We made it to couples therapy!
Edited: I know I had previously asked if people wanted this story to end here, but nvm. Forget I asked LOL I've already more written and you're going to get it whether you want it or not!
Also, Bella's family was mentioned in detail back in ch 7 so if you need a little reminder of some stuff... maybe skim it before reading this beast of a chapter? (it's killing me not to split it!)
Thanks to those who are still here and excited for these two to put in the work!
47
- all of me -
Bella
When I show up to our first therapy appointment a few minutes early and don't see Edward's 4Runner in the parking lot, I stay in my car and call Rosalie.
"Funny timing, I was just about to text you," she says instead of hello. "I'm not gonna be able to grab lunch tomorrow since Emmett's flying home today."
"Is he okay? I thought he wasn't coming home until next week?"
"Yeah, he's okay. He just wants to spend a couple of days with me before he flies to Detroit for his game. Do you want to get lunch today since we can't tomorrow? I'm free now before he lands."
"I wish I could but I can't. Guess where I am?"
She hums, thinking. "Oh! The doctor, right? Don't you have an ultrasound to find out the sex?" she asks excitedly.
"No, that appointment is next week," I clarify, my nerves shifting to anticipation because I can't wait to find out what we're having. "I guess I am at the doctor, but probably not the kind you're thinking of."
"Oh, God," she groans. "Don't tell me you're gonna go all holistic on me? Water birth at home?"
I laugh. "Okay, not to hate on anyone who's into all of that but it's definitely not for me. Not at all."
"Good. Childbirth is beautiful and natural, and I want to be there for you if you want me to, but I don't think I could watch you sitting naked in a tub of water and blood. There are limits to every friendship, you know?"
I laugh a little harder, grateful for the ease she's bringing me right now.
"Well, thank you for making your boundaries clear," I tease.
"You're so welcome," she replies, amused. "So, where are you?"
My eyes flick toward the white-bricked building with a sign that says Los Angeles Wellness Center.
"I'm about to go to a therapy appointment… with Edward."
"Whoa."
"Yeah."
"How are you feeling?"
"Nervous. Definitely nervous."
"Yeah, that's a pretty big step for you two."
"Things have been calm between us recently. Not perfect or anything… not that we ever would be," I correct, giving us a little grace. "But we've been good ever since he went with me to that photoshoot a couple of weeks ago," I tell her, still holding all of those tender moments between Edward and me that day at Runyon Canyon close to my heart.
We've been taking things slow.
We haven't talked about what we are or what we'll do about the pending divorce.
We stick to safe topics, like the baby. Weather. Work.
We've kept things easy, and it's been working for us. Sometimes we grab lunch. Other times we go days without talking, then spend three nights in a row chatting on the phone.
"I'm just nervous this therapy appointment could set us back somehow," I mumble.
"I get that. But even if it's difficult, that doesn't mean it's not helping. It might feel like it's doing more harm at first because emotions can be messy. It's like… popping a pimple," she says, and I cringe. "It's there, unavoidable at the surface and oozing, but it won't go away on its own. You need to squeeze it. Make it worse, make it bleed. Get out all the bad stuff. Then it can heal."
"Really glad we're not going to lunch now," I joke. "Congrats, you just made a pregnant woman lose her appetite."
She laughs. "It was the best—or worst—analogy I had."
"I understand what you're saying though. It's just… scary," I sigh. When I spot Edward's car pulling into the lot I say, "He just got here so I should go. Enjoy your time with Em."
"Wait, wait. What are you hoping to get out of going to couple's therapy?"
"What do you mean?"
"Give it to me straight—do you want Edward back? Or just trying to be friends and successful co-parents? There's no wrong answer, just say whatever you feel."
"I don't… know," I say, feeling a surge of anxiety, watching him park. He doesn't get out of his car right away. "I don't know what I want because I haven't really let myself think about it yet."
"Okay, quick—imagine co-parenting five years down the road. He drops off your kid for the weekend and says he wants him or her to meet his new girlfriend," Rosalie says. "Or worse—they've already been dating for a while, and your kid is close with his girlfriend. Edward tells you he's going to propose to her soon. How do you feel?"
"This scenario is weird," I joke, buying time because the way my heart races in my chest isn't safe. "Why would Edward tell me he's going to propose—"
"Don't be logical about this, Bella. Not right now. Use your heart, not your head."
Heart.
Not my head.
No logic.
Only emotion.
I close my eyes and really let myself imagine the scenario.
It doesn't take but seconds for me to know my true feelings.
"I feel… sick," I whisper to Rosalie. "Heartsick. Imagining him eventually being with someone else?" My pulse picks up, my hands feel clammy, and when I open my eyes there are tears in them. "Imagining him being someone else's loving husband years from now? Being a devoted father again but to another woman's baby?" I list off, getting worked up the more I speak. Rubbing a soothing hand over my small bump, I say, "He's ours. He's mine. I still love him, Rosalie. You know I do."
"Oh, wow. Okay. Wow," she breathes out again. "I knew you still loved him, but I wasn't expecting you to admit it just like that."
"Surprise," I say flatly. "I'm a mess."
"Who isn't?" she laughs. "He's gonna need to make sure you want him back because you love him, not just because of the baby. So it's gonna take some serious thought and maybe some time, but we got this."
"We?" I laugh a little.
"Well, yeah, dummy. I'm gonna be there for moral support," Rosalie says sincerely, easing my anxiety.
My eyes bounce to the rearview mirror. Edward's car is parked one row behind me and I watch him get out and look down at his phone.
I wipe my eyes as I get a text from him.
Edward: Hey, I'm here. You're not gonna make me do couple's therapy alone, right?
He's here.
He's trying.
I'm here.
I'm trying.
It's going to take a while for us to trust each other again. I know that. But I think we can do it. I want that. Even if it takes one year or five. I don't want him to be with anyone else. To love anyone else. I don't want that for myself either.
"I worry it's too late," I mumble to Rosalie, doubt getting the best of me.
"It's never too late to fight for what you want. Shit happens. You fix it and heal. Second chances are not unheard of. Just be honest with him. Even if it's nerve-wracking and emotional, it's the only way you'll both get anything out of this."
I'm still watching him in the rearview mirror and catch the moment he sees my car and starts walking across the road, over to me.
I take a deep breath. "Okay. Thank you. I mean, screw you for making me think about Edward marrying someone else but also… thank you."
Rosalie chuckles. "Sorry, not sorry. You got this. Text me later," she says just before we hang up.
Edward appears by my driver's side window and opens my door for me. I nervously gather my purse, dropping my phone and keys in it before getting out.
"Thank you," I tell him as he shuts my door, but I'm thinking I love you. "How are you?" I ask, but I'm thinking I miss you.
"Tired," is all he says, loosening the knot of his tie. His eyes roam over my face and my exposed neck. "I like your hair up like that."
My insides warm as I say, "I know."
He's always loved when I wear my hair up. Once, when I asked him why, he said he liked seeing all of me. No hiding behind curtains of hair. Full access to my face and neck if he felt tempted to kiss it. I was feeling lazy this morning and didn't want to wash my hair so I can't exactly say I wore a ponytail just for him, but knowing that he has a soft spot for it makes me happy and hopeful.
"Hey." He says it with intention, not as a hello.
I look up at him. "Yeah?"
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
"We're already here."
He searches my face. "I know."
"Are you nervous?"
He laughs but it's shallow and not amused. "Fuck yes."
"Well. So am I. And we're in this together, right?"
"What if… what if we want different things?" he asks quietly.
His words fill me with panic, and before I can overthink it, I blurt, "I just want to say I love you, okay? No matter what happens in there. I'm still in love with you, and I miss you, and I want this to work. I want us to work."
He blinks, stunned, and I realize too late maybe this was the wrong time to say these words aloud.
"Let's go," I say, and start to walk.
He gently grabs my arm to stop me in place and doesn't let go. "Bella."
My cheeks burn. "What?"
"Why would you say that?"
"Because I meant it, Edward," I murmur, my voice soft and tentative and nearly pleading. "I mean it."
He says nothing. Does nothing.
From the look on his face, I really, really, really shouldn't have said any of that.
"Let's just go, please," I suggest again. "We don't want to be late."
He doesn't disagree with my insistence and my body pricks with embarrassment.
With a solemn nod, he says, "Okay."
It's tense between us. Awkward. I don't regret saying any of that, though, because I meant it.
With more nerves than I showed up with, Edward swings open the door, letting me walk into the building first. I purposely head toward the directory on the wall to figure out which suite we're heading to, even though I already know. I was thrown off kilter from the interaction in the parking lot and I need something else to focus on for a second.
In silence, we walk down the hall to suite 110 and into a small room where there are a few other people waiting.
Unlike the lobby, this space is warm, calming, and slightly homey with a small Christmas tree in the corner of the room, the holiday just twelve days away.
Edward lets me sit in the only chair available and stays standing near me until the bookshelf catches his attention and he walks over to look at something.
It feels like he's avoiding me.
It feels like I screwed up.
A minute later, the door opposite the one we walked through opens, and a petite woman with wavy auburn hair appears. I'm not sure which patient she's here for until she says our first names aloud.
My stomach drops a little.
Over lunch a week ago, Edward and I randomly chose her together from a list of therapists who were covered by his insurance. There was no picture attached, nothing to indicate she'd be this attractive. Just her name—Angela Weber—and her credentials.
I hate that my initial reaction after seeing her is to leave.
The idea of sitting in a room with this woman who is going to hear all of our dirty laundry while likely being attracted to Edward rubs me the wrong way. I'm not sure how honest or open I can be if I'm feeling uncomfortable and insecure.
Edward turns around after he hears his name and smiles politely at her, then steps closer to me.
He sees my face and must read it well. And then he extends a hand my way.
I grab it, thinking he's just helping me stand, but then he keeps my palm in his even as we walk down the hallway into Angela's office.
I'm surprised by the minimal affection after our interaction in the parking lot, but grateful. His small gesture makes me feel more comfortable and more secure. But deep down I know I need to seek comfort and security in myself, not him.
I remind myself of a conversation I had with Jane recently after I told her about finding Edward and Cecily alone and drinking in his dressing room. She told me that even if Cecily is attracted to Edward, that doesn't automatically mean it's reciprocated. And even if he finds her enticing, that doesn't mean he will act on it. My trust needs to be in Edward. I can't control other people, and I can't control him. I can only control the way I react and think and feel.
So I breathe, and I tell myself if anything, having this therapist will be a test to find security, confidence, and faith in not just Edward, but myself too.
"Sit wherever you'd like," Angela tells us.
There's a couch and three different armchairs around a coffee table. Our hands break free, Edward letting go first as he immediately sits in an armchair. I try not to read into it, like he doesn't want to sit on the couch with me, and I get comfortable in the chair next to him.
"Welcome," Angela says, sitting on the couch across from us, grabbing a notepad and pen from the marble coffee table.
"Thanks," Edward and I say at the same time.
I chuckle nervously.
Angela smiles.
Edward stays stoic.
"The first thing I'd like you both to do is take a deep breath." We audibly inhale. Exhale. "I want to commend you both for being here. Couple's therapy can reopen old wounds, but this is a space to safely and comfortably look at these wounds to find ways to heal them. This will be a process that will ultimately lead to a better understanding of yourselves and each other, but it takes time, effort, and cooperation from you both. A willingness to share, listen, and above all else, be honest."
Edward and I stay silent, but I take her words to heart.
"I know a little about why you're both here—the bullet points at least—so thank you for filling out all of the paperwork before arriving and being willing to share with me," she says kindly. "For the first appointment, I usually take your lead. I like to see how you interact and respond to each other. I can start the conversation or let you two suggest something you'd like to discuss."
Edward and I exchange a glance. He shrugs.
"Whatever you think is best," I tell her.
"Okay, we'll I'd like to start with you both locking eyes and sharing one good memory of each other. It can be a feeling, a concrete moment. Anything."
We stare at one another. His gaze feels more distant than mine.
"The day you met my parents," Edward says first, taking me back to the past. "The way you got emotional after my mom hugged you goodbye."
We're only one minute in and I already want to cry.
Angela looks at me, waiting for my turn.
"Hugging you on top of Runyon Canyon two weeks ago," I say quieter, bringing us to a more recent memory. "When you touched my bump for the first time. I regret not taking a picture of that moment now because… because I don't know when the next time will be that you'll feel our baby."
His eyes soften.
Angela hums in content, then focuses on Edward. "How are you feeling?"
He shifts a little uncomfortably and undoes the top button on his suit jacket, letting it fall open a bit. "Feeling about… what Bella just said?"
"Anything you'd like to share."
"I'm nervous," he says after a beat, and I turn a little to watch him speak. "I'm… I don't know if I can..." Another awkward pause, before he locks eyes with me, his expression hard and hurt. "Why did you say that? In the parking lot?"
My chest squeezes and I realize now that he had more to say about it, but he was saving it for therapy.
"I told you, I meant it," I reply, feeling nervous with Angela's eyes on us. "Why else would I say it?"
Edward stays silent.
"What did you say to him, Bella?" Angela encourages. "If you don't mind sharing."
"I… before we came in here, I told him… I said I'm still in love with him. That I miss him and I want this to work," I mumble. "I said it because I was feeling it. I don't want to just co-parent with him. I want us to get to a healthy place and get back together. I want us to stay married."
She hums and shifts her attention to Edward again. "How did that make you feel, hearing Bella voice all of that?"
"I just…" He scoots forward in the chair so he's sitting on the very edge, and scrubs a hand down his face. He looks like he's about to bolt. "I'm not saying that's not what I've wanted to hear for so fucking long, but… in the parking lot? Before our first therapy appointment?"
"I know," I whisper, staring at his profile, watching the way his sharp jaw tightens.
"What exactly about her words upset you?" Angela wonders.
Edward shrugs. "It looks… feels like… I don't know."
"Manipulative?" I offer, knowing in my heart it wasn't but seeing how it might look like that.
He shakes his head and stares at the ceiling. "Maybe? It feels like… maybe you didn't mean it. Like you just wanted to offer me some hope to make sure we do good in here. Perform well. Put on an act. And I'm not gonna hold back. I'm fucking not. I'm—"
"Edward, no." My heart pangs with regret. I want to reach for him, but I don't. "Why do you think that?"
"I would encourage you both to let the other finish their thoughts before speaking," Angela says evenly. "It's so important."
Edward doesn't say anything else.
I wait.
"Can I speak?" I ask, and he nods but still doesn't look at me. "I'm not asking you to hold back, okay? I'm sorry for letting all of that slip before we came in here. I'll be more cautious next time and aware of how things might seem."
I can feel Angela's gaze on me.
"May I ask why you told him all of that Bella? From what Edward just said, it sounds like these are things he hasn't heard, or at least felt, in a while. So why now, if you don't mind my probing."
Now he does look at me. Both of their gazes are expectant. Curious.
I focus on Edward. "I said it because I meant it. I… I told you weeks ago on Thanksgiving when we talked over FaceTime that I never stopped loving or missing you," I remind him. "It was true. Did you not believe me then?"
He sniffs. "It felt different."
"How? Why?" I push.
"I don't know, Bella. I'm not in your brain. I don't know how it works," he says, not harshly, just truthfully.
Angela waits.
I try talking it out.
"Why now?" I echo Angela's question. "I don't know. I was on the phone with Rosalie right before you showed up. And she asked me if we're doing therapy because I want you back or if we were just doing this to be friendly and to successfully co-parent," I explain nervously.
When I glance over at Edward, I have his full attention again.
"And what did you tell her?" he asks.
I close my eyes, already knowing how it's going to sound. "I said I didn't know."
The room is silent.
I open my eyes and keep going, telling them about the scenarios Rosalie offered up, a way of helping me figure out my true answer to her question.
"It scared me," I mumble, looking at Edward. "Imagining you eventually moving on… being a father to another woman's baby? It killed me. It…" My eyes burn and I reach for a tissue from the small table between Edward and me.
He doesn't react. At least not outwardly.
"So, you said it out of fear," he says flatly. "That's why it felt different than you telling me you still loved and missed me on Thanksgiving. You said it today because you were scared."
"Just because I'm scared doesn't mean I don't love you," I mumble. "You know it's more complicated than that. We're more complicated than that."
He scoffs. "I didn't want to show up like this. Be like this. I woke up today feeling good about everything. Hopeful. So I'm sorry, but you just… threw me off with all of that in the parking lot. And it's like… like now I can't find my way back. Not until you say something to me that makes me understand, and hearing that you want to make this work just because you're scared makes me understand you less."
"Are you not scared?" I ask, maybe even accuse.
"I'm fucking terrified, Bella," he says sharper. "We've done this before. Not therapy but we almost reconciled and then… look what happened. And before you say anything, I understand lying to you was the reason behind us splitting for a second time. But… fuck. I don't know. I don't think we would've been able to make it work even if I hadn't lied."
"Maybe that's true," I admit, even though it hurts. "We'll never know. But without that almost reconciliation, we wouldn't have this baby."
"Trust me. I know. I don't regret that at all," he says fiercely. "Our baby is one of the best things that came out of the worst of us."
Maybe that should sting, too, but I know it's true.
When neither of us speaks again, Angela does.
"Who initially started the divorce process?"
Both of us stay silent.
"She did," Edward says gruffly. "She filed last October after she left me. And then… I delayed things until I finally signed this past October. After she pushed for it to happen again."
I take a deep breath, dab my eyes, and tell her, "That's true."
Angela writes something down. "The idea behind divorce is that you both move on. So, why do you think your friend's comment about Edward potentially moving on affected you so much, Bella?"
"I mean, I still love him," I sniffle. "I never would have adjusted to the idea. Ever. Even if I hadn't gotten pregnant and eventually tried to move on myself—"
"You did move on," Edward says harshly. "With that guy."
"That wasn't me moving on," I insist, shooting a glare. "The same way it wasn't you moving on with Kim. Right?"
"So, what was it? You getting even?" he asks. "Raising my fucked-up mistake by making your own?"
"Maybe," I say truthfully. "It didn't feel that way at that moment. But maybe. I've been in such a weird headspace over the last few months. Now adding hormones to it all… I can't justify why I did that. But I want to believe it wasn't to hurt you. I never expected or wanted you to find out."
"Great," Edward mutters, knee bouncing.
"I understand why that hurt you. Trust me, I know all too well. But what I don't get is why you want to punish me so much for it. For the same thing you did, but lied about."
"Because you knew I wanted us to stay together. You knew I loved you. And you still did it. When I did it, I had nothing but divorce papers and a wife who was fucking ghosting me. I didn't think you loved me. That's why it's different."
His words send another punch to my already bruised heart.
"Well, it feels different to me because… because Maria showed me the texts you deleted," I finally admit, my voice shaking, but he doesn't look surprised. "I didn't want to bring this up because I'm trying to let it go and I have forgiven you. I really have. Doing what I did with that guy helped me understand you better. But I guess now is the time to address everything that we can, so… yeah. I know you told Maria you were never going to tell me about sleeping with her roommate."
He doesn't miss a beat. "It was how I felt at the time. I didn't want to tell you. I know it's wrong, but the only thing I could assume was that if I told you, there was no guarantee you'd ever come back to me. Was it dishonest? Yeah. Do I regret it? More than any-fucking-thing. I just… I just needed you to come home," he mutters, his voice breaking before he coughs to clear his throat.
My eyes burn and I blink the tears away, staring at the ceiling.
"It's important to acknowledge that you both have your reasons and truths. Just because the other can't understand it yet, it doesn't mean anyone is more right or wrong. You're both human," Angels explains.
Edward locks eyes with me and stares hard for a few seconds before looking away.
This is why I was worried about coming here. I feel so far away from him. And maybe Rosalie is right, things have to get worse before they get better, but we can't see past our hurt at this very moment. I don't know if we ever will.
"Maybe it was me who pushed for the actual divorce, but at the end of August, when we decided we couldn't make it work—"
"When you decided," Edward interjects.
"Please let her speak," Angela tells him. "It hinders the process when you interrupt each other's honest thoughts. You might find yourselves holding back, afraid of the other's reaction."
Edward looks annoyed, and after a beat, I reply.
"This isn't all on me. I wasn't the only one to decide. I didn't make you sign the divorce papers, Edward. I didn't force you."
"You didn't really give me a choice either, did you?" he barks, raising his voice. "How much longer was I supposed to fucking fight for us? How many more times could I listen to you beg for me to let you go?"
"I couldn't fight," I mumble, holding back my tears. "I didn't have anything left and lost myself for so fucking long."
"But I was right fucking there," he says heatedly. "Right there. The entire time, Bella."
"You were, but I didn't trust you. And now you don't trust me. You know those few days we spent together trying to reconcile were toxic. I hate those days. I'm sorry for those days. We were awful. We were drowning in so much pain and hurt and deceit. On both of our ends. I take responsibility there because I know I broke your trust, too, in many ways. We couldn't have gotten ourselves out of that mess. Not together, not alone. You said it yourself, we probably wouldn't have stayed together even if you hadn't lied. We needed time and space and—"
"All I needed was you," he mutters. "So."
A natural, pained silence falls over the room.
"Okay, let's take a breather," Angela finally says. "It's clear there's insurmountable pain and obstacles here. We aren't going to fix things in one session. We have plenty of time if you're both willing to work for it. What I need to stress is that you need to let each other finish your thoughts. That's the only way this will be successful. If we need, you can hold an item and only the person holding it can speak."
She's speaking softly. Calmly. Like we're children who need a time-out.
"Not necessary," Edward sighs. "I'll stop."
"Yeah, it's fine," I agree.
Angela accepts this and nods.
"I did want to circle back to something we didn't get to further discuss before you two diverted the conversation. Which is okay—I want to explore whatever you two feel is going to be helpful. This is your time and your healing. I'm just here to guide you and keep you on track. But to also dig deeper when certain things come up," she explains. "Bella, you said you were scared about Edward moving on and being a father to another child that isn't yours."
I cross my arms over my chest, already feeling more nervous with the focus all on me. "Yes. I said that."
"Can you explore why that specific scenario came to mind for you?" she asks, and I suddenly feel very, very uncomfortable.
"Because… because I'm pregnant with his baby right now," I mumble, feeling too vulnerable. "Of course, I don't want to think about him with anyone else."
"Yes. On the surface, that makes sense. But can you dig a little deeper if you don't mind?" Angela asks.
That familiar anxious feeling rises in my chest, into my throat, making it hard to think and find words.
"It's probably because it took so long for us to conceive. It feels like it needs to just be something we share together. It's special. The idea that it could take so long for me to get pregnant when he could probably go knock up some other woman just like that…" I swallow, throat dry. "If Edward ever had another kid with someone else… I just, can't. The idea that our child would ever be second best to him and not his number one priority makes me so fucking sad," I murmur, feeling like I'm on the verge of tears again. "It makes me sad for our baby."
"Why do you think that?" Edward asks me. "Our baby is going to be everything to me. Fucking everything, Bella. It already is."
"And what about me?" I mumble, hot tears falling down my cheeks now, seeking validation when I'm not sure I deserve it. "What am I you to?"
"I don't know how to answer that yet," he says honestly.
I panic. "Is that why you agreed to therapy? To tell me it's… over? For good?"
"You left me. You filed for divorce. I don't know what you expect me to say because if anything, you've been telling me it's over for a long time," he says morosely. "The worst part is, I want to say so many fucking things to you. So many things. But I told you, I'm scared. And I feel like you're still holding back worse than I am," Edward accuses, but his voice is soft and his eyes are tender.
"Why do you think that?" I croak.
"Because I know you," he says carefully. So, so carefully. Like he's nervous to scare me away. "So… talk to me. Forget she's here and just look at me. Be real with me. Please, baby."
I can't look at him.
I'm quiet, but my mind is a riot.
My fault, my fault, my fault.
Angela said to dig deeper about why I made that comment, but I don't really want to.
"Bella…" Edward encourages softly.
When I finally look at him—open, expectant, safe, and loving—I know I have to. If I don't, I'll finally lose him and that's not what I want.
So, I tell him about me. The one I've withheld from him for many years. The real me.
How when I was seven years old, I unknowingly met my three-year-old half-sister Maggie, and her mom, Lynn.
When I was eight, I wondered why my dad held Lynn's hand on playdates and why my mom got so angry when she drank too much.
When I was nine, I worried that all of the fighting I heard my parents doing at night would mean they were getting divorced, and then I felt guilty that maybe they should.
When I was ten, I witnessed Charlie kiss Lynn in my own house, with my mother in the other room. Ten, not being told why my dad no longer slept at home sometimes or when he was coming back. Ten, feeling guilty and thinking that it was my wish that Charlie and Renee would just divorce caused turmoil in my family. Ten, being told by my mom that maybe if I just behaved a little better, Dad wouldn't spend so many days away from us.
It was my fault, my fault, my fault.
Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen. How I was too aware of how others perceived me. How I felt insecure and embarrassed that people would find out my family was weird and different. Which meant I was weird and different.
How when I was fifteen, Charlie forgot to take me to get my driver's permit like he said he would because he was at the movies with his other daughter Maggie. He never took me to the fucking movies. Ever. I was jealous of an eleven-year-old. I couldn't even begin to imagine how my mom felt. Or if she even felt at all.
When I was sixteen, I got my first camera from my grandparents. Seventeen, I was stuck in my head, hiding behind a lens and watching the world from a safe distance because nothing could hurt you when you were only a bystander. You didn't have expectations or letdowns from other people when it was just you and a camera.
When I was eighteen, I chose the first college that accepted me so I could get the fuck away from my parents.
Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two was spent finding my own way. Me, me, me. Trying to pretend like I was whole when I wasn't. Trying to pretend like I didn't have inner shit to deal with. It worked for a while, anyway.
And then when I was twenty-three, I met this guy. Edward. I felt whole. Felt happy and safe and loved. Felt more like myself even though I didn't even know who I was. I just knew the way he made me feel was the way I always wanted to be.
He became my best friend. He became my family.
Fell hard and fast for him.
Engaged within six months of meeting him. Married three months later. I wasn't yet twenty-four and I was someone's wife.
Someone's life.
It should have scared me but for the first time ever, I felt sure.
I loved him, I loved him, I loved him.
But I still didn't know why—or how—he loved me. And when I couldn't give him a baby for so long, all of the unresolved insecurities I thought were behind me started to trickle back in.
I wasn't good enough. Woman enough. I didn't deserve him or his loving family. He'd recognize that and leave me one day.
My supposed kink never existed. I was suffering from feeling like a failure. I was self-sabotaging, expediting the process of our eventual breakup. Because that's what you do when you feel less than—you break people, hurt yourself, and you ruin things. You ruin them well.
And I guess I succeeded because look at us now.
I say it all in a rush. Every painful word. My riot mind spilled out in front of me, for Edward to finally see.
The room is silent.
Dead silent.
Edward knew some parts of my life before him. Some variations that I offered up, that I downplayed, because my childhood wasn't that bad. But looking back, there were enough things that hindered the person I was becoming. There were enough times when I felt lonely, uncertain, neglected, unloved, less-than, and sometimes abandoned.
And now it's translating into anxiety and depression in my adult life.
It's still hindering me.
Shaping my self-esteem.
Affecting my relationships.
Ruining my marriage.
"You didn't know everything before. Not like this. But now you do," I cry, chin trembling. "I should've been upfront when we first met about everything, but I couldn't. But now you can make a decision on whether or not I'm still worth the time and effort. If I'm worth being loved by you. I can let you go if you need," I hiccup. "I just want the best for you. I want you to be happy and if I don't make you happy… I mean, how can I? After all of this? Everything I've done to push you away?"
I'm sobbing so hard now I can barely speak.
But that's fine because I have nothing left to say.
With tears in his eyes, Edward pulls me into his lap and holds me tightly while I cry, my face buried in his neck.
I somehow feel both embarrassed and relieved, but it's cathartic in a way.
I lean into that feeling, lean into his comfort, knowing we have to break apart soon.
Knowing I need to sit back in my seat.
Finish this session.
Face Angela.
Embrace whatever happens next.
Edward gently strokes the back of my hair a few times before he pulls me back, looks me in the eyes, and earnestly says, "I love you, Bell. So fucking much. I always have. And I'm not gonna stop now."