I've loved twice.

I've been broken twice.

Once as a child.

Once as a woman.

Each happened in its own way, but the wounds still ache, and the scars still shimmer in the dim light.

The mistakes were mine, but not mine alone.

Promises meant to last forever shattered like glass. I thought I was stronger. I was raised to be stronger. But they both broke me, and I crumbled.

I look around the destroyed living room like I've done a few times before. This time though, I do not grab the broom and dustpan. I'm tired of cleaning up the mess Jake leaves behind—the broken glass, the tossed books, the flipped-over tables. I'm tired of cleaning up the mess he leaves on me—the multiple layers of foundation and eyeshadow, wearing scarves and long sleeves to hide the bruises.

I'm just tired.

He's not going to change.

I can't fix him.

I can't lie for him anymore.

He's not always angry. Sometimes, he's the sweetest man in the world. Flowers for no reason, extravagant vacations where everything is peaceful, and he's the man I married. But there's always the dark side that waits in the wings.

I can no longer tolerate and excuse the dark side to see the light in him.

I love him. I probably always will. But there's only so much I can handle, and I'm way past that point.

So, after years of barely calling, I pull out my phone and hit the only name I can depend on.

"Daddy?" I ask as his gruff voice answers.

"Bells?"

I sniffle and touch my sore neck, spreading blood over the forming bruises. "I need help. Please. I need to come home."

I wait for him to ask why, but he doesn't. "How fast can you pack?"

Jake will be gone for hours—he always is after his tantrums.

"An hour."

"I'll book you a flight and be waiting for you."

I pack only the necessities, leaving the gorgeous gowns, expensive coats, and dazzling jewelry behind. He needed me to have those things. Underneath, I'm still the worn-out flannel and jeans kind of girl. I was never suitable for his world.

I don't leave a note, but place my wedding and engagement rings on his pillow. I call for a car and wait for the buzzer to ring. My plane leaves in an hour and a half, and then I'll be home.

I'll be safe.

I don't speak to the driver because he's one Jake uses often. I quietly leave the car, taking my bags as they're pulled from the trunk.

"Thank you, David."

He smiles. "Have a safe flight, ma'am."

I look over my shoulder as I walk into JFK. He's not following. He's somewhere drinking and justifying his actions. He'll go home in a few hours and find the penthouse apartment a disaster and me nowhere to be found.

He'll be angry.

He'll regret his actions.

But I can't hear 'I'm sorry' one more time.

Eventually, he won't be able to say it because he'll have gone too far.

I'm saving both of our souls by leaving.

I know I look paranoid as I wait for my flight at the gate. My eyes dart around. I scratch at the scarf covering the bruises and pull my sleeves down over the blood-soaked bandages. I take out a mirror, and see how well the foundation is covering the bruises. It's expensive foundation and does the job well. But I know what I look like underneath.

I'm battered and broken.

I'm the woman in those Lifetime movies. The one you wonder about. Why did she stay? Why didn't she leave sooner?

I'm weak.

"Flight 986 to Seattle, WA, is now boarding," a woman announces, and I stand slowly, trying to hide the pain in my side from where his Prada shoe landed as I lay on the floor.

I hand over my ticket and board the plane, tucking my carry-on under the seat in front of me. I say goodbye to New York and the life I made for myself here.

I'm never coming back.

Don't own Twilight.

Thanks to my beta Fran and prereaders, May, Sarah, and Christina.

The next chapter will be up tomorrow then we'll go to weekly or biweekly updates. This does contain sensitive subjects.