Hello, intrepid readers! I missed you all so much I decided to come back for more. Thanks for giving me the courage to keep going.

Thanks to the lovely ladies from Project Team Beta once again for their guidance and technical support. This chapter was beta'd by BigBlueBoat and MissAnnBlack.

Hugs and kisses for my pre-reader, Shazzio, who held my hand and gave me invaluable feedback.

WARNING: This work of fiction makes references to sensitive and controversial subject matter including domestic abuse, character death and suicide. While all care has been taken not to trivialize these topics, please don't read if doing so will cause distress.

Chapter 1-Bad hair day

"Beeeeep, beeeeeep, beeeeeep," the alarm screeched unwaveringly. With a groan, I rolled over and hit the button that exchanged the annoying noise for the less jarring sounds of the radio. I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, focusing on the lyrics of the song currently playing. It had become my superstitious habit to pay attention to the first words I heard in the morning, a ritual kind of horoscope of my day.

There's never a right time to say goodbye
But I gotta make the first move
'Cause if I don't you gonna start hating me
Cause I really don't feel the way I once felt about you
Girl it's not you, it's me

Moving with a speed I never realized I possessed, I forcefully yanked the ancient clock radio off my nightstand, the trailing electrical cord pulled tight enough to offer a token resistance before being ripped from the wall socket. Stalking over to the window, I wrestled the ancient wooden sash upward and tossed the offending item out onto the grass seven feet below.

"Fuck Chris Brown and his goodbyes!" I muttered as I stomped out of my room and down the hallway to the bathroom. Stripping off my pajamas with agitated hands, I tossed them into the waiting hamper before turning on the shower. When the water was warm enough, I stepped under the spray, quickly lathering up my hair with shampoo. I had just tilted my head back to rinse the suds out when the hot water abruptly cut out, the ice cold needles making my wet skin prickle with goose flesh as I shrieked with the shock of it.

"What the…Alice!"

I braved the frigid water long enough to sluice the froth from my hair. Turning the shower off, I briskly dried myself off before wrapping a towel around my head like a turban. Shrugging on a bathrobe, I stalked downstairs to the kitchen. At the stove, a petite woman stood wearing purple My Little Pony pajamas, stirring a skillet of scrambled eggs.

"Morning, sunshine," she trilled without turning around. "Don't have a meltdown, but we're out of coffee. We're out of quite a few things actually. Someone needs to make a trip to the market."

This was not what I needed to hear. I desperately needed my morning caffeine hit to start the day. My temper ramped up a notch.

"The hot water ran out. Again! I didn't even get to put conditioner in, and you know what my hair is going to look like now," I seethed through clenched teeth.

Alice turned around to stare at me, her huge brown eyes trying to beguile me with a puppy dog expression.

"I didn't use it all, I swear. I had a really short shower, honest! I just came down to make breakfast and put on a load of laundry…" Her voice petered out as she realized her mistake. "Shit, Bella. I'm sorry. I know you've told me a million times to put the washer onto cold, but I keep forgetting. You want me to help you comb the knots out?"

I accepted her apology with poor grace, sitting myself at the table and telling her we'd eat first. After breakfast, Alice followed me up to my room. As I mumbled oaths, she carefully unsnarled the birds nest on top of my head. I sighed as I surveyed the finished result. There was no use trying to do anything fancy with it, since my long brown hair would dry frowsy and dull without the taming effects of conditioner. I twisted it up and secured it with a banana clip, just wanting to get it out of my way. Alice left to get dressed, and within ten minutes we were on our way to work.

When I pulled my van into the parking lot in front of the large clinic building, I noted with narrowed eyes a large shiny black Escalade and matching horse trailer parked across four slots reserved for employees. I groaned in resignation.

"Don't tell me that freaking Denali cow is booked in today."

"Not the cow," Alice sighed. "Tanya is bringing in Irina."

Grumbling about the further downturn of my day, I parked in the outermost corner of the lot. As we entered the clinic and put our bags in the small employee lounge, a sunny voice called out in greeting, before the owner strolled in from the adjoining kitchen smiling. I smiled back in return, never able to take my bad mood out on the tall, attractive, blonde man who stood before me.

"Hi, Dad," Alice replied, giving Carlisle a brief hug before disappearing into the clinic area.

"Morning, Doc. No suit today?" I asked.

Looking down at his faded and worn coveralls, his smile turned into a grimace. "No use wearing fancy duds when you're just going to have your hand up various butts all day," he exclaimed. "Your Mom called already, Bella. You want to phone her back before we get started?"

I pulled a face before nodding. Finding an empty consulting room, I sat at the desk and dialed my mom's number as I attempted to sort through in my head what I wanted to say...or rather, not say. My mom had always had a knack of seeing straight through me and calling me out on my shit. I desperately wanted to avoid that at all costs at the moment, hence the reason I had been evading seeing her over the last few days. Consequently, using her inborn mommy intuition, she had been phoning me every day without fail to needle me.

"It's me," I stated, my voice flat and neutral.

"Did you talk to Sam last night?"

Gesh, cut right to the chase. No "hi, honey," or pleasantries today.

"Can we not do this right now?" I whined like a twelve-year-old. "I've got three inseminations and a bunch of other stuff to do, and if I don't start soon, I'll be here all night."

"I know if we don't talk now, we won't talk at all. So, did you?"

"No, Mom. I, ah…had to work late. When I finished, he'd already left for basketball practice."

"Bella! You can't avoid the conversation forever. It's not right. You know something's going on. You have to find out what it is."

Oh, I know what it is alright! I felt the outrage and jealousy boil beneath my skin, making me lash out at the closest available target.

"Why can't you just leave it alone, Mom? You're one to talk! How about you try to sort your own life out before sticking your nose into mine."

"It's…my situation is different." Her voice became hallow-sounding. "There is a bit more a stake." She started to plead. "You're young. You and Sam are just starting out. There's still time to fix it if you try."

My anger escalated. "Yeah, I can see how trying hard is working for you. Is he still in the guest room, or has he moved out altogether?"

There was a long pause, and when she spoke again, I could hear the tears in her voice. "You don't want to end up like me, Bella. Talk to him, while you still have a chance." I could hear ice tinkling in a glass and the sound of her talking a long swallow of something, before she blew her nose.

"Are you…are you drinking?" I could barely keep the incredulity from my tone. I looked at the clock above the door. "It's just past eight! Where are the boys?"

Here I was at twenty-four years of age, discussing parental responsibility with my mother. My parents had divorced a long time ago. Mom had remarried, and now I had two step brothers, who were three and five.

"I just need a little starter to get me through. I'm only having one, I swear! Afton is on the bus already, and Phil's taking Corin to daycare. He…I…we had an arg−we had a discussion this morning, and my nerves are a bit frayed."

I snorted loudly, not caring how rude I was being.

"Look, Mom, I appreciate your concern and all, but I don't need it. You're a fine one to be giving me relationship advice. Next time, call me when you're sober!" I hung up with a petty sense of satisfaction. I tried to preserve my sanctimonious rage toward my out-of-control mother, lest her very valid points actually take root in my overloaded brain.

My day didn't get any better.

I worked as a veterinary technician in the biggest and busiest veterinary practice in Clallam County. Hoof's and Woof's was owned by my aunt and uncle, Esme and Carlisle Cullen, who were both veterinarians. Carlisle specialized in equine medicine, and the clinic had a purpose-built operating theater and laboratory to cater to any sort of treatment a horse might need. My cousin, Alice, was a chiropractor and acupuncturist. Although she, too, preferred horses, Alice had recently branched out to dogs, mostly racing greyhounds. My aunt and Dr. Snow looked after all other manner of animals that passed through our doors.

Tanya Denali had brought her prize-winning mare, Irina, in for artificial insemination. When owners decided to breed valuable and highly prized bloodstock, they often didn't want to risk potential injury to their mare by allowing a stallion to serve her the old-fashioned way. Normally, insemination was a relatively quick and painless procedure for the horse. Irina, like her owner, had a moody and vicious streak. She had tried to bite me several times and succeeded once−since Tanya refused to allow me to restrain her in any way−and had managed to stomp on my toes a few times as she danced away from my gloved arm. In the end, I had gotten one of the vet assistants to hold her properly so I could get the job done. Irina had succeeded in crapping all over me as I bent to prepare the long embryo-laden pipette for insertion.

I got vomited on by a dog, peed on by an incontinent ancient tabby, cussed at by an irate owner who wanted to quibble over the bill, and bit by a goose with a sore wing. Geese might not have teeth, but what they lacked in molars, they made up for in attitude and strength. Holding onto one was like wrestling with a bag of snakes. It seemed every cage I had to clean was covered in every type of smelly and disgusting body fluid an animal could emit. I hadn't had a work day this bad in…forever.

I managed to leave for a while to grab a late lunch, only to return to find a parking ticket taped to the windshield of my van. My mood became blacker by the minute. When I went back to the clinic, it was to learn that I had drawn the short straw to help euthanize Mrs. Cope's beloved pet, Chester. Chester was a Chihuahua who was blind, deaf, and arthritic. His cossetted and pampered lifestyle made him last to the ripe old age of thirteen. When Mrs. Cope went to take him out for his morning tinkle, she found his back legs were paralyzed. The arthritis had caused his spine to degenerate so badly that the poor dog couldn't move anything, an affliction that was irreversible. Mrs. Cope herself was doddery and ancient, a widow who had no children. Just Chester. Although she knew it was the most humane thing to do, the poor old dear had a hard time letting him go.

When I finally left work, I was smelly, weary, foot-sore, and bruised. My anger had left me while Mrs. Cope's tears had soaked into my shirt. I didn't even feel annoyed when I got caught in municipal road works on the way home, resigned that the day was almost over. I consoled myself with thoughts that I would soon be safe at home where further disasters were unlikely to find me. Alice had gone to her parents for supper, so I was on my own. I pulled the van into the garage behind the house with a sigh of relief. I felt completely drained, my bedraggled and careworn appearance matching my mood. I trudged to the back door, looking forward to nothing more than sprawling on the sofa and watching some mind-numbing TV show with a frozen dinner-for-one.

Sitting on the stoop was Sam.

I stopped in my tracks, wishing I had seen his car before I parked. I looked around, and not seeing his pick-up anywhere, realized that he had known I was avoiding him and had either walked or parked elsewhere to stop me from bolting.

"Bella, we need to talk." His face was a carefully blank mask, but the waver in his voice and the resolve in his eyes told me everything I needed to know.

"I'm sorry I've we haven't been able spend much time together the last few nights," I babbled nervously. "I've been−"

Sam cut me off with an impatient wave. "I know you've been dodging me for the last few days, but I've been avoiding you, too. The truth is I've been putting this off for too long. Just let me get it off my chest before I lose my nerve."

I swallowed the lump in my throat as my heart started thudding in my chest.

"What we had has been good, and I'll always love you but things have changed. I've changed." He stood up and jammed his hands in his pockets. "I can't be with you like this anymore, Bella. I'm really sorry."

The growing wave of emotion building in me as he uttered each word threatened to spill forth. "Why?" I demanded, sounding desperate. "Is it something I did, because you know I can change−"

He interrupted me, cutting me off again.

"It's not you, Bella. I…I met…there is this other…" He gave up his stuttered speech, and all his resolve seemed to leave him at once. His breath left him in a big huff and he flopped back down on the stoop, his head buried in his hands. "I didn't plan for it to happen; you gotta believe me! I just…met someone else." He scrubbed his hands wearily over his face.

I stood rigid in the same position, staring at him, not daring to move, breathe or think.

"Nothing has happened yet. I couldn't do that to her. I didn't want to be a complete bastard and a cheater. She deserves so much more, so I've got to do the right thing."

I stiffened, stuck by the passion in his voice−passion for someone else, a depth of emotion I had never seen him display before. My deepest, most secret fear had been recognized. He had only known her for such a short time, yet he already loved her more than he ever had me. All the arguments I had prepared in my head for this very moment fled, leaving me empty and bereft.

"Whatever we had is over, Bella. I'm really sorry to do this to you, and I want you to know it's not your fault." He got up again, walked down the three steps and came toward me. Resting his hands on either side of my upper arms, he bent to lay a gentle kiss on my forehead. "I'm sorry. I hope in time you can forgive me."

I stood rooted to the spot, as stiff as if my body were carved in stone as he walked away from me forever. I barely heard the sound of his car's engine starting and then receding as he drove away. I stood in the fading dusk light for some interminable amount of time turning over each word he had said, obsessively examining each nuance and impression.

When I finally moved, I saw he had left a cardboard box near the door. I hadn't noticed it earlier, focused as I had been on the inevitability of how Sam was going to discard me. I picked it up, unlocked the back door and went into the kitchen. The box contained every item of mine that had been at his house: my toothbrush, a small stack of neatly folded clean underwear, a few paperbacks, and some flip-flops. Wrapped carefully in a long piece of paper towel, I found some snapshots and a framed photo of the two of us together. It used to sit on his nightstand, a gift I had given him last Christmas. Dropping it back in the box, I rushed upstairs to turn on my laptop, waiting impatiently for the seventy-five seconds the machine needed to boot up and load Facebook. I tried to view his home page, but got the automated message that he didn't share his information with everyone, and if I knew him, to add him as a friend.

He had de-friended me!

I logged onto Alice's Facebook profile and read the numerous updates. Scrolling down, I saw what I was looking for. Sam Uley, relationship status change−now single.

Son of a−

Digging into my pocket, I pulled out my phone and tried dialing his cell number. I got another automated answer from a recorded message, telling me that the number was out of service.

That's when it became real. He had completely amputated me from his life.

I stood up in a daze, finding myself in the kitchen without any memory of walking down the stairs. I opened the freezer. No Ben and Jerry's.

That did it; my life had officially gone to shit in every way.

I felt the tears leaking from my eyes, tickling on their way over my chin and down my neck. I let them fall unchecked as I opened the fridge door and then went through the cupboards searching for solace. Finding a block of Hershey's hidden on a top shelf, I pulled it down from Alice's hiding spot before grabbing a bottle of wine and headed upstairs to the bathroom. Hoping that our ancient hot water heater had had sufficient time to replenish itself over the day, I started running a bath. My first break of the day came as piping hot water flowed out of the faucet. Dropping my smelly and stained clothes to the floor, I climbed in the bath as it continued to fill.

I don't know how long I had sat there for, but when Alice arrived home and interrupted my weepy wallowing, it was dark, the bath water was cold, and both the wine and the chocolate were long gone. I barely listened as she scolded me, dragging me out of the tub and into my room. She dried me off briskly before shoving me into bed, thoughtfully putting a bucket on the floor next to the side of my pillow.

As my drunken thoughts fragmented and I drifted off to sleep, my last coherent thought was that after the shitty day I'd had, things could only get better…