Chapter 7

Carlisle's POV

I watched as Edward stood by the bookshelf, flipping through the same volume he'd already read twice this week. He wasn't really reading—his eyes kept flicking toward the hallway, as if time might move faster if he stared hard enough. His hair was still damp from the shower, and his shirt hung open at the collar. He looked strangely young today. Restless in a way I hadn't seen in years.

When he caught me watching, he offered a small shrug and ran a hand through his hair, a sheepish smile tugging at his mouth. "Just trying to kill time," he said, though we both knew what he was really doing—waiting for her.

Bella returned a few moments later, her bag slung over her shoulder and her brows drawn in concentration as she double-checked the contents. Edward immediately straightened, the restless energy in him softening as his gaze landed on her.

He crossed the room with careful steps, every part of his attention drawn to her like gravity. "I'll see you very soon," he said, his hands gently cupping her face as he leaned down to kiss her—soft, unhurried, and unmistakably devoted.

"You will," Bella murmured, her smile lingering even after their lips parted.

I turned away, trying to give them the illusion of privacy, though it was difficult to keep from watching Edward. That kind of tenderness… I hadn't seen it in him before. At least, not like this. Not so openly.

He gave me a quick nod, then disappeared through the front door. Bella stood frozen for a beat, watching through the window as the car pulled away, her arms still loosely folded, like she didn't quite know what to do with the space he'd left behind.

I cleared my throat gently, and Bella turned toward me, blinking like she'd just been shaken from a daydream. There was a softness in her face, still tinged with the echo of Edward's goodbye.

She smiled softly, brushing her hand along her sleeve to straighten it. There was a quiet stillness between us, but not an uncomfortable one.

"He's different," I said gently, watching the way her gaze lifted to meet mine.

She tilted her head, cautious but curious. "Different how?"

I hesitated, but only for a second. "Happier, for one. But not just that. He seems… lighter. More at ease in himself."

A small, almost shy smile curved her lips. "He tries to be. I think sometimes he forgets how."

I chuckled softly. "He's had a long time to forget."

She let out a breath that could have been a laugh, or maybe a sigh. "He still gets in his own head sometimes. I can tell when he's disappearing into his thoughts."

"Yes, that sounds like him," I murmured with affection.

Bella shifted her weight, crossing her arms lightly over her chest. "But he comes back. Always. Even if it takes a minute. It's like he's learning how to stay… here."

I nodded, watching her carefully. "You help him do that. You bring him back."

She blinked, caught off guard. "I don't know if I do anything, really."

"You do more than you think," I said. "Edward's spent the better part of a century keeping everyone at arm's length—even me. He was always watching, always thinking… but never letting himself be part of anything. Never letting himself feel."

Bella looked away, her eyes trained on the spot where he'd just stood. "I think he's still scared to feel too much."

"Of course he is," I said gently. "But he's doing it anyway. Because of you."

She was quiet for a moment, her fingers absently fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

"Thank you," I added softly.

Her eyes snapped back to mine. "For what?"

"For giving him something none of us could. Something real. Something he didn't even know he needed." I smiled faintly. "You've given him the kind of peace I never thought I'd see in him."

Her lips parted slightly like she wanted to argue—but she didn't. Instead, she just nodded, slowly, almost as if she didn't quite believe it yet but wanted to.

"You don't have to fix him," I said gently, stepping closer. "You already help him just by being who you are."

She looked down again, the pink flush returning to her cheeks. "That's good," she whispered, "because I don't think I'm very good at fixing anything."

"You've done more than enough," I assured her. "And I think, whether he says it or not, he knows it."

Her eyes met mine one last time, soft and tired, but with a little more light than before.

And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt a quiet certainty that Edward wasn't just surviving anymore. He was beginning to live.

Bella was comfortable here now.

She strolled into my office without hesitation and curled herself up in the oversized chair behind my desk like it was made for her. I found the sight oddly endearing—her small frame practically swallowed by the leather, legs tucked beneath her, spinning the chair side to side while she waited for me to dig through yet another folder.

"So, Carlisle," she asked after a stretch of silence, reaching forward to flick the Newton's cradle, "what are we doing today? PET scan? MRI? fMRI? Or your favorite—EEG?" She smiled to herself as the metal balls clicked together.

I glanced up, catching the sheepish curve of her mouth. "You don't like the EEG," I said, lowering the chart in my hands.

She shrugged but didn't deny it. Her fingers twitched in her lap.

"It's alright not to like it, Bella. No one expects you to enjoy this."

She glanced at me then, almost guilty for having a preference, for not being grateful enough. I wished she'd stop doing that—apologizing for her own comfort.

"It's just…" She winced a little. "I don't like the wires. Or the things on my face. The sticky stuff, the pressure."

"The electrodes," I supplied gently.

Her whole body tensed at the word. "Yeah. That."

I gave her a sympathetic nod. "Understandable. We can skip it today."

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "No—no, if you need it, I'll do it. I can handle it."

She meant it. She always did. Bella was easily the most compliant, most open patient I'd ever had. And that was what made it so much harder. Because despite everything she allowed, everything she tolerated—there were still so many answers we didn't have. I kept running tests, asking questions, drawing blood like it might reveal something we hadn't already missed. And through it all, she always said thank you.

She thanked me.

After every test. Every scan. Every frustratingly empty result.

"I'm just going to keep it simple today," I said carefully. "An MRI, some bloodwork. After that, we can raid the cafeteria. And if you're up to it, I'd like to go over a few things from your medical history while we eat."

Bella tilted her head in consideration, then nodded. "Sounds fine to me."

And it was.

She never fought anything.

The cafeteria was less clinical, and I caught myself watching her more than I probably should have. Bella examined every dish like it was a riddle. A tiny crinkle in her nose at the lasagna, a lifted brow for the neon jello, and finally, a quiet nod of approval at the salad bar. Her reactions were small but honest. And somehow, more revealing than any chart I could flip through.

She was… human. In all the ways Edward longed to be.

Once we were back in my office, I motioned for her to take her usual seat—behind my desk. I had given up trying to direct her anywhere else. She liked the height of the chair, the solid feel of the desk under her elbows. She liked not being on the other side of it.

And truthfully, I liked it too.

She didn't feel like a patient when she sat there.

She didn't feel like something broken I had to fix.

She felt like part of our family.

The more time I spent around them, the more certain I became of what we all already knew but hadn't quite said aloud—Bella had become essential. Not just to Edward, but to our family. She was no longer someone orbiting the periphery of his world. She was the thing keeping him tethered to it.

It had always been hard for Edward—living in-between. Watching the world move while he stood still. But now… he moved with it. Because of her. Because she was here.

And maybe that was why I watched her so closely now. Not just as a physician, but as someone with something to lose.

She sat curled behind my desk, picking at her salad with absent fingers, answering my questions in a low, even tone like she'd been through this a hundred times. And I supposed, in some ways, she had.

"Topamax," she mumbled mid-bite. "That was the brand name. I can't remember the real one."

I nodded and made a quick note, scribbling a line across the margin of her file. Bella had been prescribed more medications than any one person should have had to endure—most of them ineffective, many of them dismissed without much care. Her records were patchwork. Her pain, consistent.

"Topiramate," I offered gently.

She hummed in recognition and half-laughed as she waved her fork through the air. "Yeah. That one. Never again. It gave me a rash all over my arms and made my head all fuzzy. I could barely think straight. And I threw up. A lot."

I made another note. "How long were you on it?"

"Two months? Maybe three? I think I stopped taking it before the script ran out."

I flipped through the next few pages. "There's a bit of a gap here," I said, trailing my finger along the timeline. "What came after that?"

Bella glanced down, tensed slightly, then lifted her eyes back to mine. "Dihydroergotamine."

That got my attention.

I sat back, tilting my head slightly. That wasn't in her chart.

"Was this from another physician?" I asked, scanning the pages again. "I'm not seeing it noted anywhere."

She hesitated. The fork paused mid-scrape against her container. "It was my mom's," she admitted. "For migraines. I—I didn't go to anyone for it."

I blinked. "You self-administered DHE?"

"Not me," she said quickly. "Anna. She gave it to me. I couldn't have… not with the needles. I didn't even look. Just held my breath and let her do it."

There was an almost sheepish twist to her lips as she recalled it, but I could hear the ache beneath the words.

I tried to temper the concern in my expression. "That's incredibly dangerous, Bella."

"I know," she said quietly. "We were desperate. We thought… maybe."

I softened my voice. "Did it help?"

She set her fork down and stared at her tray for a long moment, then finally shook her head. "No. Nothing ever helps."

I let the silence sit between us for a moment.

The edge in her voice, the way her posture had curled inward again—it told me we'd reached our limit for the day. Her shoulders had dipped lower than when we began. Her smile, when she offered it now, was barely a flicker.

"All right," I said, closing the folder gently. "That's all I needed for now. Just one last thing, then we'll wrap up."

She perked up slightly, nodding, though the weariness in her eyes still lingered.

"Between the ages of thirteen and fourteen—who was your primary physician during that time? I'm trying to fill in the missing records."

It was a simple question. But it hit her like a gust of cold wind.

Bella stilled. The color drained from her face so quickly it startled me. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out at first. Her fingers curled around the edge of the plastic container as if anchoring herself to something.

"I… um… I actually have those at home," she finally said.

I paused, blinking at her. "You do?"

Her smile came quick and forced. One of those too-smooth expressions that Edward had described to me before—the kind she used when she wanted to appear fine but wasn't. It didn't reassure me. It never did.

"Edward—he'll be home soon," she said, standing a little too fast, snatching her jacket from the chair behind her. "I told him I'd be there when he got back. I should go."

There was a nervous energy to her as she fidgeted with the sleeves, adjusting them needlessly, eyes flitting everywhere but my face.

I didn't press. I didn't need to. Whatever that question had stirred, it was too heavy for this room.

"All right," I said gently, lifting her folder and tucking it beneath my arm. "You're right. Let's head back."

Bella gave me a quiet nod and followed beside me, keeping her gaze forward.

Just before we left the office, I glanced down at her and said, softly, "I'm sure he's missing you, Bella."

She blinked, turning to look at me with surprise, but I didn't wait for her to respond. I just offered her a small smile and opened the door.