He was true to his word. Dad waits for me at baggage claim and jogs over, wrapping me in warm arms. He squeezes, and it hurts, but I don't care. I hug him tightly back as I finally let my tears flow.

He caresses my hair. "Oh, Bella. What did that prick do to you?"

I pull back and lower my scarf just a little, and his eyes turn dark as his nostrils flare with anger.

"I'll fucking kill him."

I shake my head. "It's my own fault for staying."

He scoffs and hugs me again. "No, baby girl. No, it's not. Let's get you home. Point out your bag."

As the carousel goes around, I point out the brown leather bag, and he grabs it before putting his arm over my shoulders and walking me out.

He came in his police cruiser and opens the passenger side door for me before tossing my bags in the back. It's a long drive back to my hometown of Forks, but he doesn't batter me with questions. We sit in silence, and after an hour, he places his hand on the center console, palm open. I lay mine in it, and for the first time in so long, I feel safe.

And I just cry.

I cry off the expensive foundation, the eyeliner smudging, and my face tear-streaked. I can't stop. I've put on this facade for so long, and now it's gone—long gone. I don't want to be Mrs. Jacob Black anymore. I just want to be me, Bella Swan. I want to erase the last six years of my life. I want to go back and tell myself not to walk down that aisle. The one he paid so much for.

When did I become this person?

It happened so slowly.

Subtlety . . .

Grabbing my wrist and telling me I'm not good enough. Knocking glasses to the floor and putting his hand through a wall. And then . . . a slap. A slap I put up with and excused.

Why didn't I leave then?

As we pass the Welcome to Forks sign, Dad asks.

"How badly did he hurt you, Bells?"

I lift my sleeves, where the shattered glass flew through the air and sliced my skin open. I wipe what's left of the makeup from my face. And then I take off my scarf and lift the hem of my shirt to show the shoe-shaped bruise across my side.

"I've had worse."

The words break him, and tears form in his eyes. "I'm calling Carlisle."

His best friend's name sends me back in time to a whole different kind of hurt. Once upon a time, I loved his son. Edward was three years older, and our relationship was the talk of the town.

Then, he left for college.

His calls became fewer and fewer. My texts were left unread. It was as if he just . . . forgot me. There was never an official breakup.

He never returned.

It was just over.

So, I chose a college across the country and moved on.

And I met Jake.

I thought he was the healer of my heart. And for a while, he was. He was older than me, too—an actual mature man. He was a lawyer and lavished me with gifts.

It was like a fairytale.

. . . Until it became a nightmare.

"I don't want Carlisle to know—to tell Esme. To tell . . . anyone."

"He won't. I'll ask him to meet us at the house. No one will know, Bella. He won't break your confidence. But I think you need a doctor. And if I take you to the hospital . . ."

"The walls will talk."

He nods. "For me, baby girl. Please?"

"Okay," I whisper.

We no more than get inside before Carlisle's Mercedes screeches to a stop on the gravel driveway. It's raining—like it almost always does in Forks—and he flips his hood up before running to the door with his bag in hand.

I sit gently on the old couch and close my eyes as Dad opens the front door.

"She's in the living room," Dad says. "But this needs to stay discreet, Carlisle. She's like an injured doe, and I'm afraid she'll run."

Carlisle's warm, rich voice fills the house. "I would never betray her confidence, Charlie. She's safe with me. You know I love her like one of my own."

I went to him when Edward stopped replying. And he held me as I cried, realizing he was never coming home. Carlisle was disappointed and furious with his son back then.

I look up as he and Dad enter the room. He still doesn't look his age, but his once blond hair is more silver now. He has a few wrinkles around his eyes and lips. But his blue eyes still hold the same compassion I always knew.

He tries to smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Hello, Bella."

My lips quiver, and more tears threaten to fall. "Carlisle."

"Do you want some space, Bells? I can make you something to eat."

My stomach growls at the word. "Please," I whisper.

Carlisle slowly comes around and sits on the coffee table in front of me, placing his bag beside him. He gently touches my cheek, and I flinch.

"I need you to follow my light, okay?" I nod as he pulls it from his bag and turns it on. He holds it up to my eyes and moves it side to side slowly. "Pupils are both equal and reactive. No head trauma."

"Good," I mumble.

"Your scarf?"

I nod and pull it off, setting it next to me so I can quickly put it back on once he's done.

"Does it hurt to talk or swallow?"

"A little to swallow," I admit as his careful fingertips graze the bruised skin.

"You have a good amount of swelling, but I don't think we need an X-ray. I recommend soft foods and trying not to talk too much. You may find your voice is a little hoarse tomorrow."

I nod.

"You have cuts?"

I nod again, pulling up my sleeves. He removes the blood-soaked bandages slowly and carefully after pulling on gloves.

"Glass. It got me in the collarbone, too, but not as bad."

He moves my collar to the side, and looks over the shallow cuts. "Your arms need stitches, but these aren't bad. They should heal with minimal scarring."

"I don't want to go to the hospital."

He nods. "Your dad told me, but we should take photos for evidence."

I scoff. "He could make an assault charge disappear. I'm not pressing charges for no reason. It'll just . . . anger him."

"He's not a God."

"He's the best defense attorney in Manhattan. He gets murderers off with his silver tongue. That's the equivalent of being a God in the legal system. There is no point."

"If not for charges, then for a divorce. You may never use the photos, but at least you'll have them if you need them."

I'm too tired to argue, so I nod. He takes a camera and ruler out of his bag and starts with my face. I keep my eyes closed as the camera flashes over each injury. Once I hear him put it away, I open my eyes and find pity in his.

"He's not always like this," I defend. "There were a lot of good times."

He nods. "I'm sure there were, but no one deserves this, Bella. You take the good and bad in marriage, but there's a tipping point in the bad that no one should have to live through. I'm glad you came home."

"I know it's supposed to be a secret that even Esme doesn't know about, but do you still smoke?"

He sighs. "Only after a stressful day."

"Can I have one?"

He rifles through his bag and pulls out a pack of Marlboro Menthols. It's kind of ironic that a doctor smokes, and I only know because I caught him once.

I didn't tell Edward.

"Let's go out front. The stitches can wait a few more minutes," he says, holding his hand out for me before speaking louder. "I'm taking her for some fresh air, Charlie. We'll be right back."

We go around the garage to the side yard before we both light up. Jake made me quit years ago, but I'd still sneak one after a night like this.

"Stressful day?" I ask with a hint of sarcasm.

"I think yours has been worse."

I take a deep puff, slowly blowing it out. "They're fucking sinful, but they calm my nerves."

He nods in understanding.

"I swear it doesn't happen often," I try to justify. "I'm not some battered wife who gets slapped because dinner is late. His job is stressful, and sometimes he just . . . snaps. He's always sorry and regrets it."

"There's no good reason to hurt the ones you love, Bella."

"I should have left after the first time, but . . . he showered me with gifts and promised it'd never happen again, and I stupidly believed him. And then it happened again, and I thought if I just stayed out of his way, it'd be okay. I lied to myself because I was afraid to be alone again. I just . . . I can't do it anymore. I'm out of excuses. And now I'd rather be alone than part of his fake world."

"You'll get through this, sweetheart. I know you're strong."

"But I've been so weak."

"I'm going to tell you exactly what I'd tell my own daughter. You are brave for leaving. You are stronger than you think. And you can always, always come home. There's no shame in starting over and saving yourself."

I take the last puff from my cigarette and flick it to the ground before hugging him. "Thank you, Carlisle."

He smiles, touching my uninjured cheek gently. "You're welcome. Here, spray this on yourself."

He pulls a little aerosol can from his pocket and sprays it all over before passing it to me.

"Ozium." I shake my head. "The shameful smoker's secret weapon."

"Whatever works," he chuckles dryly. "Now, let's get those arms stitched up."

Don't own Twilight.

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

Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing!