Days pass, and there are no new emails. My eye starts to heal, and the bruises on my neck begin to yellow. I can still see the indentations where his fingers nearly crushed my throat. I cover them with a scarf again. Dad is back to work, leaving me alone most of the day, so I keep the Glock by my side and feel paranoid and crazy.

I have to leave the house today. I have an appointment with the lawyer Dad recommended. Part of me is terrified to leave and run into Edward again. Why does my heart still break after ten years? Will it always hurt to see him?

I have closure now, at least.

I should be mad that he cheated. Even madder that he got her pregnant. But I'm not. I'm just sad. I'm grieving something I lost so long ago. The stitches were holding tight, but now the wound is back open, and I'm bleeding out.

I'm fucking stronger than this, though. I know I am. Falling apart is easy. Holding it together is hard. It's time for me to hold my head high—to find myself again.

Jane is honest with me. I tell her everything, and she says that even though I don't want anything, it could still be a long, messy divorce. If I accuse Jake of abuse, I need to prove it, and I know him. He will fight me. He'll do anything to protect his reputation. My only hope to end this easily is if he agrees to an uncontested divorce.

So, I finally reply to one of his emails as I sit in Dad's old Chevy truck on Main Street.

If you love me, you'll let me go, Jake. Please, just give me a simple divorce. No one's name needs to be dragged through the mud. No one needs to know the inner workings of our marriage. I just can't do it anymore. Even if you change, the scars still mark my skin, and I don't think I can ever forgive you, no matter how much I loved you.

Please, do me this favor.

I'll never ask anything more of you.

I hit send and lean my head back as I close my eyes. I won't cry over him again. I distractedly put the truck in reverse and hit the gas pedal before slamming into something behind me. My body lurches forward, and my nose hits the steering wheel hard.

Fuck.

I quickly look behind, finding a little red car and jump out of the truck, hoping I didn't hurt someone. A young female steps out of the car.

"I am so sorry," I stammer as blood runs down my lips, and I wipe it off with my sleeve. "I . . . I wasn't paying attention. Are you hurt?"

She shakes her head. "Did you even look?"

I fucking didn't. "I have insurance. We can call the cops if you want."

She goes around the front of her car and her eyes widen at the damage to the passenger side. "Do you know how long I saved up for this car? What is wrong with you? Yes, call the police."

She has every right to be pissed, so I get my phone and call Dad, catching a glimpse of my nose in the side mirror. Great. It's bleeding like a stuffed pig.

"Hey, Bells," he answers.

"I just got into an accident. It's entirely my fault but the other driver wants the police to come."

"Are either of you hurt?"

"Um . . . my nose might be broken, but she says she's okay. I backed into her."

"I'm on my way. Have her take pictures of the damage."

"Okay. Bye." I hang up the phone and go back to the other driver. "You should take pictures for my insurance. The police are on their way."

"Good. I can't believe this."

"I'm so sorry."

"You really need to do something about all that blood. I have tissues in my purse."

She gets them out, and I press a few to my nose, flinching at the pain. It's not long before Dad arrives. After we clear the road, he gets the insurance and registration from the glovebox, and I hand over my license as the girl explains to him what happened.

"Stay in the truck, tilt your head forward, and pinch the soft part of your nose," he tells me.

It fucking hurts, but I do as he says. He gets her all of my information and writes me a ticket for distracted driving. As if my life hasn't been enough of a shit show, my own father gives me a traffic ticket.

After the girl pulls away, he turns to me. "Let's get you to the hospital. Your nose is definitely broken."

I huff and slide into the passenger seat of his police cruiser, trying not to get blood everywhere. He reminds me to keep my head tilted forward as we make the quick drive to Forks Hospital.

"I gotta get back to the station, but call me when you're done, and I'll come get you," he says. "We'll get the truck later."

I nod and open the door. "I'm sorry."

"Shit happens. Just go get your nose fixed."

I walk into the small ER and sign in, asking the triage nurse if Dr. Cullen is working. She says he is, so I breathe a sigh of relief. Carlisle will get me patched up in no time.

I'm taken to the back, and a nurse packs my nose to try and stop the bleeding before telling me the doctor will be right in. She closes the curtain, and I rest backward against the gurney, closing my eyes and cursing myself.

Soon enough, I hear the curtain open and keep my eyes closed, saying, "I fucking crashed Dad's truck, Carlisle."

"Wrong Cullen."

My eyes fly open, and I am about to fall off the gurney. Edward stands at the foot of the bed with a small smirk on his lips—dressed in green scrubs with a white coat on top.

God fucking damn it.

Don't own Twilight.

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