Chapter 9

Edwards POV

She looked like she might vanish if I blinked.

Tucked beneath the blankets, her breath soft and shallow, Bella seemed so delicate it made my chest ache. But I knew better.

She wasn't fragile. Not really. She'd been through more than most people could fathom and was still here. Still breathing. Still fighting, even if every step seemed to cost her something. That kind of strength wasn't loud. It didn't demand attention. It simply endured.

But tonight, she looked impossibly small.

I sat in silence, watching her sleep. And still, the question gnawed at me: What was it like for Anna?

Knowing Bella had been sent away to that place—alone. Powerless to stop it. I didn't know what Anna had believed in, or if she believed in anything at all, but I hoped—God, I hoped—there had been something watching over her sister when she couldn't.

Bella had never told me much. Only what slipped out when she was half-unconscious, or lost in memory. But the dread clung to every piece she had let me see.

And then there was Renee.

I tried to understand. I wanted to believe there was some reason, some moment of desperation that explained it. But all I kept coming back to was the unbearable truth: Bella had been alone.

What kind of mother sends her daughter to a place like that?

Did she think she was doing the right thing? Did she ever stop to wonder what it did to Bella—to be abandoned like that, institutionalized like she was broken? Did she feel guilt? Was it eating her alive? Because it should've been.

I wanted her to suffer for it.

A soft click echoed from downstairs—the front door. Carlisle.

I rose slowly, stepping to the side of the bed. Bella didn't stir as I adjusted her blanket and smoothed her hair back from her forehead. Her skin was warm beneath my fingers.

"I love you," I whispered, leaning in close. "More than you know."

She didn't hear me, but I said it anyway.

Then I turned and left the room, my fists clenched, fury and sorrow twisted together beneath my skin.

I sat still, elbow hooked against the armrest, my fingers curled tight in front of my mouth. The pressure in my jaw had become a dull throb, but I didn't move. If I moved, I wasn't sure what I'd do.

Across from me, Carlisle sat hunched on the sofa, the folders spread across his lap like something diseased. He was methodical—reading, placing a page down, reaching for the next. Each one landed with a soft tap on the coffee table, but to me, it may as well have been a gunshot.

There was a buzzing under my skin. Cold. Controlled. But dangerous.

The rage had settled in hours ago, coiling through my ribs like smoke. It wasn't loud. It didn't demand attention. It just waited—tight, icy, patient.

"She was labeled as having an undiagnosed psychotic disorder," Carlisle said quietly, eyes still scanning the page. "They floated schizophrenia."

I didn't answer. My teeth pressed together until I heard something in my jaw crack.

Carlisle continued, like he had to say it out loud just to get through it. "They called her episodes psychotic breaks. Claimed she was a risk to herself. There are notes about self-harm… repeated incidents."

I stared ahead, vision blurring at the edges, not from tears—those didn't come—but from something deeper. Something black and endless.

He didn't say her name. He couldn't. She wasn't a girl in those pages. She was a case. A number. A diagnosis. I would never know how many times she cried. Or how often she begged to go home. I'd never know the specific shape of the pain they carved into her. But I had this. Folders full of abuse dressed in white coats and technical terms, trying to make cruelty look like care.

Carlisle went quiet.

I didn't look up. I didn't have to. I could feel it—whatever he was reading now, it was worse. His thoughts slowed, like even his brain didn't want to process it.

"What is it?" I asked, voice like glass.

He hesitated. "Are you sure you want to hear this, Edward?"

No. I didn't want to hear any of it. I didn't want to be in this house, in this century, in this skin. I wanted this to be something I could wake up from. But wanting meant nothing.

"Tell me all of it," I said. "Every bit."

Carlisle's breath caught, just once. Then he spoke.

"They restrained her during the episodes."

The words didn't land so much as sink—slowly, cruelly—into my spine.

I pressed the heel of my hand against my temple, like maybe I could block it out. But it was too late.

"She tried to escape at least twice," Carlisle said, his voice quieter now. "Both times, they responded with disciplinary measures. There's a note here—during one of Anna's visits… they had to pull her out of Bella's arms."

I closed my eyes. It didn't help. I could see it—her clinging to the last person who loved her in that place, and being torn away. Like she was nothing.

Carlisle swallowed hard. "There were medications. Dozens. Sedatives. Antipsychotics. Mood stabilizers. And treatments meant to… regulate behavior. It says here—"

I felt him hesitate.

Then he said it. I was already rising to my feet before he could finish.

"—two rounds of ECT—"

A sound ripped from my chest. Low and feral. A growl I didn't mean to release.

I shot to my feet, the armchair groaning beneath the sudden movement. The room spun, but I didn't care—I turned from him, shoulders tense, every muscle in my body coiled too tight to contain the rage tearing through me.

My hands dragged over my face, rough and punishing, nails raking at my skin like I could claw the truth out of my skull.

Behind me, I heard the creak of the couch as Carlisle leaned forward slightly, but he didn't approach.

"She's asleep upstairs," he said quietly. "Whatever these pages are—whatever they were—they're in the past. Horrible, unspeakable nightmares, but they're not now. Listen to her, Edward. Listen to her breathing. Listen to her heart. She's here. She's safe."

I leaned my side into the kitchen doorway, shoulders drawn tight, hands still trembling at my sides.

Carlisle's voice was steady when he spoke again. "We're going to save her."

"I hope so," I said, voice low. "Because I can't live without her."

I turned then, slowly, and met his eyes.

My throat burned. "I won't."

Carlisle nodded once, solemn. "I know."