I'm sorry.
Sorry for everything that I have ever put you through, but you are really getting your revenge on me now, although you are totally oblivious to it.

You have always told me never to become a 'Bloodsucking Leech,' and I need to tell you that you're right.
I miss us. I miss what we used to be. I miss how you wanted me. How you longed to have me, and how, no matter how many times I tried to push you away, I wanted you back.
I remember every single detail of the kiss on the ledge. When I begged you to stay. I didn't want to let you go. I wanted to go back to the night before, and have you lie with your warm body around me again. I want it to be like that right now.

I'd like to pretend that I'm not in love with you, but I've been lying to myself for too long.
And I'd like to pretend that it's not jealousy that I feel for my daughter.
I've watched her grow up with you, through the stages of your relationship. You are her protector, like you used to be mine. You are her best friend, like you used to be mine.
You are her lover, like I want you to be mine.
But the one thing that is different is the way that you look at her. You never looked at me in that way. And it kills me, because I definitely know now that you are so deep with her, deeper than you could ever have been with me.
You've forgotten about me. But I'm not finished letting go of you.

You told me there was balance now between us, but you have no idea how off the scales we really are.
Every time you look at me, how can you not tell by the way that my golden eyes glaze over with venom, that I'm in pain? The glistening is my attempt at crying.
I should have known this was coming. For my heart has stopped beating. A stupid mistake of mine.
A sacrifice to give you the girl that your whole life centres around.

And now look what I am. Where I am.
I'm a bloodsucker, the creature you hated not so long ago.
And every day I am more and more thankful that I am a shield, that Edward can't read my thoughts.
But I know that he can read my eyes.
I am a prisoner in my own body, although neither of us want to admit it.
When I look in his eyes, I still feel love for him, but it is no longer a burning lust. It is shallow, dying. I can only wonder how long it will be before the light has burned out completely.

All I can do now is watch you look into my daughter's brown eyes, and hope that you see me in there. For they are the only remnants of the corpse that is Isabella Marie Swan.