A/N: Hello. Yes, it's been half a century since I updated. I broke the cardinal rule of fanfic. I hate when authors don't update. There have been many instances when I wanted to smack an author lol, so please don't get violent with me. ;)

I hope that everyone is well and healthy and so are your loved ones. I'm sending love and prayers to those who are suffering right now. And I'm sending hugs to those of you on the front lines.

I have a million excuses why I haven't updated...I lost two furry babies which was devastating, pipes burst in our floors, remodeling ensued, I got lazy, and the list goes on.

I have three chapters finished, so I'll update those this week. And I have a satchel full of other chapters ready to go, so I'll try to make up for my terribleness.

Thank you for reading … you're the reason I write. ;) And thank you to my two Frans: my friend Fran for pre-reading, and my other friend, SunflowerFran, for her amazing beta skills.

Now, how is poor Edward doing...

TO THE LIGHT

CHAPTER 26

With my head bowed, I stare at my threadbare socks as a great wind flashes through the door, dotting my feet with little specks of white that vaporize instantly. A freezing tremor whisks through me as Edward inhales sharply. "Oh God, Bella," he rasps. I feel him draw closer. He places one finger under my chin and gently lifts it. "Who did this?"

My eyes stay averted, and I stare off to the side. I can't make eye contact. I can't let him see my shame.

"Are you ... hurt ... anywhere else?" he chokes, his voice cracked and raw.

I shake my head, and he blows out a quick, harsh breath. "Bella, please look at me," he pleads. I don't. Instead, with my eyes still on the floor, I step back and let him inside.

After deadbolting the door, I pause, still facing it. If only I could stay this way; stay with my back turned. Let him have his minute and then make him leave.

I finally muster the courage and turn around. His eyes are scanning the disheveled room, so I take the opportunity to step quickly to the sofa and sit.

Tugging on my sleeves, I rub my cold feet together, trying to warm them. My need to bolt hits me hard. I wish I could hide somewhere; maybe cower behind the couch or sneak out the back door.

"Were you robbed?" he asks. I'm so surprised by the question that I glance up, and he points toward the floor. I peer down and find my bag lying there with its contents strewn about. She must have ransacked it when I was having my panic attack.

My shoulders slump. "No." My voice sounds strange, like it's filled with sawdust or something.

"Do you have any ice?"

I jump up, brush past him, and head for the kitchen. I pull a plastic bag out of a drawer and reach for the freezer handle, but Edward stops me. "Here," he says as he takes the bag from my hand.

Dropping into a chair, I listen as he rustles in the icebox and hear the clink clink of the cubes as they fall into the bag. My fingers touch the plastic placemat and that pesky curling corner that won't lay flat. I run my index finger over and over it, all to no avail. The chair grates noisily against the linoleum as Edward pulls it close to mine.

"Bella," he whispers, hushed, and gentle. I fight so hard against it, I don't want him to see my vulnerability, but the softness in his voice draws me in, and my eyes finally find his. His dart from one eye to the other—a spotlight—searching for answers before they move to my cheekbone, my lips, and back to my eyes. Mine rove over the paleness of his skin, the worried brow, his lips pressed so tightly together.

He reaches his hand out towards me, so hesitantly. My eyes drift closed, and I try hard not to flinch as feathery fingertips graze my cheek. "Your face … so lovely, so..."

I bristle and sit up straight. "It's nothing."

The furrow in his forehead deepens. He starts to place the ice on my cheek, but I take it from him and do it myself.

"Who was here, Bella?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, it matters. You have no idea how much it matters."

"I think your minute is up."

"I'm not leaving."

I drop the ice. "But you said just one minute, you said—"

"I lied."

"You lied?" I ask incredulously.

"Absolutely."

"But ... you sounded so sincere."

"I was sincere, Bella, but no one hurts you. Ever." His jaw tightens, and his eyes darken. "I'm feeling so murderous right now. I want to break whoever's hand touched you and rip it off their body."

I stare at him with wide eyes and mouth parted.

"Now tell me who did this so I can go take care of the situation," he nearly growls.

I sit motionless.

"Now, Bella," he urges, and I finally snap out of my daze.

"You can't do anything about it."

"Oh, yes, I can."

"No, you can't."

"Why not?"

"Because..." I say, but my mouth gets stuck. The words lodge in my throat.

He scoots closer until our knees are touching. "Tell me..." he whispers.

I swallow a thorny thicket of fear and cowardice. If I do this, I'll be exposed, peeled, dug up. I want to stay buried, keep myself, and all of this in the dirt where it belongs.

"Please, Bella."

A thick breath leaves my lungs. "It was ... my mother."

His eyes narrow just the slightest. "Was she drunk?"

I bend my head, my chin nearly touching my chest.

"Bella, you need to call the police and report her."

"It won't change anything."

"This has happened before?"

A sickness crawls over me, and he grimaces. "When?"

"Two years ago."

"Did she hurt you?"

I don't answer, and his face twists in pain. I rub the little knot on my right wrist; the bone that never healed properly.

"Did you file charges?"

"No..." I say, looking away. "That ... it was a bad time for me. I just couldn't go through with it. I didn't have the strength, and it only happened once."

"You can't let her get away with this."

"I know but—"

"There is no but. She needs to at least spend the night in jail for what she did to you."

"She'll never change, so why bother."

"She might not, but there have to be consequences for her actions."

Our eyes lock; mine steady and unflinching.

"This is not your fight."

Silence. A stare off. A stalemate.

Mumbling something in French that I can't quite hear, he takes his hat off and runs his fingers through his messy hair. He makes some huffing sounds before he tugs his hat back on.

"Okay, you're right, Bella, but I need to take you to the hospital. You could have a concussion."

"No."

The furnace kicks on, and the ice in the freezer shifts.

His heavy sigh signals defeat. "Why did you let her in?"

I drop my head again, the corner of my mouth twisting downwards. "I ... I thought it was you," I whisper.

"Oh, Bella," he groans, pain tinged with every syllable as his hands reach for mine. But he stops himself and fists his hands in the air before pulling them back.

A noise catches my ear. I tip my head, frowning, and I'm straining for the sound when I gasp and jump up. "Oliver," I whimper. Racing to the bedroom, I grab the doorknob, jiggling it, and I realize that I've locked him in, and I have no key to get him out. "Oliver!" I shout.

"What's wrong?" Edward calls loudly. I don't even realize he's standing next to me.

"I can't get the door open," I practically sob as I yank and yank on the knob.

"I can get him out, Bella. Just give me a second." He whips something out of his pocket and gently pushes me to the side. I keep my hands on the door and can hear Oliver meowing.

Within seconds, Edward has the door open. I reach down and grab him and my body sags as I crush him to my chest. Holding his warm body next to mine, I close my eyes, and a tear slips out when he rubs his face against mine.

I quickly make my way to the couch and set him in my lap, checking him for injuries. I listen to his little purrs, reassuring me he's okay. I need Oliver. In such a desperate way. When my insides are knotted or when I feel I'm squeezed flat, he's there, loving me through all of it.

"What did she do to him?" Edward asks, but I just can't bring myself to tell him, so I continue to fuss over Oliver and ignore the question. Once I'm sure he's not injured, I cuddle his chubby body to mine and relax into the couch cushions.

Edward walks over to the chair and picks up the vase. "I'll just clean up a bit," he murmurs as he places it on the coffee table. "Do you have any towels, to clean this with?" he asks as he gestures to the water-soaked chair.

"It's okay. Just leave it."

He leans down and picks up my bag. "At least your wallet's still here." He puts all of my things back in it and sets it on the floor next to the chair. "Do you have a broom or something I can use to clean up these flowers?"

"No!"

His startled eyes find mine. "What's wrong?"

"Don't touch them."

His expression portrays his confusion. "Why?"

"Because."

After a moment, realization softens his face. "I'll buy you more..." he says gently, "so many more."

"No. I don't want more. I want those."

He stares at me for the longest time before he finally nods and walks over to the door. I watch him curiously as he opens it, checking and double-checking the locks before checking the locks on my two windows and making sure the bars are secure. "I'm going to go check your back door."

He disappears for a moment before he reappears again, holding my ice pack. "They seem in good shape. Do you have a gun or mace?" he asks as he hands it to me.

"I have both."

"Good. Do you need any painkillers?"

I shake my head, but the movement makes my cheek throb even more.

The couch dips when he sits down on the other end. Immediately, flashing lights paint the walls in orange, and my wide eyes dart to the door. "It's nothing," Edward says casually. "It's just my Jeep getting towed."

I turn my head sharply towards him. "What?"

"I double-parked again."

"But—"

"Who cares? I'll get it later."

"But ... I feel terrible. I'll pay the charges."

"No, you won't."

I stay quiet but resolved to pay him back somehow. "You can go now," I say. "I'm fine."

"If I go, I'll sleep outside, leaned up against your door."

"But … but ... you can't stay here."

"I can sleep on the couch."

"No!"

He looks puzzled. "Um ... I could ... sleep on the floor?"

"No, just..." I stutter as I tug on my bangs. How do I explain that I'm the one who sleeps on the couch? That I'm the one who can't sleep in my bed? "I might not ... be able to sleep."

"Well, how about I just sit here with you on the couch until you do get sleepy. I'll stay on this end. I promise."

"You really won't leave?"

"I can't. You mean everything to me."

Oliver wrestles out of my arms and moseys over to Edward, meowing at him. "Hey, buddy," Edward says, rubbing his head.

I stare straight ahead at the dingy, tannish walls. "Why did you come here tonight?" I ask.

He hesitates. I glance at him, and he angles himself towards me, his eyes penetrating. "I came because I felt you, Bella. I knew something was wrong. I sensed you were in danger. I dropped everything and hauled ass to get here, but I was too late," he says with a grimace.

"I can't explain it," he continues, shaking his head. "I know it doesn't make any sense, but it's the truth."