A/N: It's such a joy to be able to share my writing with you. It still amazes me that people read my words. ;)

Thank you to Fran for pre-reading and to SunflowerFran for her beta skills. They are two beautiful, amazing women.

I love each and every one of you. Stay safe and spread love.

TO THE LIGHT

CHAPTER 30

After checking the locks twice, I slip off my gloves and start to toss them on the coffee table when I freeze. Tucked beneath my grandmother's dish are two, one-hundred-dollar bills.

Sitting on the couch, I slowly pull them out and lay them side-by-side and stare at Benjamin's face. I can't help but feel angry because I specifically told Edward that this was not about money. I do not want his money. Yes, I struggle financially, but I'm proud of my struggles. I struggle for a reason. It's my penitence. I'm making it on my own, just like I promised myself I would, and I feel satisfied with my choices.

I pick up one of the bills and rub my fingers across its unique texture.

Edward is a good man, just like Sue said. Authentic, compassionate, and generous to a fault.

So what in the world is he doing with me?

I slip the money back underneath the dish and take a shower. Tilting my head back, the water—like hot rain—douses and smooths my hair back, unmasking my scar. This is the only place that I let it be exposed: behind a blue and white striped curtain.

The steamy downpour soothes along the curvature of my neck and spreads, gliding along every dip and curve. I let it scour away my shame, dripping off my toes into the drain.

I don't think about my mother. I don't think about Edward. I don't think about anything. I just be. I focus on every sensation, every rejuvenation until the water chills.

After toweling off, I let my hair air-dry. I blow on a hot spoonful of chicken noodle soup and watch the clock.

Obsessively.

After throwing my paper bowl away, I sit on the edge of the couch, trying to figure out the identity of this mysterious Ben. I determine he must be some kind of delivery person. My eyes drift to the empty vase, and I excitedly wonder if it could be another bouquet of flowers.

At six forty-five, I start pacing the floor. My hands sweat, and I repeatedly wipe them on my pants. I'm cautious, though, because every time I peep outside, I'm terrified my mother will be standing there. I'm peeking out for probably the twentieth time when a floral delivery truck pulls up.

Out pops the driver, now known as Ben. He slides the van door open and reaches for something. Turning towards me, he disappears behind at least a couple dozen white and yellow daffodils. With my breath caught in my throat, I rip open the door before he even gets to the steps.

He pokes his head around the enormous bouquet and grins. "Bella, I'm Ben, and Edward sent me."

I laugh with prickles of joy in my eyes.

"And these are for you," he says cheerfully as he hands me the vase.

"Oh, my goodness," I rush as I grasp the arrangement. "They're beautiful."

"Let me get the door for you."

"Thank you so much," I say before moving quickly and setting them on the coffee table.

I know I don't have money for a tip, but my eyes dart around the room anyway, searching for something, and that's when they land on the money Edward left me. I grab one of the bills and hand it to him. "Thank you again. They're so beautiful."

Placing his hands behind his back, he smiles. "He already took care of it."

"Oh. Okay. Well, you made my day, I mean Edward made my day. I mean, you both made my day." I start laughing, and he joins in.

"Your day is about to get even better because there's more," he says with a grin.

"More?"

"Yep. I'll be right back."

I can't wait so I chase after him and barely even notice the frigid temperature. He pulls out another huge bouquet, and I reach for them.

"Wait, I can take these in for you," he says politely.

"Oh, no. I've got it," I respond. He hands it to me, and I laugh as daffodils tickle my nose. Shuddering, I turn and carefully make my way up the steps, so I don't drop them, and Ben helps me with the door again.

"Thanks," I breathe out.

I place the arrangement next to its twin, and it takes up two-thirds of my coffee table. I line them up, and re-arrange the flowers, making sure they are perfectly and evenly situated. I turn to close the door and inhale sharply.

Ben stands there, his face completely hidden, behind a garden of the most beautiful pink roses I've ever seen.

I'm rendered speechless, transfixed.

"Do you want these on the coffee table as well?" he asks, peeping his smiling, expectant face around them.

My eyes burn, and I have to swallow around the lump in my throat. "Yes, right there," I mumble, my voice barely recognizable.

He sets them down and turns towards me. I mouth a "thank you."

"You're welcome," he says warmly, knowingly. "I hope you have a lovely evening."

Sinking down onto the edge of the sofa, I place the pink roses in the center of the coffee table and move the huge bouquets of daffodils on each side of it. I scooch them gently until they are all perfectly centered, but because of their size, they still crowd each other a bit. Reaching for Grandma's dish with the crushed petals in it, I set it carefully in front of the roses. Grinning to the point of silliness, a giggle slips out just as a tear spills down my cheek. Closing my eyes, I inhale the rosy perfume as more tears rapidly follow.

Hunching over, I cover my face in my hands and weep. I let it rush in torrents, unfettered. A cloudburst, hanging low and dark, lashes out of me.

This life.

Crippled and starved, love has been strangled from me.

I weep for my loveless mother. I'm a victim of a toxin in a bottle. A simple liquid.

One swallow, and she's deadly, vaporizing before my very eyes.

I weep for my father, whom I've already lost, yet without the taste of death.

I weep for Jacob. I weep for the man I loved. For the man I hated. For the deaths I caused.

And I weep for Edward. The gentlest of souls, caring for the broken, caring for me.

I weep until I have nothing left.

Drained, I drag myself to the bathroom and wash my face. With a glass of water in my hand, I sit back down in front of my beautiful oasis. Reaching for a petal, I catch sight of a card I didn't see before hidden in the lush roses. Sitting up straighter, I reach for it. Turning it over, I slip the small square from the envelope. Pink and gold swirls color the paper, and I eagerly read the words:

Your beauty lights the sky, breaks the dawn, rivals the stars.

Edward

Laughing, I wipe more tears from my cheeks as I quickly grab my bag and pull out his number. I lay the small slip of paper before me and stare at it. Pulling out my phone, I awaken the screen, and a number I don't recognize pops up along with a voicemail.

I retrieve the message:

"Bella? Bella, Sweet Pea, Mommy needs you right now. I'm so sorry for what I did. I didn't mean it; you know I didn't. I would never, ever hurt my little baby. You are my precious little Sweet Pea. Forgive me, my darling, forgive me. I love you and you know I do. I love you dearly.

"I'm in jail, Sweetie, and I need you to bail me out. I got arrested but I wasn't that drunk. It's all a mistake. The breathalyzer was wrong. You know those things don't work right. My bail is five grand and I know you have the money, so bail me out, little Sweet Pea. Remember all the things Mommy has done for you over the years. Jacob would want you to use that money. Remember Jacob."

Her voice switches, like she just pulled down a giant lever on a breaker box, and the room turned pitch black.

"And, Isabella, if you don't give me that money…

"I guarantee you there will be consequences…"

I get the shakes so badly that my finger misses the delete button.

And I nearly heave.

Sobered-up guilt.

Fake. Filthy.

Maybe I should just give her the money. I could disappear. I could live in Canada, or somewhere like that...

I touch Edward's number on the slip of paper again. It's just a simple mix of seven numbers that would link us invisibly. I want to call him. Gush over his gift. Thank him profusely, but if I do this, he'll have my seven numbers. He'll have a direct connection to me I know I'm not ready for yet, so I set my phone to the side. I distract myself by touching silky petals, rubbing my fingers over bumpy, jagged leaves, and pressing my thumb against sharpened thorns.

I sit there for hours.

At some point, I doze off. I dream of Edward, of summertime at the cabin.

I see him, standing tall at the end of the dock, but instead of the wooden planks, hundreds of daffodils lay scattered, making a flowering path directly to him. I walk barefoot, sure and steady towards him, the petals soft and delicate on my feet. The sun glints off the gold and copper threads in his hair, and his smile curves to the tune of the waves gently lapping against the dock.

Standing on my tiptoes, I reach for him, my fingers pulling gently through his soft hair, and I hesitate, just a breath, before I touch my lips faintly against his: just a brush, the slightest whisper.

I awaken with a simple opening of my eyes.

Peace.

And touching my lips, I imagine his on my own.