The story deals with adult subject matter and occasional description of explicit sexual abuse. Not meant for underage readers. Read at your own peril. And oh, Twilight belongs to SM. This is just a fanfiction.

Beautiful Sorrow

End of Chapter 3:

"Goodbye Mrs. Swan. Give my regards to Charlie when he wakes up." He gave a soft smile to Renee and then turned on his heels and walked away with impeccable poise and grace. To Bella, it seemed like the light in the hallway dimmed a little with his departure.

A dazed Renee walked back to the room and they continued to share a stunned silence long after he was gone, neither quite able to believe the sudden good fortune that seemed to have solved all their problems in a single sweep.

He is an angel!

Chapter 4

Bella, 2009

Her husband didn't come to their room that night though Bella stayed up just the same, unwilling to be caught off guard again now that he'd made an appearance after his long sojourn. She wondered when things would go back to 'normal'. He had shown amazing restraint and patience for the past six months. In fact, other than the time when he laid down the rules about her treatment, he had hardly spared her a second glance. Until last night, that is.

She cautiously gave herself a few more weeks. She felt a little distressed, wondering how she'd return to the old, familiar pattern without the aid of alcohol. Last night was a bitter reminder of how badly she'd come to rely on the substance to take off the edge. Being sober made everything annoyingly real; an unwanted reality that she hoped she could run from. And run she did, in her mind, with the help of a little liquid courage.

Not anymore.

He wished her happy birthday last night. What did that mean? She couldn't remember him speaking to her kindly once during their marriage– unless they were in public, of course. He was very careful with her when they were among people. He spoke to her courteously, and allowed her to rest her hand upon his elbow when escorting her to places. Appearance of propriety was important to him, as was privacy.

When she woke up in the hospital six months ago, for a while there she thought he'd kill her for making such a public spectacle of herself. The young bride of the illustrious Carlisle Cullen being admitted to the hospital for substance abuse and anorexia. She could guess that a significant amount of cash had changed hands to make sure the incident didn't get reported in the media more than it already had. But there was no way of keeping the truth from the hospital staff. Fortunately for her, they already came oath-bound to preserve the secrets of their patients, but no doubt it'd upset her husband just the same.

Miraculously, he didn't lash out at her when she'd regained consciousness. He was waiting by her bedside when she woke, scrutinizing her with cold, tired eyes. He allowed her the time to collect her thoughts and bearings. The last thing she remembered was sitting by the fireplace in the house, reaching for the half empty wine bottle. She kept reaching, but couldn't seem to touch the damn thing. From her surroundings, she could tell she was in a hospital now. That didn't bode too well.

It took her sluggish brain a while to realize how badly her head was hurting, and how she could hardly muster the strength to move even a finger. She didn't know how she got there, or what exactly was wrong with her, but she knew he was angry. He hadn't spoken a word since she'd opened her eyes, but his quiet rage filled the room to the brim.

"I'm sorry," she said preemptive, in a raspy voice.

He made a quick motion with his hand to silence her, his eyes lighting up in warning. His clenched jaw told her he was not in the mood to hear any of her futile excuses. He pressed a button on one of the machines that surrounded her bed and left the room without giving her a second look.

Nurses and doctors poured over her soon after. The Chief of Psychiatry came by to assess the risk of her self-harming. In the early days, she felt completely out of her depth, not knowing how to answer the questions she was being asked. Her husband hadn't spoken to her at all, and she couldn't guess what he'd like her to say. She tried to counter all queries with innocuous responses, as far as possible.

No, she wasn't trying to kill herself.

No, she didn't think she was too fat.

No, she didn't purge after eating.

No, she wasn't depressed. She couldn't be happier in her marriage.

No, of course her husband had never hurt her. He loved her very much, for crying out loud.

Yes, she realized alcohol dependency was bad, and she was determined to stop. It was all just a mistake after all, she simply misjudged how much she was drinking. It wouldn't happen again.

Yes, she would eat properly from now on. Mealtimes tended to just slip her mind a lot… must be because of the alcohol in her system. She was resolved to do better.

Yes, she'd tell them if something was bothering her.

She had no idea how convincing she was since the doctors who spoke with her never gave any indication as to how they were processing her responses. They just made notes and nodded their heads in sage understanding. She was released after five days into her husband's care with a long list of instructions from her doctors – she had a whole task force convened just for her, she'd later found out. Her husband came to escort her home. He conferred with the attending physician and assured him that no expenses would be spared to guarantee that his wife received the best help possible to regain her health. She obediently climbed into the wheelchair and let her husband roll her out to the car.

She noticed a few changes once she arrived at the house. There was a padlock installed on the door to the cellar; all the vintage bottles the family owned were stored there. She felt quite sure that all the stray bottles had been removed from the kitchen and the bar as well. But she didn't linger to investigate as her husband was leading her to their room and she didn't want to appear reluctant to comply. She feared she'd done enough to crank up his ire; she didn't want to risk more.

Once in their room, she didn't know what to do with herself. Would he want her to follow the script that was expected of her at night? Or did the day time call for different rules? Would she have the physical strength to carry her through just yet? She still felt so wobbly on her feet; even after five days of intense care at the hospital.

"Sit," he said.

She looked around and sat on the edge of the bed. She guardedly followed him with her eyes, and when he didn't take his usual seat in the corner, she exhaled in relief. Maybe he would give her a few days to recuperate.

"So, you are an alcoholic and anorexic now," he stated coldly, sitting on a loveseat closer to the bed.

She lowered her head in shame.

"I'm…I'm sorry, I really didn't realize I was drinking so m-" She tried to apologize, but wasn't allowed to.

"Save it." He sounded exasperated.

"What are you trying to do, Isabella? You think this stupid ploy will work on me? That this little cry for attention will magically make me forget what you've done?" he continued. But he sounded more tired than angry.

Bella shook her head; she was under no such delusion.

"I've hired a nutritionist. She will stay in the house and monitor your progress. She will prepare all your food and whatever she puts before you, you will eat. I don't want to hear any complaints from her about you refusing to do so. Is that clear?" he asked.

She nodded her head in agreement. She felt like a child being berated by her mother for not eating her greens. The shame inundated her.

"A therapist will come to the house twice a week. You will talk to her and let her help you kick your bloody drinking habit. I will not tolerate a repeat performance of this, Isabella. Do you understand?" His voice shook a little towards the end, indicating that he meant business and she'd be well advised not to try his patience.

She had no intention to push his boundaries. She was beaten and she knew it. She had no wish of putting up a fight. What would be the point? But he'd asked her to talk to the therapist. What if she was asked questions that were too personal? What was the extent to which she was allowed to be candid?

"What should I say?...To the therapist, I mean?" She decided to ask rather than mess up later by presuming too much.

This seemed to anger him anew. He clenched his fists and growled, "Fuck! Just…just get better, ok? I never want to see you drink again. Not one drop!

"For heaven's sake, you are twenty five pounds under weight. What the hell are you trying to pull here? You will get back to a healthy weight and stop this nonsense once and for all. I will get regular reports on your progress, and if I ever get any reason to believe you are sliding, or not taking this seriously, I swear to you, there'll be hell to pay!"

His outburst didn't really provide her with a clear guideline, but she knew better than to press the matter. The bottom line was that her husband wanted her to fix herself physically. It probably wasn't as gratifying to exact punishment on a skeletal train-wreck as it was on a healthy, lively body. She quickly nodded her head to signal her complete complacency.

He stood up and moved swiftly to leave the room, as if he couldn't stand to share the space with her anymore, but she needed to ask him something important before he left her to her own devices, not knowing when next she'd have the chance to hold a civil conversation with him.

"Uh…do they know? My parents- did you tell them? That I was in the hospital, I mean?" she asked with bated breath. She couldn't imagine having to explain this to her parents. What would they say? What would they think? It would break their heart.

He slowly walked back towards the bed, but didn't take his seat. He shook his head.

"Please don't tell them…please," she begged.

"It was in the news before I could run any damage control. They will know sooner or later."

"What?...Oh no! Who? What are they saying? What do they know?..." Bella asked with clear concern in her voice. The prospect of her parents finding out about her stint at the hospital from a magazine stand was distressing to say the least.

"It's only one magazine; Glamour. Their story is that you fainted due to dehydration, and the doctors kept you in for observation," he said in a surprising soothing voice, as though he was trying to believe the story himself.

Bella contemplated the facts and realized that for a cover story it didn't sound too bad at all, not compared to the truth, and if she played her cards right, she just might be able to convince her mother that that's exactly what had happened.

"Don't tell them, please. Not the truth. I'll…I'll tell them we went hiking and lost our water bottles or something," she pleaded for him to cooperate. She might be able to sell the story to Renee, but not without his corroboration.

He looked at her for a long time, weighing his options, and then nodded his head.

"But don't let me down, Isabella. This can never happen again."

He'd left her alone with the warning, and hadn't spoken a word to her since.

Now, six months later, she lay in bed and wondered about her husband's strange demeanor as she tried to find sleep. Over the course of the past three years, she had learned to take comfort in the familiar and the predictable. Pain was familiar; cruelty was predictable. However agonizing it was, she could count on it as a constant. The sudden kindness scared her more. She didn't know what would come after, and that was a frightening prospect.

She woke up the next morning with the same unnerving feeling. It was Monday; a therapy day. Sylvia would oversee her weekly weigh-in in the morning and Dr. Weber would arrive at two.

She slowly forced herself out of the bed to face the day.

AN: Thank you for reading and giving me a chance. I'm on twitter: (at)ToTheDreaming.

Thank you lulabelle98, for making all this readable. I couldn't do it without you. Your new story The Long Walk Home is an epic in the making, I have no doubt.

Bronzehyperion's story Bring on the Wonder got nominated for Best Edward at the Avant Garde award. Also, AELGP's steamy piece Marital Psychosis got nominated for Best Jacob. Please vote when the time comes.

My dear friend roon0 is about to launch her fic career with a scrumptious one shot. Please put her on author alert so you don't miss it when she posts.

Thank you kimbo06, roon0, and lulabelle98 for the best WCs. I need them.

Thanks to every one of you who've reviewed. It means the world.