Disclaimer: (for fanfiction) All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I just play.

Many thanks to twilightladies1 and GeezerWench. SMH was posted before, long time ago, and I decided to make some changes.

Chapter 1

The Theory of Evolution

It's been more than a year since Isabella was all alone. The money from the insurance policy was big but not big enough. The thought of investing it didn't resurface in Isabella's depressed mind. It was the bills that made her get up, take a shower, get dressed, and attempt to try and find a job.

She looked in the mirror and she didn't recognize her reflection. Was it possible to change so much? For God's sake, it's ludicrous when you're twenty-six and you look like an elderly woman. But this thought disappeared as fast as it appeared in Isabella's mind. She didn't care about her appearance anymore. She turned her focus to more important things. Where should she start looking for a job? She was lost. She didn't even know where to start. She didn't know anybody, and these days when she left, it was only to go to the grocery store. What do you do when you know nobody in the city? When you only know where the grocery shop is, where do you look for a job?

Isabella slammed the door and straightened the strap on her purse before she placed it on her shoulder. The bag was dangling dolefully in hopeless Isabella style.

Her faded jeans would have set off her legs nicely but since she had lost weight they were too big for her. Her blouse matched the jeans but there was a large stain on the front, its origin greasy, but unknown. Had Isabella noticed it, she still wouldn't have cared.

Isabella hadn't noticed it, and if she did, she would have thought that it didn't matter. She completed her dowdy styling with dirty cowboy boots that she loved. She used them all the time and often refused to take the boots off, even at home.

Isabella, even if she graduated, had no experience as an employee. Firstly, she'd been studying, then she was looking after her sick dad for some time, and then she became a married woman. Then she was left alone where she found substance in a bottle. She spent the years crying and fighting her hangovers.

She didn't want help—which was fine because she didn't have anyone she could rely on. There was no family and no friends—they'd moved on and had their own lives to live. Jacob would've helped her, but he'd been mad at her for a long time, and she was sure he didn't even think about her anymore. She'd met Angela long time ago, and Angela had said Jake had his own family and was fighting hard to feed his wife and children since Forks was becoming a ghost town. Damned crises everywhere.

These thoughts turned to her father's house in Forks. She imagined it sitting there derelict, especially when she thought of the cold winters that hit Forks. She imagined the rotten door and mold on the walls. That vision brought Poe's The Fall of the House of Usher to her mind and she wanted to reread it for a second time, but she couldn't remember the last time she read something that wasn't a canned soup recipe. She then considered the sale of the house in Forks but she chased that thought away as always. The sale of Charlie's house was like a sacrilege and it meant a ton of problems and a lot of things she couldn't deal with at the moment. She knew the hassle well—after all she'd sold her husband's house. And selling Charlie's house meant a journey to Forks. She froze and shivered at that idea.

'Are you ok?' asked a woman with concern on her face.

Isabella blinked, looked around, and realized she didn't recognize the area. Was it possible that she walked pensively so far from her neighborhood? She began to panic, but she suppressed the feeling when she remembered that someone had just asked her a question.

She looked at the person and was met with a concerned, young-looking face with warm green eyes—the tiny crow's feet around her eyes were the only evidence of her old age. She was surprised that her instinct for self-preservation didn't force her to run, and that she wanted, really wanted, to answer.

The words died in her throat. Whose theory assumed that disused organs weakened and deteriorated? Was it Darwin's or Spencer's? She couldn't remember but she knew she'd heard about it before. She strained her memory unsuccessfully. She thought that her brain had died, too, and she felt some kind of astonished pride because of this sarcastic thought. She chuckled slightly but it sounded like wheezing.

'Are you okay?' repeated the woman, frowning and looking into Isabella's eyes attentively. 'Are you hungry?'

Isabella froze and her eyes widened as she understood the tone of the woman's question. What the fuck? Did she look like a homeless person? She took a good look at herself and her irritation morphed into embarrassment. Yeah, she looked homeless. She knew that her pants were too large, she wore a stained blouse, old shoes, and her hair desperately needed to be cut. Her face? Isabella saw it in the mirror that morning—yellow and skinny, with sunken cheeks, and dark circles under her eyes. Isabella blushed and made a heroic effort to speak out loud.

'No. I'm not hungry … I'm not homeless, it's just that I haven't been out for a long time. I think I'm lost. I haven't talked to someone for so long … I'm sorry,' she blurted. She hastily turned away and started walking in the opposite direction, ashamed at the whole situation. She quickened the pace, desperately wanting to run. Yeah, job hunting can wait, she thought, shaking her head at her lack of conforming to the social norms.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder and she jumped slightly, trying to recall all the self-defense moves Charlie had shown her, and all the things that her husband had kept telling her to do in case he was away. It was useless. Even her instinct for self-preservation was not working. I'm a wreck, she thought in despair. She didn't even turn around, she just lowered her head and waited for whatever would come next.

'Wait, please. I didn't mean to offend you,' said the kind voice, and Isabella recognized it as belonging to the woman she had just met.

She turned around and saw that the woman, who wouldn't leave her alone, looked at her with a friendly smile on her face as she reached out a hand in greeting.

'I'm sorry, I was simply concerned. I didn't mean anything bad, please believe me. Let's start again, shall we? My name is Esme Cullen,' she said nicely.

Isabella was looking at the woman's—Esme's—hand and considered two options. Running was as tempting as a freshly made bed. Or she could stay, but that option was scary. She bit her lip, and with some hesitation, held out her own hand, following some absurd and incomprehensible impulse.

'I'm Bella. Bella Whitlock.'

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