I stopped coming.”

When the keys failed, he sighed, stepped back—and kicked.

The first blow cracked the doorframe. The second dislodged the lock’s casing entirely, splinters flying.

The door creaked open.

They stepped into the attic together.

It was cooler here, the air sharper. Light filtered through a single warped window, illuminating columns of dust that drifted like ash. Boxes were piled everywhere—some neat, others collapsed in on themselves. Moth-eaten trunks. Stacks of yellowed newspaper. A cracked mirror leaning against the far wall.

And something else.

Near the back of the room, half-buried beneath collapsed crates and scattered books, sat a tall object shrouded in a canvas sheet.

Bella moved toward it, heartbeat quickening. The sheet was thick, stiff with time, the fabric heavy in her hands as she pulled it back—

Revealing a painting.

The man in the portrait was tall, even seated in the high-backed chair the artist had posed him in. He wore a crisp coat and silk cravat, with a silver brooch pinned at his throat—and on his chest, gleaming faintly beneath layers of aged oil paint, was a pendant.

A swan.

His jawline was sharp, noble. Hair slicked back. And his eyes—his eyes —were a deep, piercing red. Not human. Not natural. He was just as pale as her and her father were, and his eye shape just as doe-like but still piercing like theirs. 

Bella stepped back, a chill moving down her spine.

Charlie stared, frozen.

"…That’s him," Charlie muttered. “From the memory I told you about. I saw him once—he watched me from across the creek when I was a kid. He’s the one who spoke to my father.”

Bella’s eyes stayed locked on the portrait, unease curling in her chest like smoke.

The man radiated authority—an aura that commanded silence, obedience. Not through menace, but something colder. Older. A kind of gravity that bent attention toward him whether you wanted it to or not.

She swallowed hard and stepped closer.

Beneath the painting, coated in dust and years of forgotten air, was a small golden plaque affixed to the frame. The metal was dulled with age, almost unreadable.

Bella wetted her thumb and carefully wiped across the surface, revealing the faint trace of elegant, flowing script.

Beau Charleson Swan. 1462.

She stared at the name, heart fluttering.

He was a Swan. The name confirmed it. Family.

The painting had been created over six hundred years ago—and yet, he was clearly a vampire. There was no mistaking it. The piercing red eyes. The unaging perfection. The stillness that seemed to hum off the canvas.

But it was more than that.

There was a presence captured in those painted eyes, something that transcended time and pigment. A wisdom that didn’t just feel ancient—it felt eternal. Dominant. Sovereign.

And suddenly, Bella knew—this man wasn’t just old.

He was far older than the date beneath his name could possibly suggest. From her encounter with the Volturi, Bella knew what ancient vampires felt like—their age was evident in every mannerism, every word wrapped in practiced power.

But this man… he seemed different. Wiser. More aware. There was something in his eyes—painted or not—that carried a gravity the so-called kings of Volterra lacked.

Their authority felt performed. His felt absolute.

Charlie narrowed his eyes, the portrait still looming silently behind them like a sentinel from another time.

Then his gaze began to shift as he pulled out his flashlight.

Slowly, methodically.

Not out of fear—but focus.

The kind of focus Bella had only seen in him when he was standing over an open case file, or walking a scene that didn’t quite add up. His cop instincts—honed over decades—had clicked into place.

“This isn’t just a painting,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “It was meant to be seen.”

He crouched low and scanned the dust-covered floor, brushing aside loose papers and the brittle remains of what once might have been journal bindings. His fingers found the edge of a warped wooden plank that had been rubbed smooth from constant use and pried it open, sending a puff of stale air into the room.

Inside: books, bound in cracked leather. Some were stamped with an embossed S , others with no title at all. A few pages looked like family ledgers—but older than any Swan accounting Bella had ever seen. She stepped closer, crouching beside him as he opened one at random.

Faded ink. Meticulous cursive.

The entries weren’t dated in any calendar year Bella recognized. But the names were familiar—eerily so.

— Swan. Isabella Swan. Charles Jr. Swan. Charles Sr. Swan. Thomas Swan. Henry Swan. Beau Swan.

Her eyes caught on the first and the last. Her pulse quickened.

Her name. Her father’s. Her grandfather’s. And one more—blank. A space left untouched, as if waiting.

She laid a hand over her stomach, unease blooming. Whoever had maintained this journal hadn't just known her family. They’d known about her. About the child.

Someone had been here. And they had kept watch.

Charlie flipped past the fragile spine of the book, revealing a loose piece of parchment—thin as onion skin, curled at the edges, almost translucent. Fear and anger festering inside of him. 

Delicate script scrawled across its surface in faded ink:

The blood runs truer within the roots. Let the house remain silent, and the name endure.

Charlie muttered under his breath, unsettled. “This isn’t the kind of thing you keep lying around unless it means something.”

Without waiting, he stood and turned, flashlight sweeping across the attic’s long-forgotten shadows.

“Stay here,” he said instinctively, already crossing the creaking floor toward a narrow cabinet tucked into the far corner.

Bella watched as he pulled it open, the hinges groaning in protest.

Inside: papers, thick and brittle. And photographs. Sepia-toned. Edges curled with time.

A family seated on a porch, the same porch of the house they were in. A woman in a full-length dress holding a child. And off to one side, standing alone—a man. Tall. Stern. His expression unreadable.

His eyes caught the light—brighter than they had any right to be for an image more than a century old. Not red. Not gold. Just… unnatural. They shimmered faintly beneath the sepia haze like a trick of light, but something in their depth felt disturbingly real.

His skin was pale—too pale—almost waxen compared to the woman beside him. The child in her lap matched his complexion exactly. A baby with the same haunting gaze, though softened by a wash of brown—its eyes mirroring its mother’s, not his.

And still, despite the differences, the man in the photo wasn’t a stranger.

He wasn’t the same as the one in the portrait.

But he was similar.

Familiar.

Charlie turned the photograph over, his thumb brushing the brittle edge. Faded pencil scratched across the back in cursive nearly lost to time:

Henry Swan — 1826

His gaze stayed pinned to the faded image as Bella stepped closer, her voice soft but insistent.

“Could that man possibly be his son? The entries in this journal say Henry came after Beau.”

Charlie exhaled slowly, almost like he was trying to calm an instinct buried deeper than logic.

“That’s what it looks like,” he admitted. “But something doesn’t add up.”

Bella leaned closer to the photograph. The resemblance was undeniable: the strong jawline, the signature intensity in the eyes—even muted by sepia, there was something distinctly Swan about them. And yet… something felt off.

“Beau’s painting is dated 1462,” Bella murmured. “Henry’s photo is from 1826. That’s nearly four centuries between them. And Carlisle told me that vampires’ bodies are frozen in time. They’re incapable of reproduction.”

Charlie’s gaze didn’t leave the photo.

“How do you know that for sure?” Charlie asked, voice low and sharp. Decades in law enforcement had taught him one unwavering truth—there’s no such thing as too many questions.

“I—I don’t know…” Bella admitted, trailing off. Had Carlisle ever truly confirmed that? Or had he spoken from theory—well-informed, but not absolute?

Charlie didn’t wait for an answer. His gaze swept the attic floor, cataloging what he’d already started to suspect. “Gather all those books from the floorboards,” he said, shifting into command mode. “Box ’em up. We’re taking them with us.”

He reached for an old, empty crate tucked beneath a draped chair, shaking off layers of dust. With grim efficiency, he began emptying the drawers and compartments, papers crinkling, wood groaning under movement it hadn’t felt in decades.

Bella nodded silently, nerves gathering like static in her chest. She moved to collect the stacks of journals tucked into the alcove they’d uncovered—some curled with age, others impossibly pristine. Her fingers trembled slightly as she gathered them, their weight far heavier than paper ought to be.

She glanced over at her father. His jaw was set tight. Eyes sharp. But underneath it all was something she’d never seen before.

Fear.

True, bone-deep uncertainty etched into his every movement.

And that fear... made hers worse.

It settled low in her stomach, cold and certain.

Whatever this attic had started to unveil

She honestly had expected to find her dad’s baby photos, not…this.

—

The Swans arrived home just as the sun dipped below the horizon, the only light guiding them inside cast by the moon.

It was quiet between them—an uneasy silence forged by a day filled with tension and revelation. Charlie had learned vampires existed… and that one of them might be tied to their own bloodline. Bella was honestly surprised her old man hadn’t keeled over from a heart attack or stroke.

They hauled everything inside one piece at a time. Bella headed to the kitchen and popped Esme’s lasagna into the oven to warm it. She was starving. Eating for two now, technically—but Charlie had always eaten for two just because he felt like it.

With a sigh, she sank into a chair at the table, slouching forward, arms crossed and forehead pressed to them. Her head throbbed. Behind her, she could hear Charlie mumbling as he shuffled through boxes, already deep in investigation mode.

The moment was shattered by a loud knock at the front door.

Bella groaned and sat up, her face turning red as the last of her patience snapped. She slammed her palms on the table and shot out of her chair, stomping toward the entry.

“Bells?” Charlie blinked, startled, watching her storm past, his mustache twitching.

She gripped the doorknob tight and yanked the door open, her heart pounding and ears practically steaming. “What?!”

“Geez, what crawled up your ass and died?” A boyish voice grumbled.

Her rage evaporated instantly.

Jacob.

“Oh—Jake—I’m sorry. It’s just… been a really long day.” She let out a shaky breath, the anger draining from her body as pain surged through her back and hip. Her face crumpled. She didn’t know how she'd kept ignoring the ache, but now that she’d stopped moving, it hit her all at once. Maybe it was part of the shield gift Carlisle suspected she had—or maybe she was just exhausted.

“No worries. Your anger’s nothing compared to Paul’s— way more manageable,” Jacob laughed, then sniffed the air. His smile vanished, replaced by a serious look as his stomach let out an audible growl.

“Is that food I smell?”

Bella groaned internally. There goes the lasagna. Between him and Charlie, I’ll be lucky to get a bite.

Jacob didn’t wait for permission. He made a beeline for the kitchen, nose first, drawn to the wafting scent of Esme’s lasagna like a bloodhound on a mission.

“Oh man, this is the best thing I’ve ever smelled—better than Emily’s cooking!” he nearly vibrated with excitement, then turned to Bella with wide eyes. “But don’t tell Emily I said that. She’ll hang me by my toes.”

“Right…” Bella chuckled wearily, following him into the kitchen. She grabbed the oven mitts and gently nudged Jacob aside. The lasagna steamed perfectly as she pulled it out, and not two seconds later, Charlie came clambering in with equal excitement.

“Back up, you beasts. I need to cut this first.”

She reached for a knife and spatula—but Charlie beat her to it, waving the spatula triumphantly.

“You go sit down, missy. Leave it to your old man.”

She scoffed. “Yeah right. You’d find a way to burn it—even though it’s already cooked.”

He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. She wasn’t wrong.

“Still, I’m your father, and you need to sit and rest. That’s final.” He pointed firmly to the chair.

Rolling her eyes, Bella limped to the table and carefully eased herself down. The metal brace Carlisle had outfitted her with had grown more uncomfortable by the day. He’d warned that if she refused to wear it, the wheelchair would be next. At least the crutches weren’t permanent.

“Good to see you, kid,” Charlie said with a grin as he patted Jacob’s massive shoulder. “Seems like you grow another two inches every time I see you.”

“Billy’s gonna be jealous,” he added with a chuckle. “Three apples tall in that chair.”

Jacob laughed. “I think you’re just getting old, Charlie.”

They both approached the table—Jacob balancing four slices on his plate, Charlie with two of his own plus another two for Bella. Jacob raised a curious brow as he glanced at her plate. Bella had always eaten like a rabbit growing up—never finishing her meals and always passing leftovers to him.

“Here you go, hon.” Charlie set the plate in front of her with a fork, then sat on one side while Jacob took the other.

Bella didn’t speak. She just dug in, moaning softly as flavor exploded on her tongue.

She hadn’t craved pasta like this in ages.

Jacob kept glancing at Bella as he tore through his food. “And you say I eat like an animal,” he mumbled around a mouthful.

“Jacob—chew first, talk second.” Charlie pointed a fork at him, ever the father figure.

Jacob swallowed sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Bella blotted her mouth with a napkin, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. Sorry for the mess.” Normally, her manners were better, but the hunger gnawed at her, and the earlier mood swing had only made it worse. Or was “hangry” the more accurate term?

“So, Bella,” Jacob began as he leaned back, patting his stomach. Charlie gathered the plates and headed to the sink, giving them space.

“What’s up, dog?”

Jacob chuckled, but it quickly faded. “There’s been talk on the rez... mostly from that girl—Jessica, I think her name is?”

Bella’s stomach sank. Stupid to think she could have kept this from him.

“Why—why didn’t you tell me, Bells?” His deep brown eyes filled with quiet hurt, and it made her heart ache.

She looked away, focusing on her hands. “I—I didn’t want to worry you. Especially after everything with Edward. You’ve got enough on your plate with the pack.”

“Bella, nothing is more important than you. You mean so much to me.” He reached out and gently took her small hand into his own—his heat immediate and overwhelming.

She flinched.

Warning Graphic Content below, only shortly. 

Her breath hitched sharply as an icy rush gripped her chest. Instinctively, she yanked her hand away, heart hammering in her ears. The warmth sent her spiraling—triggering memories she hadn’t asked for.

The cold wet ground, his disgustingly hot touch, his sickening grin and tormenting laughs, the satisfied grunts and hums as he beat over and over with that crowbar while he–

“Bella!”

Jacob’s voice cut through, panic blooming as he watched her shake, tears spilling down her cheeks in rapid succession.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” she gasped, rubbing her eyes, trying to breathe past the rising tide. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.” Her voice wavered, breaking between hiccups. “I just... I can’t handle warmth. Especially from a man. Dad’s the only one who…” She trailed off, avoiding his gaze.

Jacob’s shoulders slumped. He felt sick with guilt. He had heard bits and pieces of what had happened—had pieced it together—but still, he’d reached for her. Invaded her space.

“I’m sorry. I won’t do that again. I swear, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head slowly. “It’s fine... really.”

Trying to steady her voice, she asked, “So… Jess is spreading it around, too?”

Jacob nodded awkwardly. “Uh—yeah. She was telling people you’ve been skipping school because of it.” He hesitated. “And that you, uh... were pregnant because of it.”

He couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes.

Rage flared in Bella’s chest.

“Is any of my business safe in this fucking small-town circus?” she snapped, fists clenched and trembling. Her mind raced, trying to piece together how Jessica could’ve known. The nurse—Stanley. Brown hair, careless smirk. Of course. Mother like daughter.

“I can’t believe this. This violates patient confidentiality!”

“I’m so sorry, Bella. When I heard, I did everything I could to shut her down, but she wouldn’t stop. So I banned her from the rez permanently.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “She wasn’t thrilled about it… but maybe it’ll teach her something. Or someone will.”

“No… thank you, Jacob. For at least trying to preserve my dignity.” Bella glowered faintly, exhaustion written across her features. “I think I’m going to switch to homeschooling for the rest of the year. I can’t handle this—not while I’m…”

She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

Jacob understood.

“Do what’s best for you, Bella. Not what’s best for everyone else.”

He tilted his head slightly, listening to something she couldn’t hear—an instinctive pull. “I have to go. Thanks for the food.”

His gaze lingered a beat longer, heavy with regret.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you, like I promised. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

“Thank you, Jake…” Bella whispered, voice thin.

“I’ll see you soon, okay? Keep an eye out for me.” He rose to his feet, hands twitching at his sides. He wanted to hug her, or at least tousle her hair like he used to—but he kept his distance. She’d reach out when she was ready.

“Bye, old man!” he called as he stepped toward the door.

“Bye, you brat!” Charlie called back from the kitchen, appearing in the doorway just as Jacob left. His face creased with concern as he crossed to his daughter.

“You okay? Did the talk go well?”

Bella wanted to say yes. To tell him it was fine, that she’d enjoyed seeing Jacob. But that would’ve been a lie—and Charlie didn’t deserve lies.

Instead, she shook her head.

Tears welled and broke quietly as she folded into her father's chest. He held her close, arms protective, fingers threading gently through her thick hair, anchoring her to a love that didn’t require explanation.

Chapter Text

Charlie hadn’t mentioned the journals once since they brought them home two weeks ago, and Bella hadn’t seen them anywhere in the house. She had a strong suspicion he’d hidden them—probably found something he didn’t want her to see. Maybe he was trying to ease her anxiety, avoid adding more stress to her already strained body and the life growing inside it.

But she couldn’t stop wondering.

Whatever he’d found had clearly unsettled him. He’d installed new security cameras both inside and outside the house, and even cut down the tree outside her bedroom window. That part did help her anxiety—she’d always felt that creeping unease when Edward was nearby. And she knew he’d been watching her. He always did.

The Cullens had started patrolling the property to keep him out—to keep him away from her. Everyone except Rosalie. Her absence left a hollow space in Bella’s chest. Despite the moment they’d shared, that vulnerability between them, Rosalie had continued to hold her at arm’s length.

Alice told her to be patient. Said Rosalie was stubborn, self-destructive—that it would take time for her to come around. Bella understood. She was willing to wait.

In the meantime, she’d switched to homeschooling, throwing herself into her studies with quiet determination. She did her best to finish her classes, while ignoring her mother’s sporadic calls.

But the more she ignored them, the more Renee seemed to call—as if trying to make up for the year she’d spent forgetting her daughter existed.

It had gotten to the point that she was calling Charlie now, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could avoid picking up. He knew how relentless his ex-wife could be.

Bella, resigned, told him to answer later—once she left for the mall, a trip Alice was dragging her into like it was some kind of mission.

She worried about Renee finding out—not just about the assault, but even more about the pregnancy. Bella knew her mother would make it about herself, spiraling into accusations and guilt, insisting Bella had ruined her life and adulthood. She would try to pressure her into terminating the pregnancy, ranting as if motherhood was a punishment.

As Bella’s hand drifted across her stomach, she caught herself. She didn’t want her child to ever feel like a burden. They hadn’t ruined her life—they’d helped her reclaim it. Despite the circumstances of their conception, this child was a blessing in disguise. They’d opened her eyes to how violating, manipulative, and cruel Edward had truly been.

She would not blame this child. She would never give up on them the way Renee had given up on her.

Instead, she would be the mother Renee never was.

More like Esme—warm, patient, present. A woman whose kitchen smelled like comfort. Whose embrace felt like home.

A knock on the front door broke her thoughts, Alice had finally arrived to pick her up.

Bella eased herself out of her dad’s recliner, setting down her worn copy of Wuthering Heights . She walked to the door, grabbing her purse and keys on the way—only to find Jasper standing on the porch instead.

He smiled gently, tipping an imaginary hat and offering his arm with quiet charm.

“Mornin’, darling,” he drawled. “Alice sent me to escort you to the vehicle. She’s in quite the rush today, so… beware.”

Bella groaned inwardly but took his arm as he led her toward the yellow Porsche. An impatient Alice usually meant Barbie time —her absolute least favorite activity.

Ever the gentleman, Jasper opened the passenger door, then moved the seat forward so she could climb into the back.

That’s when she saw her.

Rosalie.

Bella carefully climbed in, her eyes fixed on the blonde woman. Her hair was styled in a perfect French braid, and a pair of expensive sunglasses—clearly unnecessary—rested on her nose. She wore a deep red leather jacket, second-skin jeans, and black ankle boots that could kill with style alone.

Bella swallowed. She looked like a runway model.

No— a goddess.

Rosalie’s amber eyes peeked over the sunglasses, locking on Bella. “Put your seatbelt on. You know how Alice is.”

Then she leaned forward and glared at her sister behind the wheel, who laughed nervously.

“If you go more than five miles over the speed limit,” Rosalie said coolly, “I will personally burn every piece of vintage Versace you own.”

Alice cleared her throat, visibly rattled. “Roger that! Precious cargo on board, haha…”

She caught Rosalie’s icy glare in the rearview mirror and visibly shivered. Bella could tell—the protective streak Rosalie claimed not to have was growing stronger by the day.

And clearly, Rosalie didn’t care who noticed.

It was amusing watching Alice drive the speed limit for once—mumbling under her breath, whining about how unfair it was not to be allowed to speed. Jasper just rolled his eyes playfully, reminding her that Bella was in the car—and pregnant—and her safety came first.

Alice quieted quickly after that, though the pout didn’t leave her face.

The Port Angeles mall wasn’t nearly as large as the ones in Seattle or Phoenix, but Bella didn’t mind. The smaller crowd suited her—fewer people, less noise, and more room to breathe.

Jasper helped her out of the car again, his movements slow and courteous, while Alice zipped ahead like a caffeinated hummingbird.

“Ooh, I have so many ideas for you, Bella—you’re going to look amazing!” Alice squealed, grabbing Bella’s hand and giggling as she pulled her toward the entrance.

She hummed happily to herself as she located the first expensive store she wanted to try, heading straight for the women’s section. She dropped Bella’s hand to rifle through racks of blouses like a fashion-fueled tornado.

Bella glanced around and spotted Rosalie standing just a foot away, arms crossed and foot tapping in practiced rhythm. Jasper lingered behind his wife, watching the chaos unfold with quiet amusement, occasionally chiming in on colors he thought would flatter Bella best.

Bella sighed, then spotted the infant section tucked to the side. She looked at Alice one more time before carefully inching away. Rosalie raised a perfectly arched eyebrow and silently followed, keeping her distance but never taking her eyes off Bella.

Bella reached the section of baby jumpers and smiled softly as she sifted through them, her fingertips trailing over soft cotton and delicate buttons.

“Do you want to get one of those?”

Bella jumped, clutching her chest as she turned to see Rosalie smirking, clearly pleased she'd startled her.

“Quit sneaking up on me! Damn vampires…” she muttered, knowing full well Rosalie had heard her. “And no. It’s still too early to pick anything out—I don’t even know the gender yet.”

“Do you have any guesses?” Rosalie asked, her interest clearly piqued. Mothers often had a kind of intuition about these things.

Bella shook her head. “Not really. I just want them to be healthy and happy. That’s all that matters to me—boy or girl.”

Rosalie smiled, warm and quiet. Before she could respond, Alice’s voice rang out across the store, practically shouting Bella’s name like it was an emergency. Bella flushed deep red with embarrassment and began making her way back toward them.

“Damn pixie. Always being loud,” she grumbled.

Rosalie chuckled at her irritation, watching Bella disappear between racks of clothes. As she turned, something caught her eye—a lavender jumper with tiny embroidered lettering: Nobody Loves My Mommy More Than I Do.

Her smile returned. Softer this time. A kind she hadn’t worn in years.

She picked it up gently, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. It was plush, breathable, and wouldn’t irritate a baby’s sensitive skin. Perfect.

Nearby in the toy aisle, she spotted a small stuffed swan with a tiny golden crown perched atop its head. She reached for it without hesitation and cradled it in her hands, quietly satisfied.

Without another word, she headed toward the checkout.

–

Bella had thrown quite the fit after six full hours of shopping—her mood swings in full force. Her back and hip ached, her stomach growled, and the mounting exhaustion pushed her over the edge. Her face flushed red with anger as she unleashed a full verbal assault on Alice, who quickly wilted under the pressure and led everyone back to the car, eyes wide and her metaphorical tail tucked firmly between her legs.

She was genuinely shocked by Bella’s rage—and for Alice to fear it more than Rosalie’s wrath? That said a lot.

Apparently, humans weren’t joking when they said a pregnant woman’s mood swings were terrifying to be on the receiving end of.

Alice sniffled quietly as Jasper followed behind, arms stacked with over twenty shopping bags, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. He couldn’t stop chuckling. He’d never seen Alice whipped into submission so quickly—especially not by someone who wasn’t him, and a human, no less.

Jasper chose to drive this time, partly because Alice still seemed stunned by Bella’s outburst. She couldn’t believe Bella had transformed into such a furious whirlwind over shopping and food.

“Alright, darling,” Jasper said cheerfully, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “What do you feel like eating? McDonald’s? Maybe Taco Bell?”

He listed off a few options, but Bella made a series of disgusted faces. Just the thought of fast food made her nauseous. Normally, she wouldn’t have minded, but her stomach was revolting at the idea.

Except… she was craving something.

Esme’s cooking.

“No, I don’t think I can keep any of that down,” she said, shaking her head. “Do you think Esme would mind cooking for me? If not, it’s fi—”

“She’d be more than happy to, Bella,” Rosalie said gently from beside her. “You know how much she loves cooking for you and Charlie.”

Rosalie’s tone was soft, sincere. Bella glanced over—but Rosalie had her own shopping bag tucked neatly to the side, hidden from view. Something she clearly didn’t want Bella to see just yet.

“Well, if she wouldn’t mind…”

“Perfect, I’ll send her a text. Its an hour and a half drive so she can meet us at your house, I’m sure she’ll have something prepped by then.” 

—

A small rental car sat quietly in Charlie’s driveway, unfamiliar and oddly out of place. Its plain exterior reflected the fading amber light of evening like an afterthought—something passing through, not something meant to stay.

Just ahead, parked neatly along the curb, was Esme and Carlisle’s sleek black sedan. The engine hummed softly, headlights spilling a warm glow across the yard like watchful eyes. Esme sat behind the wheel, one hand resting on the keys, her gaze locked on the house with an expression that mixed worry and quiet anticipation. She must have arrived just moments before them.

Bella stepped out of the Porsche slowly, hand pressed against her aching lower back. The scent of something savory—roast chicken, she guessed—was already hanging in the air, teasing her senses. Esme had likely started preparing it hours ago, guided by some invisible clock that always seemed to beat Bella home.

Rosalie climbed out beside her, graceful even with a concealed shopping bag tucked discreetly at her side. She held it carefully, deliberately turned away from Bella’s view. Meanwhile, Alice zipped past them, headed straight for the overstuffed trunk, her energy returning in scattered bursts.

Jasper lingered back, stretching his arms after the long drive. Ever the quiet anchor, he watched over his wife and her whirlwind tendencies with mild amusement.

Esme finally opened her door and stepped out, her soft smile lighting up her face in that familiar way that made Bella feel seen.

“I was hoping to beat you here,” she said with a gentle chuckle, brushing back a loose strand of hair. “But I suppose Alice’s shopping sprees are finally slowing down.”

Bella gave her a tired smile and rubbed her back gently. “She met her match.”

Esme approached and cupped Bella’s cheek with calming affection. “Well, you’re just in time. I’ve got roast chicken and fresh rolls still warm in the car. I thought you might need a little comfort food after today.”

The words soothed her, but something behind Esme’s gentle tone carried a weight. Bella looked closer—into the tight corners of Esme’s eyes, the subtle crease of tension in her forehead. It unsettled her.

“Is something wrong?” Bella asked softly.

Esme glanced toward the front door, her voice lowering. “Your father is inside. He’s... arguing with someone. A woman.”

Bella’s stomach dropped.

Esme hesitated before finishing, “I believe it may be your mother, Bella.”

The warmth drained from Bella’s body as dread began to crawl up her spine. Her breath hitched. A cold, familiar tightness gripped her chest—the kind only Renee could summon.

“Alice, why don’t you take Jasper and your sister home,” Esme suggested calmly. “You can bring the clothes another time.”

Alice gave Bella a hesitant glance, nodding slowly. She had heard enough about Renee—and she didn’t like her.

“Alright, Mom... just—be careful. And keep your cool.” Her voice was cautious as she climbed back into the car. Jasper followed silently, the trunk already weighed down by far too many bags.

Rosalie, however, didn’t move.

She remained rooted in place, eyes fixed on Esme with a quiet intensity.

“I want to stay,” she said firmly, her voice leaving no room for negotiation.

Esme sighed, closing her eyes with maternal fatigue before opening them again and offering a small, resigned smile.

“Fine. But not a word out of you. You are quite thorny at times, my rose.”

Her gaze softened as she added, “Even though you’re secretly sweet.”

Rosalie huffed in protest, but she didn’t argue. Mothers always saw too much.

Bella led them to the front door, her shoulders tight and unmoving, every muscle locked as if bracing for impact. She held her breath as she reached for the keys, fingers trembling slightly, and unlocked the door with careful precision—quietly, intentionally, as if entering unfamiliar territory.

But it wasn’t unfamiliar.

Her mother’s nasally voice was already rising in volume, echoing through the walls in sharp waves of accusation and frustration. The tone was unmistakable—entitled, bitter, loud. Bella winced at the sound, her heart sinking as memories she’d buried clawed their way back up.

She remembered this all too well.

Being a child curled under blankets late at night, trying to muffle the noise with a pillow over her ears. Listening to her mother scream at Charlie—relentless, cruel, and often without reason. Renee had always found something to criticize. Some excuse to pick a fight, to create chaos. Bella used to count the seconds between the slammed doors and the silence, unsure which was worse.

And now, it was happening again.

Only this time, she wasn’t a child hiding beneath the covers. She was standing in the doorway--a life growing inside her, and people behind her willing to defend her if needed.

Rosalie hovered just behind her shoulder, silent but alert. Esme moved forward slowly, steady as stone, ready to intervene if the shouting escalated further.

Bella stepped inside. Her pulse quickened.

“You can’t just show up here uninvited!” Charlie growled. Bella hadn’t heard him this angry in years.

“Uninvited?” Renee scoffed. “She’s my daughter—I’ll come here when I see fit.”

“Oh, so you’ll visit when you remember she exists?” Charlie spat, voice laced with venom.

“How dare you–!”

“Dad…?” Bella could barely get the word out, her voice fragile and trembling. She felt so small—like a child caught in the crossfire of her parents’ rage, as if she had done something wrong just by existing.

“Bells—” Charlie turned toward her, stunned and pale. Fear etched his face. He hadn’t wanted her to see this, not again. He hated when Bella became collateral damage in one of Renee’s storms, but Renee had always dragged her in, wielding her daughter like ammunition against him. It was the real reason she took Bella with her when they split: to punish him.

“Isabella! Oh, finally—I’m so happy to see you!” Renee’s expression shifted abruptly. Her scowl vanished behind a brittle mask of delight, but Esme and Rosalie saw right through it.

She lunged forward, grabbing Bella’s wrist tightly— too tightly. Bella winced as heat surged from her mother’s grip, sharp and bitter. It radiated anger. Possession. It made her stomach churn.

“You’re coming back to Jacksonville with me,” Renee hissed. “We’re going to my doctor and getting rid of that thing.”

Bella gasped. “How did you—?”

“You’re still under my insurance,” Renee said with a smug smile. “I got the mail from your little clinic visit. Now let’s pack your bags—our flight leaves in four hours, and I won’t have you making me late.”

She let out a self-absorbed laugh and pulled Bella toward her. Bella whimpered, trying to wrench her arm free, struggling against the vise-like hold.

“Let go of me! I don’t want to go—I want to stay with Dad! ” Bella cried, hot tears streaking down her cheeks as her voice cracked with desperation.

“You’re coming with me, damn it! That thing is not going to ruin your life like you ruined mine!” Renee snarled. She raised her free hand, fingers curling with intent, ready to strike.

Something snapped inside Bella.

A sudden rush of energy—electric, iridescent—erupted from her core. A shimmering field expanded outward in a flash, launching Renee three feet back through the air and leaving Charlie, Esme, and Rosalie shocked.

Bella collapsed to the floor, crying out as she landed hard on her injured hip. Her breath caught in her throat as she clutched her stomach, eyes wide in shock. Her hip and back were throbbing, and she couldn't move as she tried to struggle through the pain. 

“I always knew you were a freak—just like Charlie! You satanic little—!” Renee got off the floor, about to rush at Bella, but was quickly yanked back by a seething Charlie, his face red as a tomato, almost as if he was about to explode. 

Esme stepped forward, her restraint finally snapped—so much for Alice’s warnings.

“You vile woman,” she hissed, eyes flashing dark amber. “How dare you lay your hands on your daughter. Your pregnant daughter, no less.”

Her hands trembled with fury, itching to strike, to shake Renee until the venom spilled from her soul and left her a hollow, broken mess. She fought the urge, barely.

Renee scoffed, lips curling with disdain. “And who the hell do you think you are? Charlie’s latest whore?”

Her voice was sharp, crude, hair wild around her face as she advanced toward Bella again.

“I’m Esme,” she said, stepping between Renee and Bella, her voice steel. “And I’ve been helping Charlie care for his daughter. As a mother would. ”

Her tone dared Renee to push further. From behind her, Bella stirred, finally unfrozen, dropping her purse and scrambling weakly to sit upright. Tears streamed down her face, chest heaving with pain as she tried to breathe through the agony.

“That’s my job, you cheap skank!” Renee shrieked. “You need to back the hell off. I’ll discipline my daughter however I see fit—and if that means getting a little rough to shake her out of this damn nonsense, then so be it! ”

Her green eyes burned wild and unhinged, any trace of rational thought long gone.

“Get your shit, Isabella! We’re leaving. You’re being pathetic—I raised you better than this!”

The air shifted.

Not slowly—but all at once.

Rosalie stepped forward, and the atmosphere responded like it was wired to her pulse. A sudden chill crept across the room, subtle at first, then biting. Goosebumps pricked Esme’s skin. Charlie noticed it too—his breath caught fog leaving it, the hairs on the back of his neck lifting in warning.

Even Renee faltered, her rage briefly interrupted by confusion.

“What the hell—”

She didn’t finish.

Rosalie’s golden eyes sharpened, focused entirely on Renee. Her expression was unreadable—not fury, not pity, just precision. She hadn’t raised her voice. She hadn’t threatened anyone.

She didn’t need to.

The room itself seemed to tighten around her.

The kitchen light flickered.

Frost climbing the walls

The draft from the vent slowed.

Even the world beyond the windows hushed, like nature had decided to watch.

Rosalie took one deliberate step forward, her boots clicking against the tile, a quiet sound that struck like thunder.

“That’s enough,” she said coldly. No heat. No venom. Just finality.

Renee opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The force of Rosalie’s presence, her gift quietly threading through every inch of space, freezing her in place.

“You’ve done enough, ” Rosalie repeated.

Esme didn’t move. She didn’t speak. But her gaze softened—because for the first time, she wasn’t the one protecting Bella.

The chill deepened—not painful, but sobering. Clarity through cold. Rosalie’s gift was never about force—it was about control.

And now, she had all of it.

Bella, still gasping softly on the floor, looked up at the woman who always seemed to save her.

Rosalie knelt beside her, never once sparing a glance for Renee.

“You are not weak,” she whispered—so softly it barely belonged in the room still heavy with tension. “But she... is.”

With deliberate gentleness, Rosalie slid one arm beneath Bella’s back and another beneath her knees, lifting her slowly and carefully, cradling her in strong, protective arms as if she were made of glass.

She turned her head toward Charlie, her voice flat but ice-cold. “Get that woman out of here. Before I do it myself— permanently. ”

She walked past Renee, her glare unforgiving. Something deep in Renee’s animal instinct screamed at her to stay silent—to leave—before her neck ended up snapped like brittle glass–taking Bella to her room.

Charlie stepped forward, his hand resting near his belt. Not on his handcuffs this time—on his holstered handgun. His tone was steely.

“Get going, Renee. Now. Or I’ll have you arrested for assault and trespassing.” His jaw locked. “I doubt you want to risk losing your job over this.”

Renee glowered at him, her body vibrating with fury. “Fine,” she spat. “Keep the damn monster and her spawn. She’s useless anyway.”

She grabbed her jacket from the couch and shoved past Esme, shoulder-checking her on the way out. Esme shifted effortlessly, absorbing the impact without allowing Renee to harm herself or anyone else.

“Freaks,” Renee hissed under her breath.

She slammed the door behind her, the echo rattling in the silence she left behind.

Charlie stood motionless for a moment, then exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of tension, grief, and long-buried history.

“I thought I could get rid of her before Bella got home,” he mumbled, guilt etched across his face. “I didn’t want her to deal with that woman again… this is all my fault.”

“Oh, Charlie,” Esme said gently, stepping closer. “None of this is your fault. You did your best to protect her.”

“I feel like I failed as a father,” his voice cracked, thick with self-blame. It was the deepest emotion in him now—raw, bitter self-disdain.

“You didn’t fail,” Esme reassured, placing a cool, comforting hand on his shoulder. “You are a good father. And Bella loves you so deeply—I don’t think she’d choose anyone else. Did you hear her? She said she wanted to stay. With her dad. ”

Esme paused, her voice softening further. “We should have stepped in sooner… but this was a family matter. We didn’t want to intrude.”

Charlie shook his head, his eyes misty. “No—thank you for giving us space. I just…” He clenched his jaw, emotion welling up again. “I wanted to punch that woman for even thinking about hurting Bella. I feel like she’s done this before. Like this isn't the first time my little girl’s been hurt by her.”

He whimpered quietly. “I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve protected her… This is all my fault.”

“Its not your fault, now sit down, I brought food with me but I’ll need to heat it up. Just give me one second.” Esme hushed him, pushing him to the couch.

–

Rosalie gently laid Bella onto her bed, her movements slow and deliberate. A frown tugged at her lips as Bella flinched in pain, her body curling inward with instinctive defensiveness.

Carefully, Rosalie pulled back, making sure not to jostle her too much. She hovered nearby, biting her lip, unsure whether to comfort or give space.

Bella was inconsolable.

Her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach, shoulders trembling as tears streamed down her cheeks in a steady, silent flood.

“Bella…” Rosalie whispered.

Rosalie quietly reached into the bag she’d kept tucked beside her and pulled out the small, plush swan. Its tiny gold crown shimmered under the lamplight as she knelt beside the bed again. She didn’t say anything right away—just gently placed the toy in the crook of Bella’s arm, hoping it might offer a sliver of comfort.

“I saw it and thought… it looked like you,” she said softly. “Soft but strong. Beautiful. Unique .”

Bella didn't respond, but her fingers twitched around the swan’s downy wing.

Rosalie hesitated, then reached into the bag once more and retrieved the lavender jumper—the one with the words Nobody Loves My Mommy More Than I Do embroidered across the front.

“I wanted to give you this when you were ready,” she continued. “But I don’t think there’s such a thing as ready right now.”

She placed the jumper delicately beside Bella, her voice dropping even lower. “You didn’t deserve any of what she said. Any of it.”

Bella’s sobs had quieted a little, though her face was still buried against the pillow. Rosalie didn’t try to force anything else. She just sat there, letting silence do what words couldn’t.

Before the quiet could swallow them entirely, Bella reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against Rosalie’s wrist. It was barely a touch—but it was enough.

“L-Lay with me… please?” Bella whispered, voice raw and uncertain, fragile beneath the weight of her pain.

Rosalie’s eyes widened in surprise, her posture stiffening instinctively. But the tension began to melt from her limbs, piece by piece, as she nodded wordlessly.

She set the jumper down carefully on the nightstand, then moved around the bed, easing herself onto the other side. Her movements were cautious at first, hesitant—as if unsure whether she belonged in this moment. But slowly, deliberately, she shuffled closer and slipped an arm gently around Bella’s trembling form.

Her body was still stiff with restraint, but her touch—quiet, protective—carried something deeper.

Rosalie had been trying so hard to resist the pull that connected her to Bella, that strange gravitational force that grew stronger with every glance, every shared silence. But the younger woman was making it impossible to hold back.

Every little thing—her laugh, the sparkle in her warm brown eyes, the hesitant softness of her smile—it pulled Rosalie closer. And now, with Bella curled up in her arms, she could no longer fight it.

Not here. Not like this.

This was the warmest she’d ever felt.

Not since… that.

For once, she wasn’t cold.

Chapter Text

It was impossibly dark—so dense and velvety that even the faintest shapes blurred into shadow. Bella squinted, trying to make sense of her surroundings, but the gloom swallowed everything beyond a few feet. Beneath her bare feet, the ground pulsed with something damp and mossy, clinging to her skin like living memory. It crept between her toes and clutched at her naked heels, warm and strange.

The air was thick, humid and soupy, pressing against her chest with every breath. Breathing felt like swallowing fog. It was suffocating, yet eerily still.

And then—something broke through the black.

A single white feather drifted down from the unseen sky above, glowing faintly like a shard of moonlight. Bella’s gaze locked onto it as it floated, slow and graceful, untouched by gravity or wind. It shimmered against the darkness like a beacon.

It landed atop the head of a child standing in front of her.

The girl couldn’t have been more than seven years old. Her skin was pale, kissed by a subtle blush on her cheeks. She wore a wide, gap-toothed grin—the kind that comes from missing two front teeth—and her long, wavy almost curly brown hair spilled past her shoulders in soft, curling waves.

But it was her eyes that halted Bella’s breath.

Violet-blue, luminous and piercing. Too vibrant for this world. Too wise for that face. They glowed like twin stars in the emptiness, carrying weight far older than the child’s form suggested. Those eyes looked through her—into her.

The girl clutched a stuffed swan in her arms. It was aged and worn, the fabric frayed at the seams, but still dignified. A tiny golden crown sat crooked atop its head hanging by a single thread. She hugged it with fierce protectiveness, her knuckles pale from gripping too tightly, as if the plush creature held her entire world.

“Did you know swans mate for life?” the child giggled, her voice echoing like a wind chime, clear but unnervingly distant.

She stepped closer, her white dress billowing softly with every movement. The hem never touched the mossy ground—it hovered just above it, shimmering faintly.

Bella couldn’t move.

Something about this child felt familiar.

And yet—she knew she had never seen her before.

“My momma was the one who told me that,” the little girl said cheerfully, shaking the stuffed swan toward Bella as if the toy itself was making the declaration. “She said her and Mommy are just like swans! She saw her and just knew —knew it was for life! Just like a swan.”

Bella tilted her head, studying the toy. It was worn, familiar. It looked exactly like the one Rosalie had bought for her earlier.

“A swan, huh?” she murmured, lowering herself to one knee before the girl. Her fingers twitched toward the plush creature but didn’t quite touch it.

“Swan’s are my favorite,” the girl continued with a proud bounce. “They’re so big and pretty—and they even have their own consetll–constalla…”

Her brow furrowed as she tried to shape the word, tongue tripping over syllables.

“Constellation?” Bella offered, smiling gently.

The child’s entire face lit up, eyes crinkling at the corners as she nodded rapidly. “Yeah! That’s the word!”

She twirled in place, the hem of her glowing dress catching the dark air like a ribbon of moonlight. “It’s called Cygnus. The swan in the sky,” she chirped. “Momma told me to always look up when I feel lost and that it would bring me home.”

Bella swallowed, her throat suddenly tight.

“Are you lost now?” she whispered, unsure if she meant it for herself or the child.

The girl tilted her head and shrugged, her grip on the swan softening slightly. “I think... you are. But it’s okay. The stars know where you’re going.” She smiled and pushed the stuffed animal into Bella’s hands.

The girl stepped closer, the plush swan cradled in her arms like a sacred keepsake. For a moment, she simply looked at Bella her violet blue eyes calm, expression unreadable. The glow from the toy illuminated her face faintly, casting soft shadows beneath her lashes.

Then, with quiet reverence, she held the swan out toward Bella.

“I want you to have it,” she said, her voice gentler now. “Momma said swans remind people who they belong with—and I think you’ve forgotten.”

Bella hesitated, staring at the worn fabric, the crooked golden crown still perched atop its head. She reached out slowly, her fingers brushing the swan’s soft wing before curling around it. Warmth bled into her palms the moment she touched it. Not heat—but comfort. Memory. It felt like something that had always been hers.

The child smiled.

“When you’re ready,” she whispered, “you’ll see me again.”

With that, she turned and began to walk away, her white dress drifting like mist through the moss and feathers.

“Wait, What’s your name-” 

The girl turned her head back to look at her and smiled, “Its bzzzt.”

Her voice fizzled out, as she slowly began to fade. 

 She vanished into the darkness, the forest swallowing her whole.

Bella clutched the swan tightly as the dream began to fade—colors draining, shadows bleeding away. The world went light again, like dawn cracking open from beneath her skin.

She woke with the plush swan still in her arms.

When Bella opened her eyes, the dip in the mattress beside her was gone. The soft morning light was beginning to peek through the curtains, streaking gold across the room. She took a breath, blinking away the tears lingering from the dream. Her gaze drifted to the stuffed swan in her arms—it looked brand new, untouched by time, unlike the one in her dream.

She always had unusual dreams, but this one… it felt different. Deeper. Like it had been waiting for her.

“Bella?” Carlisle’s voice broke the silence, gentle and composed. His head appeared through the door, a small, careful smile on his face.

“Oh… Carlisle? What are you doing here?”

He stepped into the room, his medical bag in hand. “Rosalie called me,” he said softly. “She wanted me to check on you. Esme and Rosalie mentioned you had a fairly rough fall yesterday… under difficult circumstances.”

His concern was evident in the way he spoke—in the way he set down the bag as if it contained more than instruments, like it carried reassurance.

“Yeah…” Bella mumbled, trailing off. She didn’t want to relive it. Not right now.

“Let’s sit you up,” he instructed gently, moving toward the bed. He slid an arm behind her to support her movement, noting the tension in her face and the way her body resisted the shift.

Once she was seated at the edge of the bed, he knelt slightly. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the back of her shirt.

Bella gave a small nod, silent but trusting.

Carlisle carefully lifted the fabric, revealing mottled bruising across her lower back and hip. Deep discoloration bloomed in shades of red, violet, and charcoal, the tissue swollen and reactive to light touch.

His expression darkened slightly as he examined her.

“She’s still healing,” he murmured under his breath. “Your spine and pelvis had preexisting microfractures, Bella. A fall like that—especially on your tailbone and sacral region—could’ve inflamed the surrounding tissue and possibly disrupted recovery. You may have aggravated the healing process.”

He placed a cool hand near the injury, pressing ever so gently. Bella gasped, her body jolting.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice soft with empathy. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

Carlisle’s touch moved with care, fingers tracing across Bella’s lower back with practiced precision. He assessed for symmetry, localized swelling, and patterns of referred pain. There was no obvious bone displacement, but the muscle spasms told a troubling story—her body was clearly in distress.

Still, when he reached several areas that appeared most inflamed—deep purple bruises with pockets of swelling—Bella gave no reaction.

He paused, brows furrowing.

“Do you feel this?” he asked gently, pressing into a particularly dark and sensitive-looking spot.

Bella blinked, then shrugged. “No… I didn’t even know you were pressing it.”

Carlisle stepped back slowly, pulling off his gloves with a quiet sigh. He didn’t want to frighten her, but he couldn’t ignore the implications.

“Despite the swelling and disruption in your healing,” he said softly, “I believe you may have developed some localized nerve damage.”

Bella’s breath caught.

“Numbness in areas like this—especially following blunt trauma to the lower spine and pelvis—can indicate inflammation around the sacral nerves. It could be temporary, or it could signal a need for further imaging. I’ll monitor it closely, and we’ll adjust your recovery plan.”

His voice remained steady, but his eyes flickered with concern.

“Do you think you can walk?” Carlisle asked gently.

“I… uh, I don’t know. Probably with some help, I should be able to,” Bella replied, uncertainty thick in her voice.

She reached out and took his offered arm, steadying herself as she shifted toward the edge of the bed. Despite weeks of physical therapy, it felt like she was right back at the beginning. Her body betrayed her—her legs dragged rather than stepped, heavy as bricks, slow and unresponsive.

There was no familiar limp now. This was different.

This was a body that didn’t feel like hers.

Every movement was forced, every breath a quiet struggle to focus past the discomfort. Carlisle didn’t rush her. His arm stayed firm beneath hers, guiding her slowly, patiently, without judgment.

She hated feeling like this.

But somewhere in the back of her mind, nestled just behind the pain, she knew: she wasn’t alone.

Carlisle kept his arm steady around Bella’s waist as they made their slow descent down the stairs. Every step was deliberate. Bella clenched the handrail tightly, each movement a delicate balance between pain and progress.

“You’re doing well,” Carlisle said quietly, matching her pace. “One step at a time.”

She nodded, breath shallow but grateful. The swan plush was tucked beneath her arm like a talisman.

As they reached the last few steps, voices drifted up from the living room—low, tense, urgent.

Rosalie stood with arms folded, golden eyes locked on Sam, who paced anxiously near the fireplace. Jacob hovered just behind him, jaw clenched, brow furrowed with worry. The rest of the family—Esme, Emmett, Alice, and Charlie—were gathered nearby, their expressions ranging from concern to calculation.

“She was spotted near the border,” Sam was saying. “About ten miles from here. Red hair, tall, fast. It was her. No question.”

Jacob’s voice cut in sharply. “Victoria’s circling. She’s waiting.”

Rosalie’s eyes flicked up the moment Carlisle and Bella stepped into view. Bella felt the shift instantly—how every pair of eyes in the room turned toward her, subtle yet fiercely protective.

Without hesitation, Rosalie stepped forward and gently took Bella from Carlisle, a surge of possessiveness coursing through her. She led Bella across the room, guiding her to the couch where Charlie sat, fingers curled around a beer, his brow etched into a permanent furrow.

And then came the silence.

Victoria.

The name hung in the air like smoke.

She was the problem Edward had let roam free—uncontained, unchallenged, allowed to act on her own whims. He had believed their family's numbers, bolstered by the wolves, would be enough of a deterrent. That she wouldn't dare draw near.

He was wrong.

A fool. A dangerously arrogant one.

“What’s going on?” Bella asked, her voice tight with unease. She didn’t address the room—her eyes locked on Rosalie, the one person she trusted to give her the truth without hesitation.

Rosalie stepped closer, her expression firm but gentle. “The wolves found Victoria lurking near their territory,” she said quietly. “They chased her through the cliffs, but she vanished. They think the river washed away her scent and ended the trail.”

Bella’s breath caught. “Why is she here?” Her voice trembled, the question laced with the anxiety blooming beneath her ribs.

“We believe she’s come for you,” Rosalie said, her tone taut with restrained fury. “In her eyes, you're still Edward’s mate—the reason she lost James. A mate for a mate. That’s what she wants.”

Alice chimed in from the far side of the room, her voice low and haunted. “I had a vision. She’s circling closer now, more focused. The intent is clear—and cruel.”

Bella’s gaze flickered toward Charlie, who sat stiffly on the couch, his grip around the beer tightening. His brow was furrowed, the weight of his thoughts etched into every line of his face.

“She’s behind the recent disappearances, isn’t she?” he said, voice hoarse with dread.

The room fell silent.

Charlie’s eyes were steel, voice low and immovable. “There’s been too many. Too often. This isn’t trafficking—or some serial killer slipping through gaps in the system. Something else is moving.”

Bella turned back toward Alice, her throat tight. “What did you see?”

Alice’s posture stiffened, fingers knotted in the hem of her sweater. “A field,” she said softly. “Somewhere remote—three months from now, maybe a bit less. The image was hazy, probably distorted by the wolves’ presence. Their energy interferes with the clarity.”

She paused, swallowing hard.

“But what I could make out… it looked like a battle. Dozens of figures. The scent of blood. Power being thrown around like wildfire. Many injured—but no losses. Not that I could see. Yet.”

A beat passed. Bella’s chest rose and fell, caught between the rhythm of anxiety and the slow pressure of realization.

Rosalie moved closer, standing just behind her shoulder like a shadow cast in golden light. “She’s planning something,” she said, voice firm. “Victoria doesn’t want chaos. She wants retribution. And she’s building toward it.”

Jacob stepped forward, arms crossed tight over his chest. “We’re already scouting the ridgelines. If she’s setting up for a fight, we’ll find her trail again.”

Bella didn’t respond.

“With your permission, Sam,” Jasper began, stepping forward, his voice cool but sharp, “I’d like to train your pack. Given Victoria’s recent behavior—and the increasing number of disappearances—I can only assume, based on experience, that she’s building a newborn army.”

“A newborn army?” Jacob echoed, brows lifting as a murmur of unease rippled through the room.

Jasper nodded solemnly. “It’s a tactic vampires have used before. They turn humans rapidly—one after another—and train them in chaos, feeding them lies to keep them under control. They’re volatile and dangerous.”

“They’re stronger than us,” he continued, “faster too—but only because their human blood still flows through them. It gives them temporary power, heightened instincts... and no concept of restraint.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “And you’ve fought these before?”

“More times than I care to remember,” Jasper replied. His voice held a shadow now—like a scar buried under his words. “If Victoria’s aiming for war, she’ll use newborns as her front line. You’ll need more than instinct to survive them.”

Sam didn’t answer immediately. His arms were folded tight across his chest, jaw tense as he weighed the offer with quiet calculation. Jacob glanced at him, clearly torn between urgency and pride.

“You’d be training us for speed, strategy?” Sam asked, his tone guarded but curious.

Jasper nodded. “Tactics, counters, terrain control—how to disable a newborn without relying on brute force. And how to survive when their strength outmatches yours.”

Rosalie stepped forward then, her voice steady and sharp. “We can work in rotations. Split pack and family between scouting and training. Victoria’s unpredictable—we need eyes on all fronts.”

Emmett added, “I can reinforce perimeter patrol with the wolves. If she’s building an army, she won’t risk striking yet—not until she thinks we’re weak.”

Alice stepped closer to Bella, her gaze still distant from the weight of the vision. “I couldn’t see everything. But I felt you were meant to be at the center of it,” she murmured. “We’re not just protecting you, Bella. You’re part of the reason we win.”

Bella looked at her father, whose grip around his drink had eased but whose eyes hadn’t softened. He nodded once—silent agreement.

“Then let’s prepare,” Sam finally said, his voice low and resolute. “I hate having to work with the enemy, but you lot aren’t all bad–at least I hope not.”

—

Two months.

Two months of late-night meetings and whispered plans under moonlight. And every time, it had been Rosalie who roused her from restless sleep—not with urgency, but with a quiet gentleness that Bella had come to crave. Rosalie never rushed her, never demanded quick movements or sharp responses. She would sit beside her bed, fingertips brushing Bella’s wrist, and wait until Bella stirred on her own.

Unlike Alice or Jacob, who often burst in with energy too loud for the quiet hours, Rosalie moved with grace. With patience. With care.

And in those two months, their friendship had deepened. Grown into something tender and subtle. They shared stories in half-light, hands touching by accident—or maybe on purpose—in passing. And every time their skin met, Bella felt it: a bolt of warmth that surged through her spine and settled like sunlight in her chest. Rosalie didn’t speak of it, and Bella didn’t dare ask. But the feeling lingered, electric and soft, each time they stood too close or leaned in just a little too far.

Still, good things had a way of unraveling.

Especially now.

With Edward growing more obsessive by the day, and Victoria weaving through the shadows like a wildfire waiting for wind, Bella rarely felt safe. She’d learned to keep her back to the wall, her senses sharp, always looking over her shoulder—even in moments that should have belonged to quiet affection.

As Bella grew closer to Rosalie, so too did the quiet yearning that curled inside her chest—the need for something more. It had started as a whisper, a pull she couldn't name, but it had been there from the very beginning. From the moment Rosalie had walked into that cafeteria, haloed in impossible beauty and carved from frost and fire, something in Bella had stirred.

At first, she dismissed it. Just another wave of teenage girl envy, she told herself—the natural desire to emulate someone flawless. Rosalie had seemed like the kind of woman Bella could never be: elegant, powerful, untouchable. Wanting to be like her felt normal. Expected.

But the longer Bella stayed in the orbit of the Cullen family—learning the shape of their lives, the weight of their secrets—the more her connection to Rosalie shifted. Deepened. Clarified.

It wasn’t admiration. It wasn’t envy.

And it certainly wasn’t an innocent girl-crush.

What Bella felt now was electric—urgent in a way that made her breath catch whenever Rosalie looked at her just a beat too long, whenever their hands grazed and Bella’s skin bloomed with warmth. It was fierce and unsettling, this emotion—because it was real. Tangible. Unlike anything she had felt for Edward.

In fact, if she dared to compare, what she had felt for Edward seemed pale in comparison. A fleeting fascination. A crush born of mystery and timing.

He had been the illusion.

Rosalie was the truth.

During her short-lived fantasy with edward in their meadow, he would tell her of a vampires During their short-lived fantasy, tucked away in the meadow that belonged more to illusion than memory, Edward had spoken softly of vampire mates.

He described them as tethered—bound by something deeper than blood or time. A force that transcended logic, anchored to every part of their being. Once found, that mate eclipsed all else. They became the center of their eternity, the only clarity in a life otherwise cursed. “The one you wait for,” he’d said, voice like velvet over thorns, “through the agony of immortality… until purpose finds you.”

His words, not hers.

Bella remembered the way he framed it. Romantic. Tragic. Like soulmates carved from ash.

To her, though, it sounded familiar—dangerously familiar. Not just a supernatural bond, but something pulled straight from human longing. Destiny, perhaps. The person meant for you. The one who stitches your broken pieces together without ever needing a needle.

But she had learned, slowly and painfully, that idealization was not immunity.

Because despite his poetry and permanence, the feeling growing inside her when Rosalie brushed her hand—when her gaze lingered just a second longer than it needed to—was stronger than anything the meadow had ever promised.

Bella couldn’t stop replaying it.

Rosalie, perched atop the car, pinning Edward down with unrelenting force. Her snarl had been more than fury—it was primal. Uncontrolled. A firestorm wrapped in golden hair and sharpened intent.

“You don’t get to claim her,” Rosalie had roared, voice laced with rage and possession. “She’s mine.”

The words echoed in Bella’s mind like a drumbeat she couldn’t drown out. She had felt it—every syllable—reverberate through her chest. And for days afterward, she hadn’t been able to breathe quite right.

She had an inkling. A quiet, trembling suspicion that she was almost too afraid to define.

Was it possible?

Was Rosalie… her tether?

Not just a friend. Not just a protector. But her destined anchor to an eternity of happiness. The kind Edward used to describe in hushed tones, romanticizing the idea of vampire mates—souls bound together beyond death and darkness.

Bella clung to the hope with desperate fingers, praying to any deity willing to listen that she was right. That Rosalie Hale—the fierce, guarded woman who had become her sanctuary—was not just someone, but the one.

And yet... Rosalie hadn’t said a word.

Bella had seen it in her eyes—the wildfire behind those honey-gold irises, the instinctual need to shield her from pain. She had felt it in Rosalie’s touch, in the tension whenever someone came too close, in the way her body angled itself between Bella and the world.

So why?

Why hadn’t Rosalie told her?

Why hadn’t she said the words Bella was so sure were buried just beneath her lips?

Bella’s hands clenched at her sides. Her heart pounded with frustration and longing, ready to break the silence herself and demand an answer from the woman standing across the room.

But then she saw Alice.

The small vampire's eyes locked onto hers, intense and unreadable—burning like stars on the brink of collapse. A silent warning hung between them like smoke.

Not now .

Bella bit down the words threatening to spill out. Her heart throbbed with the pressure of what she wanted to say, but she swallowed it instead. With a sigh, she turned toward the petite vampire perched nearby.

“Alice,” she said softly, “would you mind taking me to get something to eat? I’m feeling pretty hungry—I didn’t get the chance to eat dinner last night.”

Alice perked up instantly, joy radiating off her like sunbeams. She practically skipped to Bella’s side, eyes bright and voice sweet. “Of course, Bella! You know I’m always happy to feed you—and the baby too, obviously,” she added with a wink. She extended a hand, offering a delicate arm to help Bella up.

Rosalie frowned, her body shifting instinctively toward them. “Let me do it,” she said quickly, her voice tighter than usual. “I don’t mind—”

Bella reached out and gently squeezed Alice’s arm, bracing herself with a shaky breath. “Rose,” she whispered, just loud enough to halt the blonde midstep. “Please. I just need to get out of the house for a bit. And it’s… it’s been a while since I’ve spent time with my best friend.”

She forced a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She then grabbed Rosalie's hand, placing the stuffed swan in her hands tenderly, "Hold onto Cygnus for me okay?"

Rosalie froze, conflict flickering across her face. She took half a step back, watching Bella lean into Alice’s support, her hands curling around the pixie’s arm as they moved toward the door.

Before they could leave, Charlie stood up and rifled through his back pocket. He pulled out his wallet, thumbing past worn receipts and old photos before withdrawing a thick wad of bills and shoving it into Alice’s startled hands.

“Charlie! We have plenty of money,” Alice protested, trying to hand it back.

But Charlie shook his head firmly. “That’s my baby girl,” he said, voice rough with conviction. “And my grandkid. It’s my job to support them.”

Alice blinked, stunned into silence. Eventually, she sighed and tucked the money away with a nod of reluctant acceptance.

Rosalie didn’t move.

She stood in place, her expression unreadable—golden eyes shadowed by something sharp and pained. It wasn’t just jealousy. It was unease. A deep, gnawing worry that Bella had chosen someone else to carry her through the storm.

And still, she said nothing.

“Oh, Rosalie…” Esme sighed, her voice soft with concern, the kind that lingered in the air like perfume. She watched her daughter with eyes that spoke volumes—tender, worried, knowing.

Rosalie didn’t answer. She scoffed under her breath, a sharp exhale more wounded than angry, and turned on her heel. Her movements were clipped, precise. The golden strands of her hair flicked behind her like the tail of a lion preparing to vanish into the brush.

“I need to hunt,” she muttered, already striding toward the back door—away from Alice’s cheerful chatter, away from Bella’s retreating form. Her steps were fast but not rushed, driven more by the heat in her chest than hunger in her veins.

Esme’s gaze followed her, sadness etched into the fine lines of her expression.

She knew it wasn’t hunger.

Not truly.

Chapter Text

“So this is the one tethered to my kin?” The voice emerged from the shadows like velvet dragged across gravel—rich, resonant, and soaked in ancient authority.

The forest hushed in its presence.

Branches shivered with a breeze that hadn’t stirred moments before, as the tall figure stepped forward, his cloak brushing the mossy ground like trailing smoke. He gazed down at the smaller figure beside him—her hood pulled low, her golden curls barely peeking out beneath it. Crimson eyes locked upward, unwavering.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice clear despite its softness. “This is the one I spoke to you about. The protector.”

He tilted his head slightly, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “And her name?”

“Rosalie Hale,” the cloaked girl replied with certainty. “She belongs to the Cullen coven. Vegetarian by choice. Approximately seventy-six years old by human measure. And her gift…”

She paused, reverence threaded through her tone like frost on silk.

“Her gift was dubbed Frigid Embrace , named by Aro himself, upon her acceptance into our world. A power both elegant and feral. Ice forged from fury.”

The tall figure's gaze remained locked on Rosalie, contemplative and calculating.

“And what does Aro make of her?”

“He believes her to hold immense power,” the girl answered carefully, her voice quieter now. “A gift both rare and beautiful. One he would welcome gladly into his guard, should she ever be willing.”

She hesitated, eyes lowering for the briefest moment.

“He sees potential in her siblings as well. Strength. Loyalty. Their restraint fascinates him.”

“But your kin,” she added, voice growing even softer, “ Bella … he speaks of her differently.”

The monarch’s expression sharpened.

“How so?”

“He calls her singular,” she murmured. “A true anomaly. Not merely shielded… but untouchable . He believes that if Bella’s gift ever fully awakens, it could rival anything the Volturi has ever seen.”

“She’s the one he wants most,” Jane said quietly, her voice wrapped in reverence and dread. “And he would do anything to possess her. I believe he knows of your connection to her, and that only intensifies his desire to obtain her.”

The tall figure stiffened, panic bubbling behind his carefully composed exterior. His hands flexed at his sides, nails threatening to bite into flesh.

“Are you certain, Jane?” he asked, voice strained. “Are you confident he knows?”

Jane hesitated, her crimson gaze sinking toward the forest floor.

“Caius claims she carries the same aura as you. And when Marcus was questioned—pressed about the nature of the bond—he refused to answer.”

There was silence.

“And?” the man prompted, dread rising through his ribs like cold smoke.

“And Aro forced the truth,” Jane whispered. “He touched him. Drained the hesitation out through skin and memory. What he saw only confirmed his suspicions.”

Her voice cracked slightly at the edges, fear stitched into every syllable. It wasn’t just uncertainty now—it was inevitability.

“And has he made any moves?” the man asked, softer this time, almost like a prayer.

Jane shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of. But if he hasn’t yet… it only means he’s waiting to strike where it will hurt most.”

The wind stirred behind them, carrying the scent of pine and frost as if nature itself were eavesdropping.

“I must go,” Jane murmured, tilting her head slightly. Her crimson gaze turned toward the trees as she sensed Alec’s presence closing in. “My brother is searching for me. I’ll contact you once I learn more.”

“Yes, of course,” he replied with soft urgency. “Ah—before you go, allow me to shield you.”

He extended his hand, open and steady, and she placed hers into it without hesitation. A sigh escaped her lips as a warm, static hum wrapped around her thoughts—his gift encasing her mind in delicate protection, sealing away her most private memories.

The ones that involved him.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she whispered, a rare softness gracing her face as a smile flickered across it.

“Anything for you, my dear friend,” he said gently. “Though I’ve told you before—call me Beau.”

Jane shook her head with a teasing glint in her eyes, but said nothing more. She turned, cloak trailing through the undergrowth, and disappeared into the forest with silent grace.

Beau remained where he was, unmoving, gaze anchored on the fading trail. He could still feel the pulse—the unspoken tether—drawing him not toward Jane, but to the woman who now protected a piece of his legacy.

The one bound to his descendant.

Rosalie Hale.

–

“I thought I told you to be patient, Bella Swan,” Alice huffed, her perfect features twisted into a playful scowl as she maneuvered the car down the quiet street.

“I know ,” Bella mumbled, staring out the window. “I’m trying. I swear I am. But every time we get past a barrier, it’s like she builds a new one—ten times thicker. Taller.”

Alice chuckled, the sound light and musical. “That’s Rosalie for you. She doesn’t knock down walls. She builds them in layers—ice, iron, diamonds.”

Bella didn’t smile. Her scowl deepened, fingers tugging anxiously at the strings of her hoodie.

“It takes time with Rosalie,” Alice said gently. “It took me thirty years to get this close to her. And yet…” she glanced sideways, her grin widening, “you managed to slip right through faster than anyone. That’s something, Bella. Honestly—I’m a little jealous. She’s never let anyone see her like she lets you.”

“I feel like I haven’t gotten anywhere,” Bella admitted, voice small and weighted. “Every time I reach out, she pulls away just before I touch what I think is real.”

Alice nodded quietly and pulled into the drive-thru lane. As she rattled off their order with practiced cheer, Bella stared down at her hands—so human. So unsure.

When Alice finished, she turned back, her expression softened by something deeper than amusement.

“Alice,” Bella said, hesitating. “Is she… is she what I think she is?”

There was a beat of silence. A long, knowing pause as cars idled and lights blinked.

Alice gave her a smile—gentle, almost wistful. “You know I can’t be the one to answer that,” she said softly. “It’s not my place.”

Bella bit the inside of her cheek, blinking against the warmth pressing behind her eyes.

Then she nodded.

“I just wish she’d let herself tell me,” Bella murmured, the ache in her voice curling between them like fog.

Alice’s eyes twinkled with mischief, her grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Why don’t you answer your phone and then invite Rosalie?” she offered, her tone playful. “The more you let her join in, the more she’ll let you in.”

“Answer my phone—?” Bella began, only to be cut off by a sharp ring vibrating from inside her purse.

She fumbled through it, fingers brushing loose receipts and lip balm before tugging out her flip-phone. The screen flashed with the familiar caller ID from her clinic.

“Hello?” she answered, watching out of the corner of her eye as Alice paid for their food using the wad of bills Charlie had handed over.

“Is this Ms. Swan?” came a soft, professional voice.

“Um… yes, that’s me.”

“Good afternoon, ma’am. I was just calling to confirm whether you’d like to schedule your eighteen-week ultrasound,” the clerk said kindly. “It’s also the time we can determine the gender—always one of the most exciting appointments!” She laughed, light and warm.

“Oh—uh, yeah. That sounds good,” Bella stammered, her heart suddenly pounding. Eighteen weeks. Four months. She was visibly showing now, though she kept her growing bump masked beneath her dad’s oversized sweatshirts and hoodies. Still, the reality of it was catching up fast.

“Wonderful,” the woman replied. “We have an opening tomorrow morning at eleven. Will that work for you?”

Bella chewed on her bottom lip, mind flipping through her imaginary calendar—but nothing came to mind. She glanced toward Alice, who gave a confident nod from the driver’s seat as she took the food bag with cheerful thanks.

“Yes,” Bella said, steadying her voice. “That should work just fine.”

“Okay, I have you set for tomorrow at eleven am. Just arrive fifteen minutes early so we can get you checked in, have a wonderful rest of your day Ms. Swan!” With that the woman hung up, leaving Bella with an excited Alice buzzing.

“You get to find out the gender this soon? Oh man this is gonna be so great!” Alice bounced in her seat as she handed bella her burger and drink, “Can I pleaaaaaase be the one to plan the gender reveal and baby shower? Puh-leaaaaase?” Alice begged, her amber eyes wide with her bottom lip pouting. 

Bella took the burger with a quiet laugh, her hands trembling just slightly—not from nerves about the appointment, but from the whirlwind that was Alice Cullen in full celebratory mode.

“Only if you promise not to turn it into a circus,” Bella teased, raising an eyebrow as she sipped from the straw.

Alice gasped, feigning offense. “A tasteful circus, maybe. One with soft lighting and fairy wings and an enchanted swan centerpiece!”

Bella groaned playfully, already imagining pastel ribbons and glitter confetti exploding the moment they announced the gender. “You planned Esme’s anniversary party with live string quartets hidden in trees, Alice…”

“And Esme loved it!” Alice grinned, bouncing again like her body couldn’t contain her excitement. “Bella, this is your first baby—and our first baby with you . Rosalie’s practically vibrating every time someone mentions the word nursery.”

Bella blinked, her hand still curled around the drink. “She is?”

Alice gave her a gentle look, the kind that carried secrets on its back. “She’s already tested fourteen crib frames for durability. And don’t get me started on the frost-resistant lullaby canopy she’s designing–oops that was suppose to be a secret…” Alice let out a nervous laugh, “Rosalie is going to burn my versace collection for sure now.”

Bella’s lips parted, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. Her heart thudded once, slowly, like a drum just waking.

“She cares that much?”

Alice’s gaze softened. “She’s terrified to care , Bella. But yes—she does. More than you realize.”

“That dunce.” Bella sighed as she dug into her food, “I’m right here and yet… shes so far away.” 

Alice glanced over, smile fading just slightly. “She’s not far, Bella. She’s just…afraid.”

Bella took another bite, chewing slowly, letting Alice’s words settle in her chest like something heavy and bitter-sweet.

“She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met,” Bella said softly. “But somehow, I’m the one terrifying her.”

“It’s because you make her feel,” Alice replied gently, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. “And for someone like Rosalie… feeling is the one thing she spent a lifetime trying not to do. But you cracked through that armor so fast it left her breathless. She’s not running from you—she’s trying to learn how to stand still.”

Bella swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on the blurry city lights beyond the windshield. “I just wish she knew she didn’t have to be perfect. She could be confused and messy and uncertain, and I’d still choose her.”

Alice reached across and gave her hand a soft squeeze. “She does know. That’s what scares her the most.”

–

Alice helped Bella through the door and gently eased her onto the couch, her movements careful and practiced–the younger girl quick to discard her shoes. Charlie had already left for his night shift at the station, leaving the house quiet except for the soft hum of the heater and the rustle of Bella’s oversized sweatshirt.

“It’s Rose’s rotation,” Alice said with a smile, pulling Bella’s favorite grey blanket from the armrest and tucking it around her with a maternal touch. “So I’m going to head home, change, maybe hunt a little. Jacob’s in the treeline keeping watch. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything, okay?”

Bella nodded, her eyelids fluttering with exhaustion. “Alright. Thanks, Alice.”

“No problem, Bells.” Alice gave her a cheerful wave and grabbed her keys, heading toward the front door.

But just beyond it, in the halo of porch light, Rosalie stood motionless—her arms folded, her golden eyes flickering with hesitation. She looked every bit the statue of ice and fury, though something fragile pulsed beneath her composed surface.

Alice tilted her head with amusement. “Still jealous, dear sister?”

Rosalie’s lips curled in a low growl, her jaw tightening. “I’m not jealous.”

“Right. And the Titanic never hit the iceberg.” Alice rolled her eyes dramatically before her expression softened. She stepped closer, voice lowering. “Rosalie, I’m serious. There’s no need to be jealous. No one is going to take her away from you. None of us would dare keep her from you.”

She paused, letting the words settle.

“This isn’t like before,” she added quietly. “We’re not scared of Edward anymore.”

Rosalie looked away, her posture faltering ever so slightly. “I—I know that.”

“Do you?” Alice asked, gently laying a hand on her sister’s shoulder. Her touch was light, but steady—like a tether in stormy water.

“Stop punishing yourself, please,” she murmured. “Let yourself be happy. Let Bella be happy. You both deserve it—each other.”

Rosalie didn’t answer.

Alice sighed and stepped away, heading towards her car.

Rosalie swallowed the venom that pooled into her mouth from anxiety and stepped inside locking the door behind her. 

Bella had already yanked herself off the couch, wincing slightly as she shifted her weight onto her crutch. Her movements were reluctant, her body still sore, and her appetite unsatisfied by the meal Alice had picked up for her earlier. Now she sat at the kitchen counter, hunched slightly over a foil wrapper, nibbling on a strawberry Pop-Tart with absent-minded focus.

“Isabella,” Rosalie greeted as she stepped further into the kitchen, her posture elegant but tense. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, a subtle sign of unease. “You should be eating something more nutritious than a Pop-Tart. The baby needs a balanced diet.”

Bella straightened on the barstool, startled by the sudden attention. She wiped the crumbs from her mouth with the sleeve of her oversized sweater and swallowed the last bite of her snack. “Y-Yeah, I know,” she said, laughing awkwardly. “It’s just… I haven’t had a chance to go grocery shopping yet. I figured this would tide me over until then.” She trailed off, embarrassment creeping into her voice.

Rosalie’s brows furrowed, her full lips pressing into a frown. “Has Chief Swan not taken the time to shop for you?” she asked, her tone edged with irritation at the thought of Bella’s father neglecting her during pregnancy.

Bella’s eyes widened, and she shook her head quickly, almost defensively. “No, no—it’s not what you think,” she rushed to explain. “With all the disappearances in Seattle, the police department’s been overwhelmed. They even called my dad in to help. He was supposed to be off today, but they needed extra hands, so it messed up our plans.”

She reached for a note lying next to the crumpled wrapper and waved it slightly. “He left this before heading out. We were supposed to run errands together.”

Rosalie glanced around the room, noting the absence of her family. “I guess that’s why everyone left,” she murmured. “I assumed they’d still be here when you got back with Alice.” Her gaze settled back on Bella. “Give me one second—I’ll take you to the store.”

Bella opened her mouth to protest, but Rosalie’s icy glare silenced her instantly. Her jaw snapped shut with a soft clack, and she reached for her water bottle, sipping quickly to soothe her dry throat. She nodded meekly, a faint blush blooming across her cheeks. There was something undeniably magnetic about Rosalie when she was fierce and unwavering—something that made Bella’s heart stutter.

Rosalie turned and walked back toward the living room, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor. Her eyes scanned the space until she spotted Bella’s sneakers tucked near the couch. With graceful precision, she bent to retrieve them.

Bella choked on her water, coughing as she tore her gaze away from Rosalie’s figure. Her face burned, and she cleared her throat, trying to calm the sudden thudding in her chest. Her palms grew clammy, her thoughts spiraling with a mix of admiration and flustered distraction.

Rosalie returned with concern gleaming in her amber eyes, her gaze sweeping over Bella’s body with quiet intensity—checking not just for signs of discomfort, but for any hint that something might be wrong with her or the baby. Her voice was low, almost tender. “Are you alright? I heard you coughing.”

Bella cleared her throat again, nodding quickly with pursed lips. “Yep! Just fine. Never better—just choked on my water, haha. Went down the wrong pipe.” She gave the bottle a little shake for emphasis, but Rosalie didn’t move. She simply stared, one perfectly arched brow lifting in silent skepticism. Her expression didn’t accuse, but it didn’t believe either.

“Right,” Rosalie murmured, unconvinced. As Bella reached out to take her sneakers from the vampire’s hand, Rosalie pulled them back with a sharp scowl.

“Hey, I need those—”

“I know you need them. I’m not an idiot,” Rosalie snapped, rolling her eyes with a scoff. Then, without another word, she lowered herself to her knees in front of Bella, her movements fluid and deliberate. She took one of Bella’s feet in her gloved hands, the chill of her touch seeping through the leather and making Bella shiver—not from cold, but from something far more electric.

Rosalie was careful, almost reverent, as she slipped the sneaker onto Bella’s foot. Her fingers moved with precision, tying the laces into a double knot like she was sealing something sacred. Bella’s breath hitched. The blush that had lightly dusted her cheeks earlier now bloomed into a full flush, her heart pounding so hard she was sure Rosalie could hear it.

She swallowed nervously, her gaze drifting downward to the blonde crouched before her. Rosalie’s golden hair, once tucked neatly behind her ear, had begun to fall forward in soft strands, brushing her cheek with every movement. Bella watched, mesmerized, as if each strand were a thread pulling her deeper into something she wasn’t ready to name.

Then Rosalie looked up.

Her hand lingered on Bella’s ankle, cool and steady, while her amber eyes locked onto Bella’s with startling intensity. The air between them shifted—thickened. Bella felt it in her chest, in her throat, in the way her fingers curled instinctively around the edge of the counter to keep herself grounded.

Rosalie’s gaze, though sharp and terrifying to most, held something different when it met Bella’s. There was warmth there—quiet, guarded, but unmistakable. A kind of softness that seemed reserved for her and her alone. It wasn’t just concern. It was something deeper. Something dangerous. For the both of them.

And Bella, despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach and the heat rising in her face, didn’t look away.

“You didn’t have to put my shoes on for me, Rosalie,” Bella murmured, her voice barely more than a breath—soft enough that she wasn’t sure Rosalie had even heard her.

But the vampire’s gaze didn’t waver. Rosalie remained crouched for a moment longer, her amber eyes locked onto Bella’s with a quiet intensity that made her pulse stutter. “I do what I want,” she said, voice low and deliberate. “And if I want to put your shoes on and tie them, then I will.”

Her eyes narrowed, the warmth in them flickering beneath a veil of frost. “So don’t try to stop me from doing what I want—especially when it means helping you. Helping the baby.”

Bella swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. There was no mistaking the edge in Rosalie’s tone, but it wasn’t cruel. It was protective. Fierce. And somehow, it made Bella feel more seen than she had in days.

Rosalie rose to her full height with effortless grace, dusting off her knees as she tossed her golden hair back over her shoulder. The movement was fluid, almost theatrical, and for a moment Bella could only stare—entranced by the way the light caught in those lustrous strands, the way Rosalie’s presence seemed to fill the room like a blizzard just barely held at bay.

Then came the glare.

Icy. Sharp. But Bella didn’t flinch. She knew that look. She’d seen it before—Rosalie’s way of shielding herself, of keeping others at arm’s length. But it held no malice. Not for her.

If anything, it felt like a challenge.

And Bella, heart racing and cheeks still burning, wasn’t sure she wanted to back down.

Chapter Text

Forks’ local market could never be classified as busy—or even steady. It was dull, bleak, and slow, the kind of place where time seemed to stretch between the hum of flickering fluorescent lights and the occasional shuffle of worn sneakers. Only a handful of tired mothers and elderly grandparents wandered the aisles, their expressions marked by the quiet resignation of small-town routine. The shelves were modest, the produce slightly wilted, and the air carried the faint scent of dust and overripe bananas.

Bella hobbled beside the tall blonde, her crutch tapping rhythmically against the linoleum floor. Rosalie pushed an old, creaking cart ahead of them, her gaze sweeping over the shelves with sharp precision. She wasn’t browsing—she was hunting. Every item she considered was weighed for its nutritional value, its benefit to Bella, and the baby. Her movements were purposeful, her posture regal, and her silence somehow louder than the ambient hum around them.

“So…” Bella began, her voice tentative as she tightened her grip on the crutch. Rosalie glanced at her from the corner of her eye, acknowledging her presence but offering no reply. Bella hesitated, then continued, “I got a phone call when I was with Alice. I have an appointment at the clinic tomorrow.”

Rosalie stopped abruptly, her body going still as she turned to face Bella. Her expression shifted from neutral to alert, concern flickering behind her amber eyes. “Is everything alright?” she asked, her voice low but firm. Her gaze drifted from Bella’s face down to her stomach, lingering there with quiet intensity.

Bella nodded quickly, her cheeks flushing under the scrutiny. “Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s actually… it’s the gender reveal.”

Rosalie’s eyes widened slightly, the tension in her shoulders easing as surprise softened her features. “You’re finding out tomorrow?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost reverent.

Bella nodded again, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought… maybe you’d want to come with me?”

Rosalie blinked, her lips parting slightly as if she hadn’t expected the invitation. Her gaze lingered on Bella’s face, searching for sincerity, for trust. “You want me there?”

“I do,” Bella said, her voice steady despite the blush rising in her cheeks. “You’ve been helping me so much, and… I don’t know. It just feels right. I’d like you to be there when I find out.”

For a moment, Rosalie didn’t speak. Her amber eyes held Bella’s gaze with quiet intensity, and Bella felt her breath catch in her throat. Then Rosalie nodded, slowly, deliberately

“If that is what you wish, then I will be there,” Rosalie murmured, her voice barely above the hum of the overhead lights. Her eyes softened, drifting away from Bella’s face as if the weight of the moment was too much to hold in direct gaze. Her fingers tightened around the handle of the cart—just slightly, just enough to betray the storm beneath her calm exterior.

She was excited. If her undead heart could still beat, it would be soaring—wild and uncontainable. But beneath that fragile joy was terror. A deep, gnawing fear that she would ruin everything. That her presence, her history, her very nature would somehow stain the innocence of Isabella and the child she carried. She wanted to run. To disappear before she could disappoint them. To vanish like the coward she believed herself to be.

But then she saw it—the light in Bella’s eyes. That warm, unguarded joy that shimmered like sunlight through fog. It wasn’t just hope. It was trust. And it anchored Rosalie to the floor, to the cart, to the moment. She stayed.

Not because she believed she was worthy.

But because Bella believed she was.

—

“Isabella Swan?” Nurse Stanley called, her voice sharp and saccharine, the forced smile stretched across her face like brittle plastic. It was the same smile her daughter wore at school—tight, judgmental, and utterly insincere.

Bella sighed and rose slowly, leaning into Rosalie’s steady hand as she adjusted the crutch into Bella’s grip. They moved together toward the hallway that led to the examination rooms, but Nurse Stanley stepped forward, blocking Rosalie’s path with a smug tilt of her chin.

“Sorry, ma’am,” she said, nasal and grating. “Like I informed you last time, only family members or the father of the child are allowed beyond this point.”

Rosalie’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening. “Get out of my—”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Bella said softly, her voice calm but firm. “I’m sure there can be an exception, right?”

The nurse recoiled slightly, her expression twisting into something sour. Rosalie turned to Bella, stunned. Girlfriend. The word echoed in her mind, unexpected and electric.

“Absolutely not—!”

“Of course Ms. Swan,” came a smooth voice from behind. Dr. Lorne stepped into view, his smile warm and genuine, a stark contrast to the nurse’s brittle demeanor. “Your girlfriend is more than welcome to join us.”

He glanced at Rosalie with a nod of respect, then turned to Nurse Stanley. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, Nurse Stanley? I’ll speak with you tomorrow morning.”

The woman sputtered, her face flushing crimson before she turned on her heel and stormed off, heels clicking furiously against the tile.

As they walked down the hallway toward Room Seven, Dr. Lorne glanced back at them, an apologetic smile softening his features. “I’m sorry for the disrespect and prejudice you just faced. I should’ve stepped in sooner. Truthfully, I’ve been looking for a reason to let her go for months—and you two just gave me one.”

Bella chuckled, the tension easing from her shoulders. “It’s fine. I go to school with her daughter, so the attitude’s nothing new, but her daughter is thankfully less lethal.”

“Still,” he said, shaking his head, “there’s no excuse for treating a patient like that.”

He stopped in front of the door and opened it with a gentle gesture. “Please, make yourselves comfortable while I set up the ultrasound.”

Bella stepped inside, Rosalie close behind. The room was softly lit, sterile in the way all medical spaces were—but with Rosalie beside her, it didn’t feel so cold. The quiet hum of machines and the faint scent of antiseptic faded into the background as Bella climbed onto the exam table, guided by Rosalie’s careful hands. Her touch was reverent, almost sacred, and though she didn’t speak, her eyes lingered on Bella’s face, searching—for confirmation, for courage, for something unspoken.

Bella met her gaze and reached out, gently grasping Rosalie’s hand. “Thanks for being here.”

Rosalie nodded, the shock from earlier still etched into her features. Her voice was barely audible. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Dr. Lorne snapped on his gloves, wiggling his fingers with a practiced ease before picking up the ultrasound wand, already coated in gel. “Are you comfortable, Ms. Swan?”

Bella nodded.

“Good. If you could lift your shirt and lean back, I’ll begin. Just a warning—it’s a bit cold.”

Bella adjusted herself, lifting her shirt slowly. Her breath hitched as the cool air met her skin, and she grimaced at the small scars that littered her stomach—remnants of the attack. Rosalie’s eyes flicked to them, and for a moment, pain flashed across her face. But it vanished just as quickly, replaced by quiet resolve. Bella looked away, unable to meet her gaze.

She inhaled sharply as the gel touched the bottom of her bump, then turned toward the monitor as Dr. Lorne moved the wand with practiced motions. The screen flickered to life, and the rhythmic thump of a heartbeat filled the room.

Rosalie watched with fascination, her amber eyes glittering with something between awe and longing. She tilted her head slightly, biting her lip to contain the smile threatening to break through.

“The baby is perfectly healthy,” Dr. Lorne said warmly. “Strong heartbeat, steady rhythm.” He glanced at Rosalie, noting her intense focus. “But she’s measuring a bit large for this gestational period—around the 90th percentile.”

Bella’s eyes widened. “I… Is that bad?” she asked, anxiety tightening in her chest.

Dr. Lorne chuckled. “Not typically, no. My staff likes to call them ‘chunky babies.’ It just means she’ll likely be over eight pounds, which can make for a more strenuous birth. Tiring, yes—but not usually dangerous. And with me delivering, I promise you, nothing will happen to you or this baby of yours.”

He said yours as he looked at both of them.

Bella let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “That’s… that’s good,” she whispered, nodding to reassure herself.

“Do you know what date she’s expected to deliver?” Rosalie asked, her voice quiet but steady, her eyes never leaving the screen.

Dr. Lorne hummed, scooting back in his chair to check his notes. “I’d say September 21st,” he replied, smiling as he rolled back over.

Then he turned to Rosalie with a playful glint in his eye. “Would you like to be the one to find the gender?” He offered the wand, but looked to Bella for confirmation. “If it’s alright with mom, of course.”

Bella’s eyes widened, her heart fluttering at the sight of Rosalie’s anxious but hopeful expression. She cleared her throat and smiled. “Yes, of course. Go ahead. All yours.” She raised her hands in mock surrender.

Rosalie hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly as she took the wand. Dr. Lorne guided her hand gently, helping her find the right angle. Rosalie held her breath, biting her lip so tightly it should’ve bled. Her grip was delicate, her movements cautious—terrified of letting her strength slip, of hurting Bella.

But Bella didn’t flinch.

She watched Rosalie with quiet trust, her free hand still resting gently atop the blonde’s. There was something grounding in the way their fingers remained intertwined, something sacred, like a vow spoken without words.

Dr. Lorne turned the monitor slightly, angling it so Rosalie could see more clearly. It was just out of Bella’s line of sight, but she didn’t mind. In fact, she preferred it this way, watching Rosalie’s reactions, the way her eyes widened with wonder, the way her breath caught in her throat. Every flicker of emotion on her face was a story Bella wanted to memorize.

Dr. Lorne pointed to the screen and glanced at Rosalie with a soft chuckle. “We usually tell the difference between genders by what we call a ‘dome’ or a ‘hamburger,’” he said, his tone light and teasing.

Rosalie blinked, intrigued.

“The ‘dome’ is rounded,” he explained, “which indicates the developing penis and scrotum—visible when viewed from below. The ‘hamburger,’ on the other hand, has three distinct lines in the genital area. These represent the labia majora, clitoris, and labia minora.”

Rosalie gasped softly as she adjusted the wand, her hand trembling just slightly. Her eyes shimmered with emotion, so bright and full that Bella thought she might cry. And in that moment, Bella couldn’t help but think Rosalie had never looked more beautiful—bathed in soft light, her expression open and raw, as if she were witnessing a miracle.

“Now,” Dr. Lorne said gently, a smile tugging at his lips, “what do you see?”

Rosalie didn’t answer right away. She turned to Bella, her gaze full of something unspoken—joy, awe, maybe even love. She looked ready to speak, ready to share the truth that had just bloomed on the screen.

But Bella shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Keep it a secret,” she said, her voice warm and teasing. “Tell Alice. She called dibs on the party.”

Rosalie blinked, surprised, then laughed softly.

“Just keep her under wraps,” Bella added with a playful groan. “I can’t handle another disaster. I’m still recovering from Jasper and my birthday.”

Rosalie’s laugh lingered in the air, soft and golden. She nodded, pressing the wand gently against Bella’s stomach once more, her movements careful and reverent.

And though the screen held the answer to a question they’d both been waiting for, it was the look they shared—quiet, knowing, full of promise—that made the moment unforgettable.

Bella cherished this moment, just her and Rosalie, tucked into the quiet corners of the world where no one else could intrude. Despite Rosalie’s reputation as the coldest woman in Forks, she was something entirely different when it was just the two of them. The frost that usually coated her words and guarded her gaze seemed to melt away, revealing someone softer. Someone real.

It was as if the ice Rosalie had wrapped around herself for years had finally cracked, and through it emerged the girl she’d buried long ago—a curious, shy soul who still knew how to smile without restraint and laugh like it didn’t hurt. Bella saw her in those fleeting glances, in the way Rosalie’s fingers lingered when they brushed against hers, in the way her voice softened when she spoke Bella’s name.

And Bella didn’t just enjoy it.

She was falling for it.

For her.

For the warmth, Rosalie didn’t show anyone else.

For the quiet miracle of being the one who made her thaw.

Dr. Lorne lifted the wand just slightly, away from the genetalia, then clicked on the screen, freezing on the frame on the baby, and pressed another button that soon printed off a pile of photos. He took them from the printer and grabbed an envelope in a drawer below it, tucking the photos away. He then handed it to Bella, “for you and your little family.”

He then stood from the chair and grabbed a few paper towels for the gel on her stomach, “Get yourself wiped up while I grab your paperwork. Once I’m back, we can set up your next appointment.” He smiled once more and left, leaving the two alone.

It was quiet at first, just the small buzz of the machines and lights around them, but Rosalie's quiet sniffling broke the comfortable silence. 

Bella blinked and whirled her head to look at the blonde, who was sniffling and wiping at her eyes, a human instinct she had forgotten she still carried. Even though no tears flowed, her mind made her believe it did. 

“Ro…Rosalie…?” Bella muttered out, “Are you…crying?” 

“Crying?’ She choked out, turning her head away. “I don't know what you are talking about.”

Bella let out a small sigh and scooted closer to the edge of the exam table so she could be closer to Rosalie, pushing down the hesitation and slight fear, she reached out, taking Rosalie’s cheek into her hand. Her skin was just as freezing as she had expected it to be, but was surprised at the softness it held, edward had always been hard and uncomfortable to touch, but Rosalie… unlike the hard and rough touch and texture of a man—held a soft and firm touch, she was just as fragile as she was despite being an almost indestructible being. 

The brunette inhaled softly, revealing in the smell of an earthy woods and faintness of roses, she held her grip on the blonde's cheek as she turned the woman's face to her own, her thumb grazing the strong cheekbone of the vampire.

“You don’t have to hide…” Bella whispered, her voice soft but steady. “I’m not going to judge you, Rosalie. And I sure as hell won’t laugh at you for anything.”

Rosalie’s amber eyes flicked back toward her, framed by strands of golden silk that shimmered in the sterile light. There was so much emotion in her gaze—raw, unguarded—that Bella forgot how to breathe. It was like staring into a storm that had finally stopped pretending to be calm.

“I’m scared,” Rosalie whispered, her full lips trembling with every syllable. “Everything I touch… everything I allow myself to care for… it burns. It crumbles. It’s torn from me no matter how tightly I try to hold on.”

Her voice cracked, and she squeezed her eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath. “Whether it’s by the Volturi, humans, Edward… or me. It all gets taken.”

Bella’s hand remained on her cheek, unmoving, unwavering.

Rosalie opened her eyes again, and they glistened—not with tears, but with the weight of memory. “Since the day I first saw you in that cafeteria, I’ve felt a fear unlike anything I’ve ever known. Watching you with Edward felt like being strangled. When James hurt you, it was like my insides were on fire. When we left… it felt like I was being skinned alive. And when I found you in that alley—” her voice broke, “—it felt like I was back in that alley too. Bleeding. Screaming. Suffering.”

She reached up, laying her hand over Bella’s, anchoring herself in the warmth. “No matter how hard I tried to fight it, Bella… no matter how hard I tried to freeze my undead heart, you melted it. Again and again. And now…”

She leaned into the touch, her voice thick with longing. “Now I don’t want it to freeze anymore. I want to bask in this eternal warmth with you. I want to see you laugh and cry. I want to be the reason you laugh. I want to be the one who takes you to your appointments, who holds your hand as you bring your child into the world.”

Bella stayed quiet, her heart pounding, as Rosalie spilled everything she’d buried behind those icy walls. Tears pricked at the corners of Bella’s eyes, but she didn’t look away.

“I want to be there when you take the baby home from the hospital,” Rosalie continued, her voice cracking with emotion. “To be there when they say their first word, take their first step. I want to be with you until the end of time because—”

Bella’s breath caught in her throat.

“Because you’re my mate,” Rosalie said, her voice trembling. “Not Edward’s. Not Mike Newton’s dream girl. You’re mine. You’re my dream girl and my mate.”

Bella’s tears spilled over—silent, shimmering, and unrestrained. They traced slow paths down her cheeks, catching the sterile light like fragments of glass.

She saw it now—truly saw it. The icy, hostile glare Rosalie had always cast her way since the moment she’d arrived in Forks. It had never been hatred. Never disgust. It had been fear. A deep, aching fear of being burned again by someone she dared to care for. A fear of opening herself up only to be shattered.

Rosalie had been like a wounded animal—elegant, fierce, but deeply scarred. She had built walls not out of cruelty, but out of necessity. And Bella, blind to the truth, had mistaken her silence for disdain when all along, Rosalie had been trying to protect herself.

“Oh, Rosalie…” Bella murmured, her voice breaking as she leaned in, resting their foreheads together. The contact sent electrifying chills down her spine, but she didn’t pull away. She pressed closer, grounding herself in the moment, in the woman before her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, breath trembling against Rosalie’s lips. “I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

Her other hand rose, cupping Rosalie’s face with reverence, her thumbs brushing gently across porcelain skin. “I’m sorry I let you go through this all alone. Sorry, I didn’t reach for you when you needed someone to see past the armor.”

Rosalie’s eyes fluttered closed, her breath hitching as Bella held her—not as a fragile thing, but as something sacred.

“You’ve been carrying this weight for so long,” Bella continued, her voice thick with emotion. “And I just stood there, thinking you hated me. But you were hurting. You were scared. And I should’ve known. I should’ve seen you.”

She leaned in, her lips brushing Rosalie’s temple in a kiss so soft it felt like a vow. “You’re not alone anymore. Not in this. Not in anything.”

Rosalie’s hand found Bella’s wrist, fingers trembling as they curled around her warmth. And in that quiet, trembling space between them, something shifted—something deep and irrevocable.