A/N for 2019-07-28: As always, many thanks are owed to Eeyorefan12, whose dedication to this story cannot be overstated.

For those of you recovering from the last chapter, may it be some comfort to you to know that the real-life Bubbles is contentedly basking all twenty-five pounds of her sleek black self in some Vancouver sunshine.

Your comments on this story continue to delight and intrigue both me and my beta, so thank you for sharing your reactions.

For those of you have donated to the Babies and the Border fundraiser, thank you - it is a worthy cause. I'm looking forward to putting together the outtake from this story for the compilation.

~ Erin

"And how are things with Edward?" Jennifer asked.

"We're taking a bit of a break right now."

"A break?"

Bella struggled for a moment with how to explain this. "A few things happened last weekend. Edward told me . . . " and here she chewed on her lip before producing the lie. "He told me that he knew about my psychosis a lot sooner than I thought. I think that Sue—my stepmother—told him."

Jennifer's eyebrows lifted in a rare show of emotion. "I see. That must have produced some strong feelings."

"You could say that."

Jennifer's next question was quiet. "Did your father know?"

It was one of those inquiries that left Bella feeling like a marshmallow—probed and pinched gently, assessed to see for how long one could be held to the fire.

Bella had thought about this question for some time. Watching Charlie struggle through the hard dirt in her backyard, digging a small grave for the cat, she'd decided he hadn't known anything beyond what the psychiatrists told him. He couldn't know anything about Sue's disingenuousness He loved Bella too much, and he'd done too much for her, to ever believe that he'd betray her heart that way.

"No," she told Jennifer. "I don't think he did. I think I remember him trying to find Edward the first time I was in the hospital but he told the doctors he couldn't. He wouldn't lie to me about that. If Sue talked to Edward, Charlie didn't know."

"You didn't ask him then?"

Bella shook her head, and took a sip of water.

"So when did you find out about this?"

"Edward told me during Mer's birthday party." It wasn't exactly the truth, but it was close enough. Bella hoped her face disguised her discomfort. It was difficult enough to tangle up what was, and wasn't true, let alone keep it straight in her mind. She'd have to write it down when she got home, otherwise she'd forget what she'd told her.

Always perceptive, Jennifer looked at Bella and narrowed her eyes. "Did something else happen?"

"Yes." Bella's stomach clenched at the memory. "I cut my hand when I was cleaning up and had the usual reaction."

"You were physically ill?"

"Yes."

"Your metaphor," Jennifer muttered quietly, nodding and scribbling notes.

Yes, Bella thought bitterly, my metaphor. My precise understanding of what the hell is actually going on. She kept her thoughts to herself.

"That must have felt like a huge betrayal of trust, Bella. It sounds like you've taken a healthy step in giving yourself some space."

The praise was empty. What did it matter? The heat of her anger regarding the whole truth of Jacob's death and the sense of Sue's betrayal were still as painful as before. Neither lessened her yearning to have Edward near, nor softened her resolve to be away from him until she could think more calmly. Not that he was far away. She hadn't reached out, and neither had he, but she didn't doubt he hovered just out of sight. He'd promised he wouldn't be far and that he wouldn't leave again.

She wanted to believe him with all of her heart.

And she wanted to make sense of the deeper feelings that the anger so effectively obscured.

"What's going on in your head right now?" Jennifer asked softly.

Wouldn't we both like to know? Bella thought. She debated lying to Jennifer, but decided that part of the truth was harmless enough to share. "I'm wondering if he'll leave again."

"Do you think that's likely?"

"I really don't know." She tried to shrug, but her shoulders felt too tight. "He promised he wouldn't but . . . " She couldn't finish the thought out loud.

"And what about you, Bella. Do you think you're likely to follow your own pattern?"

"God no." Her lips twisted around the words. She thought of the wasted time spent holed up in hospital wards and shook her head.

"You say that like you're certain."

"I am certain. I'm different now. I have children. I won't abandon them."

Jennifer scribbled more notes on her page. "Would it be fair to say that Edward might have also changed?"

Bella mulled this over. Yes, it would, if she was being fair. But had he changed as much as she had? It was hard to say. Some things remained stubbornly the same. His overprotectiveness, his overcoddling—and yet, she couldn't deny the positive changes she saw every day . . .

"Would it?" Jennifer asked again.

"I suppose so," Bella muttered. She watched Jennifer make more notes, wondering what she was writing down. She decided she didn't want to know and let her eyes drift to the open window. The tips of a purple-leaved cherry waved at her in the breeze.

Jennifer's voice snapped her attention back to the room. "Sometimes, when we have relationships that span a length of time, or that are anchored in an earlier part of our lives, we can become rigid in the way we see them. It would be perfectly natural for you to be holding onto older ideas about who Edward is, or how you are together. Maybe even how he would react to a given situation."

Bella considered this idea carefully, and found it easier to accept than she had expected. "I suppose."

Her psychiatrist nodded and then posed another question. "Last time, you mentioned that you hadn't been sexually intimate with Edward. Has that changed?"

Bella wrestled with the topical whiplash, a hot blush making her feel uncomfortably warm. "No."

"I ask, because the closer, more trusting, and more intimate a relationship is, the greater the sense of betrayal, when difficult truths are revealed."

"No," Bella reiterated. Then she ground her teeth together again, knowing exactly where the woman was going, and what difficult memory she wanted to unearth.

"Have you told Edward about your first sexual experience?"

Bella groaned internally. There it was. "No." She let herself hope that Jennifer would leave it alone. Surely she could see today was difficult?

But no. No such luck. The woman flipped through her thick pad of notes, stabbing the offending page when it came into view, and then launching into a reading of the notes there.

Bella closed her eyes, and against her wishes, recalled the vivid event.

"Yep," she said to Matt, as he swung their hands back and forth on the walk to his apartment, "you're my jam."

"Your jam, huh?"

"Exclusive jam," she said, nodding.

He let go of her hand briefly to fiddle with the tricky lock on the door. Once he got it open, he pushed into it with his shoulder while wrapping his hand around hers. "Guess that makes you the peanut butter."

She giggled. They'd been seeing each other for just over six weeks. After several failed attempts, they'd finally managed to watch a movie together . . . or, at least sit in the theatre while it played, and enjoyed each other's company.

"So," she said between his kisses, "now that we can check a movie off our list, what should we tackle next?"

"Cute," he replied, grinning, and then whoofed out a "Hut!", pushing her down onto the couch.

It had been Matt who squealed though, as she dug her fingers into his sides, tickling him mercilessly.

"Fo-ul!" he cried. Then he kissed her again.

She moved her hands to his shoulders and his chest. This pleasing set of activities continued, their hands becoming bolder in reach as they explored the territories of each other's bodies.

He pulled back a little, drawing a disappointed, "What?" from Bella.

"Mmm." He nuzzled his nose against her neck. "I want to make a sandwich."

"Seriously?" she laughed in relief. "We just ate!" She reminded herself that he played football too. He had a daunting appetite.

"I was thinking about a peanut butter and jam sandwich."

"O—kay," Bella said, wondering why he was still sitting with her and not moving to the kitchen.

Then he leaned in and kissed her again, scooping her up, strong arms tight under her legs and back.

"Um—I can walk to the kitchen, and I'm not hungry."

"I know, peanut," he said, kissing and carrying her into his bedroom. "I figured an English major wouldn't need a metaphor explained." He laid her on the bed. "I'm the jam. You're the peanut butter." He fingered the sheets and smiled. "Metaphorical sandwich."

"Ah," she said with a flutter of nerves, and then kissed him. "I like sandwiches," she said huskily.

She removed her own shirt, and Matt followed with his. The rest of their clothing disappeared in a series of incredibly uncoordinated movements that drew laughter from them both.

Then things became much more serious, their bodies pressed to each other with an intimacy she hadn't known before. She wrestled with herself, trying to stay in the moment, trying to stay with him—but her mind strayed. Thoughts of Edward, and what this might have been like with him, intruded with far too much ease.

When Matt pressed into her, she gasped at the unexpectedly-sharp pain the action brought. The discomfort at least made her focus on the present and Matt's hands and kisses. He was gentle and slow, especially once her lack of experience had become clear, and the initial discomfort was quickly replaced with more pleasant sensations. These were fleeting, though, because then she caught the slight scent of blood. Panicked by her anticipated reaction, she frantically shoved Matt away, bolting for the bathroom.

"It's okay," Matt said quietly, slipping a robe over her back as she stood before the toilet, hands sweeping her hair away.

"I'm so sorry," she muttered, straightening up and going to the sink. She washed out her mouth, and then brushed away tears of shame. She hadn't told him about this particular symptom yet. She hadn't thought she'd need to. Her voice was a rough whisper when she spoke. "I can't handle smelling my own blood. I didn't expect—"

"I gotcha. It's okay." His hands were still on her, his voice gentle.

That was when she really looked at him. He'd tied his plaid shirt around his front like an apron. It looked ridiculous, particularly with the centre of it tented around his groin. Her laugh bubbled up of its own accord.

Matt followed the trajectory of her gaze, and then quirked an eyebrow. "Now, that's a reaction I can't say I really expected."

Mortified, she started to apologize, but could barely get it out for her laughter. "No. . . I didn't mean. . . I'm sorry, it's just—we were just, and—sorry. I get it. Thank you for—" she gestured back to the toilet, and then looked at him, all the while blushing furiously. "Thank you."

He smiled and held his arms open. She took the invitation, stepping into the embrace.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Good," he murmured.

After a moment, she looked up at him. "I really screwed that up."

"Nice pun," he laughed.

She laughed too. "So, have I wrecked sandwiches for you?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Oh good. Want to, um . . ."

"Go finish making one?" he asked hopefully.

Bella took his hand. "Yes."

Matt had been good to her, and knowing what being with her had cost him, she couldn't help but feel she hadn't deserved him. His children hadn't deserved to lose him, either.

Jennifer was still droning on about the details Bella had just remembered on her own. "You must see a connection between what happened at the birthday party, and this?" She finally asked.

"I'm sure you do," Bella gritted out.

Jennifer paused, letting her pen rest on the page, looking directly at Bella. "Success with this therapy requires your best efforts and good will, Bella. You've already mentioned your determination to succeed today. I don't think I need to remind you of what failure here will mean."

No. She didn't. But Bella was wrangling with a fresh wave of grief and guilt, chest too tight to be able to push out words. She shook her head, wiping at her eyes.

Jennifer waited.

Bella knew, very well, to what veiled threat her psychiatrist was referring, and that if the woman was bringing it up, she was walking a very fine line indeed. She needed to reassure her. "This is hard to talk about."

"Of course it is, but it's important that you do. Otherwise, your psychosis may be triggered again."

Bella made herself nod, grinding her molars together. "Yes. I'm sure there's a connection."

Jennifer waited, her gaze pointed and clear. When Bella didn't add anymore, she spoke again. "In addition to the betrayal you feel, I suspect there's some guilt too."

Fuck you, Bella thought. She repeated the silent utterance.

"Do you disagree?" Jennifer let this silence be longer.

"No," Bella finally admitted. It was true. She did feel guilty, but it was small, and for Matt. And he was dead. She could only repay that debt with love for their children. He wouldn't begrudge her happiness with Edward.

If she could stop being angry with Edward.

Jennifer switched tacks. "Have you spoken to your stepmother about what you've learned?"

"No."

"Do you plan to?"

God, no. "Not yet."

"She and your father have been an integral support system, Bella. You have no other family nearby." She frowned.

"I will speak with them, but one thing at a time."

"And what will the first thing be, in managing your feelings here?"

"Well, I'm here." She would talk to Edward, she just needed . . . time. It hurt too much to even think of seeing him. She didn't probe too carefully at why, she only knew she had avoided doing so. The longer she put it off, the more she felt a gnawing sense she had forgotten something . . .

But Jennifer was shaking her head. "No. This is a hard line. You need an emotional support system." She glanced at the clock, nose wrinkling. "We're almost at time right now, but I want to follow up next week, and see what progress you've made towards a goal. So how are you going to move towards finding someone to talk to about this, aside from me?"

"I'll talk to someone."

"Who?"

"Esme," Bella said, pulling a name out of the air.

"And she is?"

"Edward's mother."

"And you'll be comfortable speaking with her?" Jennifer was making a rapid few notes.

"I guess I'll need to be," Bella sighed.

Their time done, Bella walked out of the office and towards the cool parkade. Inside her car, she let her head rest against the seat, closing her eyes. She'd been exhausted at the start of the appointment, and now she simply felt drained. She'd just rest for a moment, and then she'd go pick up the kids.

When she opened her eyes again, it was an hour later, and she sat up with a jerk. "Shit!" she hissed, fishing through her purse for her phone. She had ten minutes to get herself thirty minutes away in rush-hour traffic. She tapped her fingers against the dash as the number rang. No one picked up. It wasn't necessarily a bad sign—Mrs. Cho was often busy and couldn't always get to the phone. She tried not to think of other, more nefarious reasons as to why she didn't answer. . Even though she was on good terms with her caregiver, Bella had been late often enough to wear those good graces thin. She couldn't be late again.

Her best guess as to which Cullen was near her children was Esme. Swallowing her pride, she dialed her number next. Her suspicions were right, and Esme assured her she would pick them up and take them home.

Bella hung up and exhaled in relief, squirreling away her uneasiness. She'd said she'd talk to Esme, but she hadn't planned on doing it today.

"No time like the present," she mumbled, and turned over the ignition.

DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.