Disclaimer: Twilight nor its affiliates are of my own creation. The characters of this work belong entirely to Stephanie Meyer.
Summary: Isabella Swan had a notion of what her life was to be. In pursuit of happiness and joy, a tragic price was paid. Forced to return to her childhood home of Forks, Washington Isabella is compelled to keep her past from interfering from her future. All human.
Author's Note: Rated M for graphic content.
Prologue
Isabella's POV
In the wee hours of the morning, my eyes drifted to the sleeping newborn in my arms. Though wrought by pain – she had been all the worth it.
A small cap adorned her head and a blanket had been carefully draped, consuming her small frame. Though only hours old, this child held my heart. She was my world. Softly, I placed a tender kiss upon her temple – careful not to wake her from her slumber. Her journey had been just as tiresome as my own.
At the sound of a distant knock, my head tilted upward. My eyes followed the innocent intruder. Standing in my doorway stood my father – Charlie Swan, Chief of Police. A smile filled my eyes as I saw what he held in his arms: a bouquet of flowers. While just a simpleton, I knew that I would have not made it this far without his unyielding love and support. "Dad." I breathed.
Slowly, he moved forward. There was a certain hesitation about him. No doubt centering around the small human that was now enveloped in her my arms. "It's okay." I assured.
Reaching my side, I could see the remnants of tears in his eyes. "She's beautiful Bells." He spoke. At age thirty-six, Charlie Swan was a grandfather.
"Do you want to hold her?" I asked as he looked timidly to me.
Setting the flowers upon the foot of my bed, he situated himself at my side. Carefully, he reached out and cradled her in his arms. I felt my own tears flooding. Tears of joy and of pure terror. "She has your eyes." I heard him whisper as I quickly tried to remove the evidence of my tears. Charlie should not have to see this – he had already carried the burden of my past.
The same burden that had conceived my beautiful daughter.
He held the knowledge of my rape.
My name is Isabella Marie Swan, and this is my story.