A/N: I hope you all are enjoying this story so far! This one is inspired by the original "Little Mermaid" but has all-human characters.

Sea-foam and Sea Witches

1

With nothing but uncertainty surrounding me, things shouldn't feel so monotonous. That seemed like something that followed a secure life—day-to-day activities would all fall into easy to ignore compartments in my mind, and I'd drift in and out of the present moment as I visualized a life that was something more. Of course, now, I shouldn't have time to drift and daydream in the middle of my work shift. I shouldn't feel so bored while everything in my life was so chaotic.

Twenty-four-years-old and I knew nothing of what I was. Every year of my life had sent me spiraling in all directions, never giving me a moment to breathe, let alone think of anything that wasn't skin deep. There was a reflection of a girl in the mirror with wide, guileless eyes, plump lips, and gaunt features. I was this shell. This pretty stranger without a grasp on the world.

I smoothed out my apron and gathered my untamed hair into a loose ponytail as I heard the front door chime, alerting the staff to the first customer of the day. Wanda's Diner was just off the interstate, inviting weary travelers to a cold beer and a hot bite. It was one of those middle-of-nowhere places and was surrounded by motels, truck stops, and gas stations. There was a small strip of shops across the way that looked as if they dated back to before the interstate was built. Now, they were rarely visited and stood as a landmark more than anything else. A sign of a different time.

The turnover at Wanda's was high, causing a frequent rotation of new faces that consisted mostly of travelers who stopped to make a few bucks before heading back on the road. I'd like to think I was one of those travelers. Now that I was free, I didn't want to be stationary. The thought of being here for an extended amount of time … it would be as if this place was becoming my identity.

Without a clear idea as to who I was, it felt like I could be molded into anything.

As if I stayed in this spot for too long, I'd become that spot. I was water, waiting for something to fill as I prepared to be transformed into any shape.

I couldn't continue like this. Now that I was entirely alone for the first time, I had to figure myself out. The present moment couldn't allot time for soul searching. An older man came into the diner and sat down at the milkshake bar. He was quiet and stared down at his clasped hands as he waited for someone to wait on him.

After snatching up my small notepad, I left my spot behind the soda machines and moved toward him. At this time in the day, ten-thirty in the morning, no one typically frequented Wanda's. Usually, our rushes came midday and midnight, at odd hours when everything else was close. All of the fast-food joints that had festered on the interstate's exits had apparently long since closed, leaving only Wanda's as the random hour option.

In the short time I'd worked here, I had seen all different sorts. While some were quite strange, many were like this man—a quiet one who kept to themselves. I approached him with a customer service smile that would always remain on my face every hour I was at work. I held onto the smile as if by letting go of the entire "customer service façade" for a second, people would see the real me, and it would be ugly.

"Good morning, sir! Here's a menu." I slid a laminated menu in front of him and waited for him to look up at me. When a few silent seconds passed and he didn't, I coughed before continuing, wishing that I was cheerier and more vibrant—something that seemed like a requirement for a customer service job. "Can I start you off with a water … or maybe a coffee?"

"Coffee. Black," he said in a choppy manner before peering down at the menu for a moment. Before I could move to grab the drink, he spoke again. "I'll take the number three. Eggs sunny side up."

"Sure thing!"

My voice and expression felt hollow. Although I was here … I wasn't really here. My mind was always one step ahead, and I wondered what I would do once I had the funds to skip town again.

This job, as dismal as it mostly was, taught me one thing: I wasn't the naturally perky type. Some of the girls who worked here were always chipper, causing me to wonder if there ever came a time when they weren't on. Is it possible to always seem happy? Is happy a natural state of being for some people? What even was "happy," anyway? What did happiness mean?

Did happiness mean alignment with a normal life? Marriage. Children. A career. What was "normal" anyway other than a suggestion? Before, I followed the "normal" life, trying to align myself with the things that should have made me happy. And I wasn't. I wasn't happy. Not even for a moment. Even the fleeting seconds that felt like they could be something resembling happiness had been quickly replaced by a darkness that I couldn't begin to describe.

This wasn't the time for deep thinking or soul searching. I poured the customer a freshly brewed cup of coffee before placing his order in the old POS computer. When I brought him his drink, he didn't seem in the mood to talk, meaning he was one of my favorite types of customers. All of the ones who preferred solitude to small talk ranked high on my list. They tipped just as well and asked for a lot less. Sometimes, it was nice to have a shoulder to cry on, of course, but other times, the best medicine was silence.

That was another thing I was sure of—I always preferred to suffer in silence rather than express my feelings openly. Maybe my life had just trained me to keep my mouth shut. In the past, exposing my feelings could have meant angering someone, which would have only deepened the shit I was drowning in.

As I waited for the man's food, I leaned against the cash register, giving me a clear view of the street outside. I peered at those shops that looked more like vintage landmarks. Was their business as slow and inconsistent as ours? Something like that must have been an introvert's paradise.

There were four shops across the street aligned in a row and two floors of apartments above them. There was a local pharmacy that seemed to act more like a convenience store, selling much of the stuff one could find at a gas station; a bar that opened at four o'clock every day, staying open until the early hours of the morning; a bookshop that seemed to focus on all things fantasy and science fiction; and a thrift store that always had a rack or two of clothes outside and a small sidewalk sale. Of course, this wasn't the sort of place for sidewalk sales—not even close—but it was nice to see that the owner was so determined to sell their old merchandise.

From what I could tell, there seemed to be a few tenants residing in the apartments above the shops. Half of the apartments were vacant, and the ones that were occupied were mainly filled by the staff of the shops below. The rooftop, something that stood out against the rest of the middle-of-nowhere town's dreary landscape, was decorated with a garden that was flourishing in the dry heat. There were roses covering a vast majority of the roof as well as a decorated seating area covered in lights and veins. Someone in that building really cared for the flowers, wanting to give the bleak town something beautiful.

What type of person could put so much time and care into something like that? Images filled my mind, all consisting of sweet old women who gardened during the day and baked cookies at night before settling down with their cozy mysteries before bed. The idea of that sort of life was heartwarming, feeling like the sort of comfort I could only dream about in the past.

Does the person who planted those flowers own one of the shops? If so, which one would feel the most like them? Probably not the bar … Perhaps the pharmacy? Or maybe something with a more mellow vibe … Maybe the bookshop? Or the thrift store? I thought I saw an older woman outside that store a few mornings ago … Was she unlocking the doors and preparing for business hours?

Out of seemingly nowhere, a man appeared on the roof. He was lean but seemingly muscular, wearing a thick pair of trousers despite the heat and a light cream button-down that was undone around his chest. His hair looked like copper and stuck out in many directions, and glasses were low on his nose as if he had to continuously keep pushing them back up into their appropriate place.

The man bent down and inhaled, smelling one of the roses before leaning back just enough to peer up at the sky. Today, the sky was a vivid blue with a few clouds here and there, giving the bright color texture. The sun was blistering—almost too hot for his trousers. The man didn't seem to mind, however. In fact, as he stood up there with the flowers, it seemed as if he didn't have a single care in the world.

Must be nice …

Maybe one day, I could make my way onto the roof and smell the roses too. Would that give me the "happiness" that everyone is always talking about. Could I one day be as carefree as that man who spends his afternoon peering up at the sky?

Before I could watch him meditating in the garden any longer, the customer's order was ready, indicated by the soft chime of the service bell. I moved away from my post with a longing sigh, wishing I could spend the day in the sunlight instead of inside this stuffy diner.

Soon, I'd have enough money saved up to move, and then, I'd move on to a new town with different prospects. Maybe I wouldn't have to settle down right away. It felt like, regardless of where I went, I'd carry this image of that random stranger among the flowers. Already, it hunted me like a distant memory.

Five hours later, my lunch shift was over, and I gathered my things, preparing to journey back to the motel I'd been staying at since my arrival. Today, I was restless, not wanting to go straight to my motel room only to sit and wait for my next shift. Television only occupied so much time, and already, I was growing bored with all the shows on the few channels the TV had.

Late night comedies only made me feel weary. Instead of spending time, I was just wasting it. Almost as if each day, I just waited idly for the sun to rise and set.

Today, I would go to the shops across the street and browse around. Maybe I'd find the creator of that beautiful rooftop garden. With that hope in my heart, I slid my backpack on and changed out of my nonslip shoes, placing them in my work locker, before sliding into my pair of sandals. Comfortable now, I waved goodbye to my coworker, a new hire whose name I didn't remember, before heading out.

First, I went into the local pharmacy, wandering around aimlessly as I looked at each shelf like I was planning a purchase. Despite needing many things, I wasn't in the mood for buying things that weren't entirely wants. Sometimes, shopping really did feel like the best therapy. While my little habit wasn't the best thing in the world, it seemed far better than the popular alternatives.

It turned out that neither the handsome rooftop man nor the old woman worked at the pharmacy. So, I passed by the bar next door, which was preparing to open, and moved toward the bookshop. The shop was called "Flight of Fantasy," and had a window display of popular science fiction titles for summer reading goals. There weren't titles I recognized, and surrounding the books propped up in the display, there were art cutouts depicting aliens and starships and the like. Even if I wasn't so curious about finding a particular stranger, I would venture inside just to pick up a few new titles.

My collection of books had been left behind. Just like everything else that I owned. When I had left, I only took the essentials. My well-being was more important than a few collectables, after all. Even though they were just objects, it felt as if I were abandoning fragments of myself. All of those things had been my identity, and now, I had nothing to lean on. Objects couldn't define me—I understood that—but when you barely knew yourself, things filled the void.

I opened the front door to the bookshop, setting off a small chorus of notes from the chime hanging over the entrance. It was a charming sound, inviting me to spend the day getting lost in the vast number of titles that the store offered. Unsurprisingly, the store was empty. Despite the owner's obvious hard work, the store's location was definitely its doom.

How much longer could a store like this survive near truck stops and motels? Were the truckdrivers, travelers, and carpetbaggers consistent readers too? I was, but I knew I wouldn't be able to carry a load of books with me as I traveled to my next destination.

Today, I'd choose one book to go "home" and engross myself in. As I first started to wander the store, there wasn't a single employee that I came across. The only sound came from outside, which was mainly just the passing of cars. The quiet was soothing, making the location feel like an escape from the world.

Suddenly, something moved out of the corner of my eye, and I turned away from the display of teen fantasy novels to find a man carrying a stack of books. The copper hair stood out immediately, and I nearly gasped as I came face to face with the man on the roof.

He was more handsome than I imagined, looking picturesque enough to be an actor. There was a cerebral way about him, and it seemed as if he was meant to live in this sort of beautiful environment. He was something from another world—almost too beautiful to be human.

If it weren't for the sad edge to his expression, as if he constantly carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, I would have thought him something fantastical. At first, he didn't say anything, almost as if he was surprised to see another living being inside of this shop. By the way he acted in the space, it seemed as if he worked here.

"Hello," he said, after a moment, in a voice that was as smooth as butter. "Is there anything I can help you find today?"

His voice was rich and polite. I wanted to bathe in its feeling. It took a moment to realize that I was just stupidly gawking at him. After taking a moment to fix my expression, I answered.

"Um, I was just browsing around … I've never been here before, and I wanted to check out the selection."

As I spoke, I wondered if I was saying too much. With the quietness of the store, every word felt like a hundred words, and in the short time that I spoke, I felt like I was babbling. I knew I was overthinking things, but my mind ran with thoughts before I could catch them.

He watched me for a moment before a small smile graced his face, and he dropped his gaze. "Well, if there's anything I can help you with, just let me know."

A man of few words and composed, unlike me; he carried the books over to an alcove where he began to shelve them. I watched him for a moment, almost transfixed by the man doing his job, before regaining control of my thoughts and moving deeper into the teen fiction section.

There were so many titles lining the shelves that I had been wanting to read for some time. So many books based on fairytales, modern retellings and alternate story lines. I picked one up, recognizing the artwork covering the front, and moved to read the description on the back cover. It was an alternate telling of "Beauty and the Beast," and without even finishing the description, I knew I had to purchase it.

Within no time, I had a small stack of books in my hands. The plans of buying a single title and reading it before purchasing another went out the window as soon as I picked up the first book. As I wandered through the sections, every so often, my gaze would shift to the male employee, enjoying the thoughtful nature he displayed as he placed every book on the shelf. He gave equal attention to every volume, putting meaning behind every one of his actions.

Sometimes, I would pay attention to his long, elegant fingers that seemed destined for a piano player. Truthfully, everything about him was elegant. From the way he walked to the way he went about his work, he did everything with care and grace.

By the time I was ready to check out, he was posed behind the desk with a stack of books in his lap. One of his elegant hands balanced the stack while the other rested on the computer's mouse as he researched new book titles and industry news online. His glasses had slipped to the middle of his nose, and he was so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn't push them back into place.

I wanted to reach out and adjust the glasses for him. The thought stilled me as soon as it entered my mind. After all that I had come from—all that I had run from—the last thing I needed was to fall for anyone now. I was still too close to where I had left. If someone wanted to, it wouldn't be difficult to find me here, and knowing that made me want to throw up.

Nothing in this town could inspire me to stay. Even a beautifully sad, copper-haired man who handles books as if they had feelings of their own and spent his mornings gazing up at the clear sky. I had to keep going. I had to keep moving until the whole world separated me from my past.

"You all set?" he asked without looking away from his computer.

"Yes. Thank you."

As I stepped forward, he let go of the mouse and moved to set the stack of books on his lap onto the desk in front of him. He gave a few of my titles an appreciative glance as he wrote down every title on the log in front of him and its price.

When he told me the price, I remembered why it was I didn't purchase stacks of hardbacks. Already attached to every one of my selections, I dipped into my apron and pulled out the wad of cash I had earned from my lunch shift. While I could have been putting this money toward food, I felt like I really needed these books. At least, my sanity needed them.

Strangely, I felt like they could somehow make me feel as if I was at home. The motel room wouldn't feel so cold and unfriendly. Maybe, even only while reading, it would feel somewhat comfortable. Right now, comfort sounded more appealing than a full stomach.

The man watched me count out the cash for a moment before saying, "Why don't I give you our first-time customer discount?"

As he said it, it sounded like something that he had just made up for my sake.

I peered up at him as I felt a blush color my features. Was he doing this because he could tell I was broke? Does he think I want a handout of some sort?

"You really don't have to do that …" I began to say, not wanting to put the handsome man out.

"Why? You said you've never been here before, right? I'll add you to our email list and—"

"I don't have an email," I interrupted as my blush grew.

Shit, that probably sounded rude, didn't it?

"A phone number? To add you to our customer list."

"Um …" I ditched my phone when I skipped town, not wanting to be traced in any way. "I don't have a phone or anything. You really don't have to give me a discount. I'm sorry I'm being such a bother."

His brows rose at this, and he leaned back in his seat, almost as if experiencing a loss for words.

Of course, I made a man who probably spends his days reading experience a loss for words …

"It's really okay. You obviously work around here," he said as he dropped his gaze to my nametag, which displayed Wanda's Diner on it. "You'll just see the promotions from our storefront. No worries." He jotted a few things down on his receipt for me before saying, "With the twenty-percent, first-time-customer discount … It looks like your total comes to … ninety-eight seventy-three."

I handed him practically all that I made in one day—a fifty, a twenty, and a bunch of crumpled up ones—and waited for him to count it and put it in his cash drawer. My gaze drifted to his fingers again as he counted the money, gave me my change, which was a quarter and a few pennies, and put my books in a brown paper sack.

"This will keep you busy for a while, I suppose," he said as he finished bagging my new hardbacks. "I probably won't see you in here for a while."

"I read fast." It slipped out before I could control myself.

There was no reason for me to feel so in tune with him. We were strangers and had only shared a few polite words. However, there was something about the sadness in his gaze that intrigued me. It seemed to match my own. While this man was handsome enough to be famous, there was an obvious story behind his attractive face. There were secrets lurking beneath his surface, skillfully camouflaged.

Was my sadness transparent too? Regardless of my customer service smiles and skilled small talk, did the sadness seep through?

Our eyes met as he handed me the bag. A friendly smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and I matched it, wanting to share the small moment with him.

"I'll be back," I assured him, not knowing why it felt necessary too.

After an almost sad nod, he said, "I hope to see you around."

As I left the shop, I chided myself for not learning his name. I wanted to provide mine but thought it might seem odd to him that the name on my nametag, Sara, was different than my real name. Then, I would have to explain my past and the reason I was so paranoid. Honestly, he could call me whatever name he wanted to. Perhaps names didn't really matter much at all. We had shared a moment together, so what was the real importance of knowing each other's names?

With a heavy stack of books, I moved to the last store, the thrift store, wondering if I would find the old woman there. I could ask her about the garden. Maybe my hunch would be right, and she would indeed be the one behind it.

Inside, there were piles of collectables—tchotchkes next to old china. Clothes were hanging from racks lining the walls, and there was everything from summer wear to winter coats all mixed together. Just like the previous stores, there wasn't an obvious employee at first. After a few minutes of wandering around, I came across the old woman I had seen previously.

In a yellow top and matching yellow pants, both linen and breathable in the summer heat, she sat on the floor polishing a collection of old spoons. She was humming to herself, lost in her own world, and took a moment to even notice she had a customer in the store.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," I said as her shoulders rose from hearing my misstep.

She laughed softly as she placed her hand holding the polishing cloth over her chest. "I didn't even hear you come in. Welcome! Is there anything you need help with today?"

I shook my head while returning her kind smile. "Not at the moment. I was just browsing around. I work at the diner across the street and just moved to the area …"

"Oh? Wanda's place? That's wonderful! Do you like our little town so far?"

The "little town" felt more like a roadside attraction than anything else.

"It's … charming," I said, thinking of the man next door as the word charming left my lips as a description.

The old woman, without missing a beat, smiled and extended her hand for me to shake. "I'm Annie. I've had this little shop for longer than you've probably been alive."

Hoping that my hair was covering the fake name on my nametag, I answered, "Bella. I've been working over at Wanda's for about a month."

"You like it there? Everyone treating you nice?"

No one stuck around there long enough to really hold a grudge. This wasn't the sort of place you stayed in for a prolonged period of time. It was as if the entire town was meant for passing through.

Of course, I didn't say anything of this to Annie. She had built her life in this town, and I didn't want my thoughtless words to diminish any of the happiness she had found here.

"Everyone is wonderful," I decided on.

She beamed at this. "That's always great to hear. Have you made any good friends so far?"

Unlike the employees from the previous few shops, Annie loved to chat. It seemed that she was mystified by having a new addition to her hometown. It was cute, seeing her so excited for my new beginning. There was something about her that made me feel like I could tell her every horrible detail of my past. Of course, I refrained from doing so.

"I'm really just now talking to people. Up until today, I'd just go back to the room I've been staying in whenever I'm finished with work. I saw all of the flowers on the roof and decided to come over here and talk to everyone in the shops."

I said this, hoping she would beam again and tell me all about how she planted the beautiful flowers on the roof. To my surprise, she had a very different story to tell.

"Oh? I know … those flowers are beautiful, aren't they? I was so excited when Edward told me about his idea to plant them."

"Edward?"

She smiled as if she were remembering something particularly sweet. "Edward Cullen. He owns the bookstore next door," she said as she peered down at the familiar brown bag containing the books in my hands. "He's lived here for some time now and planted all of those flowers a few years ago. His wife loved roses … I think he planted those flowers for her."

"Loved roses." The way she phrased this sounded odd. Did she not like roses anymore?

As if she had perfectly judged my gaze, Annie continued.

"His wife died a few years ago—a car accident involving their son. In a single day, he lost everything. His wife … and his four-year-old."

Death always made me feel hollow inside. For the longest time, death felt like something that was looming over me, and somehow, I pushed it to the back of my mind, compartmentalizing it for another day. No day ever felt like the right one to consider something so dreary. Whenever it was brought up, despite my vague focus on it, the topic always felt more visceral.

Death always felt like something that happened to everyone else, but one day, it would come for us all.

"I'm so sorry to hear that," I murmured, never knowing how to respond to tragic news.

Emotions made me so uncomfortable. I had lived like half of a person for so long—never letting my emotions show in fear of being violently reprimanded—and now, I still was barely able to make up a whole individual.

"Gabriella was a beautiful person. Inside and out. Their son, Anthony, was a handsome boy too. So cute and so caring. He used to come and help me with the shop sometimes. Of course, he was only playing with the old collectables, but he always liked to think that he was helping me run the shop. He would even talk to customers. Help them find things in the store …"

The old woman smiled then at a distant memory. It seemed like this Edward Cullen and his family had been close to her. Maybe everyone in this town was rather close. It was tiny, after all. With such a small population, everyone probably knew everyone.

"Are you and Edward close now?" I asked as I watched her get back to polishing her spoons.

She shrugged. With a sad smile, she replied, "He keeps to himself most of the time. Every time I see him, he seems lost in his own world. I try to talk to him, but it's not the same. He's not the same." After a pause, seemingly lost in another painful memory, she continued. "I was the same when I lost my husband Terry. It took me a while to feel normal again.

"Every step I took, I felt like I was just going through the motions. I woke up at the same time every morning. Made breakfast. Called my friends. During the day, I was well enough. As well as I could be, given the circumstances. The nights were the hardest parts. Feeling his absence in the room we had shared for so many years … It took hours to fall asleep every night. It never mattered how tired I was. Sometimes, I wished that God would've taken me too, but then, I thought maybe that was selfish …"

She trailed off after a moment as if she realized she was rambling and revealing more to a stranger than she probably wanted to. Then, when she remembered herself again, she looked to me and smiled. It was a half-smile that tried to hide all of the pain that had been festering inside of her heart.

"I'm so sorry."

She shrugged, and after a moment, she returned to the spunky state that I had found her in. "There's nothing to be sorry about. That's life, isn't it, after all?"

I nodded, not knowing what else to say. When she didn't push to continue the conversation, I stepped back, preparing to wander through her shop a bit more. Now that I knew about the roses, I felt like the questions that I came here for had been answered. Still, I felt like I had to say something more to her. A few parting words that would build a bridge between the two of us—something she could venture down every time she wanted the chance to talk.

"I hope that one day the two of you will get to talk about all of the things you've lost. I know it's nice to have someone who truly understands what you're going through. With my past, I'm always looking for someone who understands me, and when I find that person, it's like a breath of fresh air." Then, before she felt pressured to say anything else, I added, "It was nice meeting you, Annie. I'll come again sometime."

Annie beamed at this, putting her spoon and polishing cloth down onto a pile of other silver objects before standing up. To my surprise, she held her arms out, silently asking if I would want a hug goodbye. I couldn't remember the last time anyone hugged me. Has anyone ever embraced me with such tenderness?

I allowed the old woman to wrap her arms around me and found that it felt nice. More than nice. It filled me with a warmth that I had never experienced before.

Throughout our lives, we always like to believe that we're strong. Too strong to ask for help or a shoulder to cry on. I was always taught to keep trucking forward and never dwelled on the past for longer than I could help to do so.

"Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure." When I had first read this line in my high school lit class, I tried to conjure a single memory that would have made me happy to think of. At the time, I had come up empty. All of my life, I hadn't experienced a dose of happiness to remember fondly. Now, that has changed.

In the few seconds that Annie held me, asking for nothing while giving me everything, I felt warmth in my heart. We were strangers, but something told me that this was what love felt like. This was what I should have experienced as a child but didn't.

Once, I had fallen from a tree and broken my wrist. I didn't know it at first—I had been out playing without my mother's permission—and hid it in order to keep my secret excursion in the woods outside of our neighborhood safe. While I had gone home and thrown on a sweatshirt, keeping my right, broken wrist tucked away, my tears wouldn't cease. They trailed down my cheeks and gave me away.

Most parents would have worried, wondering why their child was crying so incessantly. Mom was different, and only paid attention to me when the crying overwhelmed her enough to cause her a migraine. "Can you please think of me and my head, Bella. Seriously. The world doesn't revolve around you," I could still remember her saying. Even after all of these years of separation, her voice was still vivid in my mind, almost as if she were in the room with me.

Of course, my broken wrist had felt horrible, but there was something I wanted more than for the pain to dissipate. Above all, I wanted to feel the warmth of her comfort. I had wanted her to take me into her arms and coo against my hair, telling me that everything would be okay as long as she were there.

Before now, I never knew that being held could be so fulfilling. In the arms of a stranger today, I felt that I wasn't alone. There were so many people suffering in the world and maybe if we held on to each other, the pain wouldn't have to be so overwhelming.

"Thank you," I murmured as we both pulled away, meaning it.

Since running away, this moment with Annie was the first time I had ever felt safe. In the time I had spent in her fragile arms, I had felt more at home in this strange town than I had ever felt anywhere in my whole life.

Maybe this really was a new beginning. A fresh start. The Earth was turning. The seasons were changing. And I was becoming reborn. The Bella Swan of today was different than the Bella Swan of yesterday or the Bella Swan of the day before.

Perhaps all my life, I was waiting to come into bloom.