EPIC AUTHOR'S NOTE WITH IMPORTANT INFO, ONLY ONE FOR THE WHOLE STORY, SO PLEASE DON'T SKIP IT!

ALL TWILIGHT CHARACTERS BELONG TO STEPHENIE MEYER. NO COPYWRITE INFRINGEMENT INTENDED. ORIGINAL PLOT IS THE SOLE PROPERTY OF DOLLYBIGMOMMA. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO TRANSLATIONS ALLOWED WITHOUT PERMISSION.

I first posted this story back in 2008 with the title of Blue Monday. Unfortunately, I had a problem with some underhanded, plagiarizing thief stealing and reposting my stories, so I pulled everything down from this site. Since then, I've had dozens of PMs over the years, requesting that I repost Blue Monday. I'm finally taking another chance and doing so, but as Through the Closet Door. I do plan on publishing this story at some point, however, so it won't be up here forever.

Constructive comments, honest reviews, and PMs to let me know if you've spotted any errors I might've missed are appreciated. However, any rude, ugly, non-constructive guest reviews will be deleted. Ain't nobody got time for that!

The story is 82 shorter chapters that are mostly between 1-2K, so they read quickly. It's in Edward and Bella's points of view, but there's no obnoxious repeating of dialogue and only minimal overlapping coverage of scenes, just a few quick mentions in a few places early in the story where necessary to keep the flow.

Though the core of the story is still as it was originally written, I've extensively reworked it since the first posting. There are lots of new parts, and some of the old ones that weren't PC or were graphic have been toned down or removed altogether. Please note that no disrespect is intended toward any race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, mental condition, political preference, or nationality. If any reader feels such has occurred, please don't hesitate to PM me for discussion and explanation. Again, any unanswerable rude, hateful, or slam reviews will not be posted.

I would like to point out an issue that is mentioned a couple of times in this story. Human trafficking – specifically that of children. This festering boil on the backside of humanity has grown gangrenous and threatens any one of us given the opportunity. If you would like to help those who have been victims of human trafficking, here are a couple of ways:

I listen frequently to a YouTube channel called BEAR INDEPENDENT (check out www dot bearindependent dot com for more details). The program's creator, TJ (or Bear as many call him), has given some very sobering statistics on child trafficking. He has reported that the AVERAGE age of rescued trafficked children is between 8 and 12 years old, both male and female, and they have been violently raped an AVERAGE of 30 TIMES before being rescued. This is sickening, and the people who perpetrate these atrocities deserve to rot in hell. I'm dedicating this story to these brave, innocent children and the awesome people who work so diligently to help them.

TJ and some others have started an outreach program called Grindstone Ministries. They have built a center called Bethany House, which is an intake facility for people who have been rescued, where they assess them and then get them on to places they can receive rehabilitation and assistance to help them get their lives back. They are also building Caleb House, which is a facility dedicated to helping rescued children. If you would like to support their cause, please visit www dot grindstoneministries dot com to check it out. Click on the missions tab and watch the video to see how Bethany House turned out. It's wonderful! By the way, Bear is a character and entertaining to watch, even though the testosterone occasionally gets to be a little thick. (Sorry, Bear – Kitty Rose still loves ya!)

Another organization BEAR INDEPENDENT works with is Vets 4 Child Rescue. "V4CR is a 501(c)3 Non-Profit Organization founded by former Navy SEAL Craig "Sawman" Sawyer. V4CR is dedicated to raising awareness about the epidemic of child sex trafficking right here in the United States by exposing this fastest growing criminal enterprise and putting predators behind bars." Again, they can use any support you're able to give.

This story was originally "M" rated due to the mention of domestic violence, child endangerment, adult situations, and mature subject matter. However, I believe it's really more "T" rated for the most part, but do proceed with caution if you're sensitive to any of the aforementioned topics. If you're looking for coarse, vulgar language or steamy, gratuitous smut, this probably isn't your read, and you're free to move on to other stories that better suit your taste. However, if you're looking for a titillating HEA whodunit with a real plot that celebrates faith and family, with lots of love and some humor woven through it, you just might be in the right place…

Chapter 1 – Blue Monday

Bella

I had always wondered if there was some cosmically universal law which decreed that Mondays had to be the worst day of the work week. For those who worked an average weekday job, this was a truth shared and lamented. But in my job, the gravity of "Blue Monday" took on a whole new meaning.

As a caseworker for the DFPS (Department of Family and Protective Services), I saw more than my share of blue…in the form of bruises and wounds on the most helpless and vulnerable of our citizens. Although it was certainly not limited to Mondays, it just seemed like weekends offered more opportunities for depraved and out-of-control people in our jurisdiction to unleash their wrath. That made Mondays even more hectic, as we tried to catch up with the weekend overload.

Working as a child advocate hadn't been a career path I had seriously considered as a youth, but in a way, I had been led in that direction unwittingly at an early age. In the fifth grade, I had witnessed a classmate collapse from a brain hemorrhage right in front of me on the playground. It had been induced by a sharp blow to her head courtesy of her stepmother that morning before school. She had died at my feet at the tender age of ten.

Having experienced the trauma of seeing such a senseless death, the groundwork had been laid in my heart to stand and fight for those who could not fight for themselves. I became an advocate, a protector, and a defender, one who heard the cries of the bruised and broken and called for accountability. And now, almost sixteen years and a few choice catalysts later, I fought for them with everything I had.

My morning routine helped manage my stress level, which, on some days, could be quite high. To center myself for my day ahead, I first spent a while in prayer and scripture reading. I had been raised to be a spiritual person, so this helped me keep myself grounded. I was a Christian believer, and I found my faith helped me in my work. Even with all the bad I saw on a regular basis, I still believed there was a higher power in charge, and everything happened for a reason. Sometimes, I had no clue what those reasons were, but I had faith that God did, and so I counted on that to help me keep going when I couldn't make sense of things, especially when things made no sense at all. In my line of work, that happened regularly.

I also spent a few minutes doing calisthenics to strengthen my upper body and core, and then I power walked every morning the weather was cooperative. My job required a certain amount of physical ability at times, and I had to be quick on my feet and as strong as possible.

I had finished my routine today in record time, so the sun wasn't even up all the way yet. I ran up the front steps and let myself inside, quickly locking the door behind me. My walk this morning had gone much quicker than usual because I had practically run instead of walked. I had felt as if I was being watched or followed, even more so than usual, which was a creepy sensation indeed, and it had spurred me to move faster. Of course, every time I looked around, no one was there. There never was. I found myself glancing out the front window, searching the shadows for something I knew probably wasn't there, but it had felt different today. Or maybe not. Maybe I was just beginning to succumb to living alone in a huge old house, where every creak and groan sounded way worse than it actually was. My bedroom was on the second floor, but I would swear my front porch was haunted with how much squeaking I heard from the old planks down there at night.

It was something I probably just needed to get used to, I told myself, as I brushed it off as simply my overactive imagination messing with me again. I would admit to having had one of those since I was a kid. I imagined I had fairies around my house who hated flowers, since the red rosebushes growing around the porch always seemed to have some sort of damage, and the pots of geraniums on the stands in front of the living room windows got overturned at least once a week. I figured it was either those evil fairies or a mischievous cat.

I hoped I would have time to stop by the bakery for a treat if I hurried with my shower and dressing. On my way into the bathroom, I glanced at the outfit that had already been laid out for me and grumbled. I was so going to be out of my comfort zone today, but I had a feeling it was going to be a day I would never forget.