Disclaimer: Any Twilight characters that may appear in this story belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder is my original work. No reproduction is allowed without my written consent.

Preface:

Imagine walking into a room to find your mother. There isn't anything weird about that.

Now imagine her dead.

That's where my life started going downhill.

But without that moment –and the others that follow- I would've never found my happiness.

This is my journey.

Chapter one

Saturday, January 05, 2013

Bella

I took off my headband, shook out my long, brown hair and decided the sky wasn't in the 'sunset' phase anymore. I stepped back and surveyed my work. My painting was coming along nicely I decided. The sky almost looked alive, the waves looked beautiful, and the sand looked like… well, unfinished.

I stuck my paintbrush behind my ear and started gathering up all my scattered supplies stuffing them into my paint-splattered drawstring bag. Lifting my canvas off of the easel I started heading back up to my house.

My home is a small, one story house. Red bricks and white wood trimming, I love it. I jogged up the steps and across the patio hurrying to show my mom the progress I had made on the landscape. Throwing open the door I yelled "Honey, I'm hoooome!"

When Renee, my mom, didn't start laughing or make any sound in reply I decided maybe she had left while I was working. I put my bag on the couch and gently propped my work-in-progress against the fireplace and walked into the kitchen.

Tripping over my feet I grabbed onto the counter for support and felt something sticky. In shock I looked at my hand which was now covered in something dark red. I looked at my feet and felt my stomach drop into my shoes. I stood in shock for a moment before registering what I was looking at.

"Mom?" I croaked. No reply.

Dropping to my knees I gasped. "No mom, no, no, no, this isn't happening. This isn't real. MOM!" I started shaking her, crying. "Please mom, please..."

A loud buzz rang through the apartment, someone was at the door. I uncurled myself from my position on the floor and stood up. I looked over at the clock which read 8:27 PM.

About two hours had passed since I found my mom.

I looked over at her again, and broke down. Leaning against the counter for support I yelled for whoever it was to come in, and to hurry.

I heard the door slam against the wall as if the person had thrown it open. I heard loud quick footsteps and the familiar voice of my best friend Angela, "Bella, what's wrong?" I stayed silent, waiting for her to find me. My brain was buzzing with white noise. Over the static I heard her walk up behind me "Bella why'd you yell like…"

Her voice trailed off as she surveyed the scene.

"Who do you call for this?" I asked. "An ambulance or the police?" Slowly I slid back down to the floor, gasping for air like a fish out of water.

At the police station I leaned against Angela, who was stroking my hair and whispering "Bella it's okay, everything will be alright…" over and over. I couldn't tell if it was helping or not, but I was just happy to have her with me, I don't know if I'd be able to handle it if I was alone.

"Isabella Swan?"

Looking up at the officer I nodded. "Can you follow me please?" he asked.

Without saying a word I got up and followed him to his desk and sat down. Leaning against his desk he sighed. "We examined the body, and found no signs of any foul play, and nothing to show for suicide. We don't know exactly how she died, but we know that it wasn't murder. We sent her body to UTMB for more investigation into how she died. Meanwhile, we have to send you to live with your father."

"Why can't I stay here? I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself." I stated, wiping off my cheeks. Stumbling over my words I continued, "I just lost my mother, I can't lose my friends too."

"I'm sorry Isabella, but you're only 16. You have to move in with your father, at least until you turn 18."

Looking back at Angela I felt my stomach drop to my feet once again, "There isn't anything I can do to stay here?" I croaked.

The officer lightly placed his hand on my shoulder, "I'm sorry Isabella, but no. You must go live with your father." Shuffling through a stack on his desk he pulled out a paper, "Charlie Swan, Forks, Washington. Maybe a change of scenery will be good for a while Isabella. Go home and start packing. Stay with your friend tonight, we'll have your flight set up by morning."

Thanks for reading, I'm really excited about this story. Stick around and I promise to update quickly!

-Kally