Disclaimer:

All characters belong to Stephenie Meyer for the exception of Alexandria.

Chapter 1

I don't know why I stay. Why I don't say anything. And then I remember that he is right. No one will believe me. No one will care. No one will ever want me. No one will love me. So I stay.

I slowly sit up gasping at the sharp stab of pain coming from my ribs.

I lean on the wall for support as I limp into the bathroom. I turn on the shower and carefully remove my clothes whimpering as the shirt pulls the dry blood off the open wounds. Using scissors to cut the pieces of fabric, glued to my skin with blood, off I was finally able to get in the shower.

I let the tears fall as the water ran over my skin. It had never been this bad. But I understood it was my fault. Dinner wasn't served when he got home. If only I started a few minutes earlier he wouldn't have been so angry. And then I had the nerve to talk back to him. I brought it upon myself.

Washing every trace of blood that could be removed I stepped out and grabbed the first aid kit. The alcohol burned, but I was barely aware of it anymore. I shrugged into some sweats, cleaned up the mess and put the bloodied clothes in a black trash bag. Knowing full well that any trace of my injuries will anger him even more.

I scrubbed the floors with bleach and made sure the furniture was in place. Going into the kitchen the tears made themselves known again. I picked up the chairs and straightened the table before sweeping up the shattered pieces of glass. I looked at the knife and the tears pooled even faster. I washed it thoroughly and put it away.

It was already four so I got in my truck and headed to Alex's school.

Her smile fell when she saw me. She was only three, but she understood everything.

Squatting down to her height I hugged her ignoring the screeching pain.

"Hey munchkin, how was school?" I smiled as I pushed her long brown hair, so much like mine, out of her eyes.

"Fine." She sighed, "Mommy, are you okay? How bad are you hurt?" She questioned with a frown.

"Just a scratch, don't worry honey." But no matter how hard I tried not to let my pain show, she always knew.

She carefully hugged me and grabbed my hand as we headed toward the truck.

"What do you think Daddy will like for dinner today, sweetie?" I looked at her through the rearview mirror.

"His favorite." She said simply.

"So lasagna it is." I nodded.

I sighed as we pulled into the driveway.

Once inside, Alex ran up the stairs yelling that she would have her homework done before dinner.

It was Friday, but she liked to enjoy the weekend without worrying about homework.

I got started on the lasagna and went upstairs to change as it cooked in the oven.

He always insisted that I looked presentable when he got home.

I grabbed a pair of nice jeans and a red blouse with long sleeves. He didn't like seeing the bruises and cuts. He liked to think he had the perfect family. And on the outside it was.

I made sure none of the injuries were visible and swiped on some mascara. I went to check on Alex and ended up helping her organize her room a bit when the timer went off. I ran downstairs and opened the oven. I screamed as I burned my hand and tossed the pan on the counter. I bit my lip and whimpered as the cold water splashed on the burn.

"Mommy, are you okay?" Alex questioned.

"Yeah baby, I'm fine." I wrapped a cloth around my hand and proceeded to cut the lasagna.

"You want to help Mommy?"

"Yup!" She grinned.

"Come set the table." I smiled.

"Okay" she skipped as she placed the silverware on the napkins by the plates.

We finished just as the door was opening. We both walked into the hall and greeted him.

"How are my two most favorite girls in the world?" he smiled as he ruffled Alex's hair and pulled in for a quick kiss. "Good." I answered.

"Well dinner is served so there's no point in loitering in the hall." I declared.

"How was work?" I asked looking up from my plate.

"The usual. Nothing really happens in Forks." He laughed. I mumbled an agree and continued to eat.

I was picking up the plates when I felt him wrap his arms around me.

"You cooked. Let me clean up while you get ready for bed." He whispered as he let his hand drift down.

"Ok." I assented.

I had just finished washing my face when he came in.

He ran his hands down the length of my back as he slowly but passionately kissed me. He walked me backwards toward the bed and gently lay me down. His lips traveled down my neck to my cleavage and pushed the strap of nightgown over my shoulder and showered kisses across my collarbone.

He was gentle and loving. Like he is every time after. He believes it makes me forgive him. But he never once says sorry.