As always, I don't own Twilight. This story is pretty close to my own life, though. Thanks to FangMom and Netracullen for being awesome betas, and to all of you for still reading and leaving me those wonderful reviews!

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Tulips and Love Letters

EPOV

Friday morning greets me earlier than I'd like, with blissfully sore muscles from last night's lovemaking and a half-hearted morning wood twitching in my underwear. I reach down to adjust myself, carefully so I don't wake Bella. We'll have to get up and do the whole morning routine soon enough anyway, probably complete with fighting Benji over the toothbrush and reminding Kate at least a dozen of times that she has to get dressed. Just because I woke up too early doesn't mean she has to as well, so I lay still, listening to her breathing slowly change from deep to shallow, and as the rising morning sun slowly brightens the room, I watch her stir awake.

I wonder if she'll say something about yesterday, or if I'm supposed to address it in some way. I never really know those things. Women confuse me; it's so easy to say the wrong thing, or even worse, to say nothing at all when you were supposed to. I think this is a "say something" occasion, but it doesn't feel like it's something you want to mention on a Friday morning while making sandwiches for the kids. It's too important.

Our talk yesterday shed so much light over why she is the way she is, or rather has been, because a lot has changed these last months. I'd like to think it's because of me and the fact that I am a much more helpful husband, and part of it probably is. But to be honest, I think the biggest change comes from inside of her.

I'm not sure she's even aware of how much she's altered. It doesn't seem like it. She sounds like she thinks she's still in the same place as she used to be. Maybe the fact that she doesn't see herself very clearly prevents her from realizing it. Maybe it's harder to see the change when you're the one undergoing it. Maybe she still feels the same about herself, and doesn't notice how much she has changed her behaviour.

I notice, though. I just don't know how to make her see it.

My semi has retreated to a less offensive state, which I appreciate, because I know my hard-ons sometimes worry Bella. She seems to think an erection automatically means I want to have sex, which is not the case. She once said she feels guilty for denying me something that I, judging from the state of my cock, seem to want. I wouldn't say no if it was offered, but the boner is just there sometimes, for no reason at all, and she shouldn't feel pressured by it.

I slide my hand under the duvet, carefully testing the waters to see if she'll flinch away or let my hand stay there. The way her body twitches and tenses from my touch lets me know she's awake, but she's not moving away so I keep still, my fingertips just barely touching the small of her back.

The things she told me yesterday, about her past, nearly killed me. She never dared to tell me before. She was afraid I'd stop loving her – like that was ever going to happen. But how could she know that? The way our marriage used to be, it wasn't that hard to believe the other one was planning on leaving.

It made me sad to hear all those things, but not because she'd been with so many men. I knew that already, and I don't give a shit about it. What made me sad was the fact that she was hurting because of it. If she'd been happy with it and not regretted anything, then I'd be fine about it, too. But she's not, and I'm not happy when she's not happy.

Bella seems to think her past defines who she is. I don't believe that. You are not merely the sum of your actions, of what you've done. You also have to add what you can do – or be – in the future, your feelings, and your importance to other people. Who you were, who you are and who you will be aren't the same. People change, and everyone is worthy of being loved by someone, no matter what.

I realize it must have been her last meeting with Dr. Young that finally made her open up and talk about it. Even though I was hesitant in the beginning about going to therapy, I have to admit it has helped her, and us, a lot. Not all of it is because of the sessions, I think we were on the right path even before. Most of it is probably thanks to Bella. She made the effort to tell me what she needed, and to try and give me what I needed. I'm not sure anything would have changed – at least not for the better – if it all had been up to only me. I don't think I would have had the strength, the courage or the drive to take action, to try and make things better.

I'm grateful that she had enough of that for both of us.

I can tell from the rhythm of Bella's breathing, and the way she quickly wiggles her foot, that she's beginning to feel restless. My guess is that our alarms will go off in a matter of minutes, telling us it's time to get up and get ready for work. I thank whatever God there might be that it's Friday, because this night has really gotten the better of me. I wouldn't have it any other way, though. Making love – or fucking, in her words – was incredible. Tying her up like that was mind-blowing. Having her open up to me and tell me her story was an emotional turmoil. I can only imagine all those things took their toll much harder on her than on me.

I hear the click of the clock before the alarm sets in, and Bella throws her hand out in a fraction of a second, shutting it down before it even has a chance to go off. It suddenly makes sense to me why I never wake up from her alarm. She throws her feet off the bed, rubs her face and silently pads into the bathroom. I stay in bed, listening to her taking the towel down from the rack and turning the shower on. The sound of sprinkling water is threatening to lull me back to sleep, but I force myself out of the bed. Bella must be tired, and the least I can do is prepare breakfast and wake the kids up. She often does that while I'm in the shower, but now that I think of it, there's no reason at all why I couldn't do it while she showers. It would save us all a few minutes, and that is not a bad thing in the hectic morning rush.

The tea is brewing and breakfast is on the table when I hear her turn off the shower, and by the time I'm done showering the kids are already up and dressed. Well, Benji is. Kate is still pondering which socks to pick. Pink or… another pink. It's an important decision, apparently, and she rolls her eyes at me when I tell her to just choose a pair already and get herself to the table. She "wants them to match the shirt", and I cannot for the love of God see the difference. They're all pink to me, and I don't get why she can't just make her pick. They're just socks, no one will probably notice anyway.

Her decision is taking forever, and the frustration is building inside me. Bella comes into the room with an annoyed look on her face, asking what's taking us so long. After quickly assessing the situation she takes the pink socks from Kate and gives her a pair of blue ones instead.

"There, problem solved," she says sternly and ushers Kate out of her room. A few "But mom…" are uttered in a whiny voice, but Bella doesn't take notice and Kate accepts the solution with a sulky face. Blue socks are on in a matter of minutes.

Oh. That was easy.

Then I realize I do the exact same thing as Kate, not every morning, but probably a few times a week. I don't debate the colour of the socks, but the colour and pattern of the tie. Unlike Kate, I don't try to make the decision on my own. I spend some time muttering and sighing, waiting to see if she hears me and comes to my aid. If she doesn't, I call for her in a probably not so pleasant way and ask her which one to choose. She usually has the exact same look on her face when she reaches for the proper thing for me to wear, like she did just now with Kate. Annoyed and tired. I wonder why I haven't noticed that before. I also wonder why I can't just pick a damned tie on my own. A grown man should be able to pick his own tie. At that moment I resolve to stop asking her to make those decisions for me.

At least the ones about ties.

I join my family at the table, and breakfast is eaten and put away again in the usual weekday morning fashion. Quick and effective. I never really liked that, I want to read the morning paper and take it slow, ease into the new day. It's with a slight pang of guilt that I stay at the table reading, as Bella steers the kids into the bathroom to brush their teeth and comb their hair. Somewhere in between she finds the time to put some make-up on, and she brushes her own teeth while looking for Kate's sweater.

I glance furtively at her when she scurries around the house. Even though I see that she's a bit stressed, there is something different about her now compared to before. Something has changed in the way she moves. She used to be really tense, always on the edge. She looked like she was on the verge of flight, a tightened spring about to go off. It's not the same now. Her shoulders are down. She's not wringing her hands as often as she used to, and she holds her head higher.

I rise from the table and head for the bathroom. As I pass her in the hallway I stop, put my arm around her and give her a hug. She pauses, and when I lower my face to her she tilts her head, offering me her cheek for a quick kiss. I press my lips against it and whispers in her ear that I'm grateful that she took care of the kids this morning so I could finish reading the paper.

I want to say more but don't find the right words for it, and she chuckles at me and continues her morning tear through the house before I have put my thoughts together into coherent lines.

I'm sorry you had to go through all that.

I don't love you any less.

I love you more.

But the moment passes and my words stay inside my head until further notice. Instead I focus on the fact that I actually hugged her. That's different, too. I can do that now, and she doesn't flinch. Sometimes she hugs me back, and the other day she was the one coming up to me, giving me a hug for no reason at all. That made me happy, but I didn't want to make a big deal out of it. I was afraid she'd back away if I did that. She's still not comfortable with being noticed, so I just hugged her back, let go and then went back to whatever I was doing. It seems like that was the right way to act, because I didn't see any tension in her posture afterwards.

I brush my teeth quickly, pick a tie – on my own, mind you – and embark on the mission to get the kids into shoes and jackets. Half of them are missing, but Bella seems to have some kind of maternal 'kid's clothes radar' and instinctively knows where to look for them. I don't know how she does that. Come to think of it, she's the one who usually finds my missing stuff, too. I don't know if that means I fall under the category 'overgrown kid' or if that radar has a marital mode as well. I hope it's the latter. She already has two kids; she doesn't need a third one.

We stuff the kids into the cars, Kate in mine and Benji in hers, kiss goodbye and drive off in different directions. I leave Kate at Kindergarten and head to work.

Co-workers pass by at the office, making small talk by the coffee machine, exchanging weekend plans and acting like they care. I know that they'll forget about it as soon as they walk away, and I don't have the energy to take part in the charade right now. I smile and nod at people, but keep to myself. I have things on my mind, and it bothers me that I still haven't said anything to Bella about yesterday. As far as I know, she might even believe I judge her for something as absurd as her sexual history. It also bothers me that she's not aware of how much she's changed. When I think about it, I'm not even sure I've seen all the changes, either.

I take a pen and a paper and start jotting down the things I've noticed about her, starting with the ones I've already thought about this morning. I chew on the tip of the pen and tap my fingertips against the desk. If I can't find the right moment to say the things I want to her, I can write it to her in a letter. After 8 hours of work and an equal amount of discarded drafts, I call it a day and head to the car.

I stop at the flower shop on my way home and buy her a bunch of tulips. I know she likes them, because she buys them herself on occasion. I spend some time debating which colour to buy, and then decide on a large bouquet of what I'm told are parrot tulips, red and white, with ruffled edges. I like them. The red resembles the love we share, that I once thought was gone. The white makes me think of the day we married, of her dress and the pearls in her hair. The ruffled edge of the petals reminds me of her, a bit frayed and torn in the ends, but that's what makes them unique. They are not perfectly shaped, but they are special, which to me means they are beautiful and worthy of love.

A punch on my shoulder jerks me back to reality, and I'm faced with one of my annoying co-workers, one of those whose name I always forget.

"Hey there Eddie, wazzup? Buying flowers for the missus?"

"Yeah… " I mumble, quickly reaching for my wallet so I can get out of there.

"You've been out doing the nasty, too? Dude, my wifey found an earring in my car last night, and let me tell you – it did NOT belong to her! I told her it was one of my co-workers, who lost it on the way to a meeting. I'm not sure if she bought it, so I need to butter her up a bit. But let me tell you, none of the girls at the office have cheap earrings like that!" He boasts with laughter, strangely proud of the fact that he's nearly been caught cheating, and reaches for whatever flowers are closest. I shake my head at him, which he interprets as some kind of appreciation, and raises his hand to high-five me.

I cock my eyebrows at him, and as he lowers his hand again I turn to the cashier, taking my receipt and thanking her for her help before I turn back to the annoying man.

"You know, I buy flowers for my wife because I love her. Maybe you should try that, sometime. Loving your wife, I mean. Not buying flowers that have no real meaning."

I pat his shoulder as I walk past him.

Poor wife.

When I get back into my car, I take out the envelope from my briefcase and finger it for a few seconds. Inside it is the letter to Bella, with the words I wanted to say to her this morning, and things I've noticed about her lately. I'm still not sure when to give it to her, but I guess I'll figure it out. I attach it to the flowers, and head home.

Kate and Benji runs to greet me in the hallway as I enter the door. I can smell food cooking in the kitchen, and when I turn the corner I see Bella by the stove, an apron on, stirring a casserole. I walk up beside her and peek over her shoulder.

"Mmm, smells nice. What is it?"

"It's a casserole. Here, you want to taste?" She takes a spoon, fills it with food and blows on it to cool it down before turning to me and holding it up. I open my mouth and she feeds it to me, gingerly, so she won't spill on my suit.

"What do you think?"

"It's great, of course. It always is," I answer her sincerely. "Oh, that reminds me… I have something for you."

I hold the flowers out, but realize too late that I forgot to take the wrapping off. I blush and take them back.

"Hold on, let me take this off…" I stammer, but she takes it from me with a smile.

"No need to. I can do it myself, you know." She removes the paper and gasps when she sees the tulips inside.

"Oh, Edward! These are beautiful! I love parrot tulips, how did you know?"

"Uhm, I didn't. I just thought they fitted, you know… They reminded of you."

"Awww… That's so sweet, thank you!" She leans into me and kisses me, and I'm pleased with myself for picking the right ones.

And there it is, again. Her smile.

She is smiling. I hadn't realized how long it had been since she'd done that, but when I saw her smile not long ago it dawned on me that I couldn't even remember when I last saw her really happy. It made me feel horrible. I had had a sad wife for God knows how long, and I hadn't even tried to make it better. Instead I gave her shit, or yelled at the kids, or just watched TV and tuned her out. But I'm a better man now, and she's smiling again.

She walks to the living room, getting a vase for the flowers, and when she comes back her eyes fall on the envelope still lying in the flower wrapping. Her steps falter slightly, and she puts the vase down before hesitantly taking the envelope. She turns to me, her eyebrows slightly furrowed. I feel myself blush again, like a little school boy being caught slipping his first love letter to the object of his infatuation.

"That's just… You don't have to read it now, if you don't want to," I murmur.

"Is this… Do I have something to be worried about?" she asks, biting her lip.

"Hell no, not at all. It's just that I feel a little embarrassed about it. It seemed like a good idea earlier, but I'm going to die if you read it while I'm here," I explain. I hear how stupid it sounds, but it's the truth. Her eyes meet mine, and she nods softly before she puts the flowers in the vase, placing the envelope back in the bouquet.

I exhale in relief. I like that she looks me in the eyes again. She used to avoid that, but now she talks to me and looks at me at the same time. She's a lot more in the present, and it was a long time ago that she disappeared into that bubble of hers. It used to scare me whenever she did that. She's told me it was a way to escape from things, and I understand that, but it was creepy. It seemed like she had this invisible shield around her, and it was impossible to get through. When she was in that frame of mind, her eyes lost all light. They looked dead. They don't anymore. They are alive again.

Dinner is great, as usual. I notice her eyes constantly being drawn towards the flowers and the letter, and she smiles every time. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

The rest of the evening goes by, the kids are behaving, Bella is happy, and small talk is easy. It's a good ending to the day. We are both tired since last night didn't offer a whole lot of sleep, so we make it an early night. I'm in bed before Bella, as she spends some time in the bathroom washing her face, peeling and moisturizing and whatever stuff it is that women do before they go to bed. I wonder briefly if she'll be up for some sexy times, but decide to leave it. I'm way too tired, anyway, and I'm still more than satisfied after last night. I think about her reaction to my touches, and how she wanted me to be rougher, firmer.

I can do that. I like rough… But how rough is too rough? And to be honest, I also like the light touching. I enjoy the sensation in my fingers.

I still haven't really gotten the hang of how to do it the right way. I've understood that the light touches feel uncomfortable, but I still don't get why. I'm more than a little turned on by the fact that she likes the more firm approach, but I'm afraid I'll hurt her and I think I'm still doing it wrong because of that sometimes.

The fact that I can touch her now, however, is mind-blowing. I have missed that so much, and the calm I feel from touching her makes me realize that having to refrain from it has been partly responsible for my extremely bad temper the last years. It's not like me acting like an ass made her more eager for me to touch her. I kind of dug my own hole there. I have changed, too, fortunately. I'm not angry all the time, and I think that makes it easier for her to relax.

Bella slides down under her duvet and I scoot over to her side. We're not really spooning, but I'm lying close enough that I can put my hand on her hip. She lets it rest there, and I close my eyes with a smile. I could never touch her like this, in bed, before. Even the non-sexual kind of touch made her curl up in a ball and hyperventilate. I can do it now, though. I don't think she's aware of it, but for the last weeks I've been able to touch her for a while almost every night before we go to sleep. I like to be physically connected to her as I fall asleep; it's soothing and feels safe. I know it's not the same for her, but she can handle it now.

I know she can't relax enough with my hand there, and I know she'll lie awake, waiting for me to fall asleep, until she'll remove my hand and turn to her side again, taking her sleeping position. That has changed too, by the way. She used to sleep curled up in foetal position, her duvet wrapped tight around her like a cocoon. She still does the cocoon thing, but doesn't curl up like that anymore. She sleeps in a more open position now, with one leg stretched out and the other one bent, like she doesn't feel the need to protect herself anymore.

Just as I start drifting off, I feel her hand grasping mine, putting it down on the bed beside her. I roll over to my side, and hear her silently rise from the bed and pad out of our bedroom. Before I fall asleep, I think of the letter I wrote and I hope she understands what I'm trying to say:

Bella has changed, and I'm proud of her.