1,322We spend hours working on the poor girl. Though Peter removed the clot and repaired her blood vessels, I'm worried she was down too long. It took cracking her chest to stabilize her heart rhythm, where I found an injury to her aorta, causing bleeding in her chest. I managed to repair it and then focused on her abdomen, finding her spleen a ruptured mess and her liver torn nearly in half.
I'm honestly not sure how she's still alive after the brain, chest, and abdominal trauma—and she's not out of the woods yet. She also has multiple fractures throughout her petite body, from her skull, ribs, pelvis, and leg. She's like a shattered doll we're still trying to put back together.
The orthopedic surgeons stabilized her fractures for now, but they'll need to go back in within twenty-four to forty-eight hours to insert rods, plates, screws, and pins. First, though, her body needs a chance to rest after the massive trauma she's suffered.
Writing up my list of post-op orders for the nurses, I stand at the foot of the bed and glance up at her monitors every so often. She's the most stable she's been since being in our care, but I'm still worried. I know I could task a resident to sit with her, but leaving just doesn't sit well with me.
"I think I'm going to hang around with her for a little while," I say, looking up at the last nurse who remains.
She smiles, nodding as she pulls the recliner closer to the bed. "She needs a little extra attention if you ask me."
I can't help but agree, remembering the old fractures throughout her child-like body. The x-rays paint a scene of abuse, which has probably lasted years. She's thin because she's dangerously malnourished and has obviously been neglected. I feel rage at the person responsible for this girl. She's just a child and has most likely faced more than I can imagine.
"I'll let you know if anything changes," I say, offering a smile before she heads for the door, stopping short.
"Oh, the police are here," she says, looking back at him. "Probably for her, right?"
Following the nurse out of the room, I find two officers waiting at the desk. Of course, they are here for our patient since we still don't know who she is. I took them to an empty room to give my statement of the accident, finding out the driver of the car had been arrested and hadn't resisted.
"We have a sketch of her in the news and with the local schools, but so far, nothing's come up," Newton, the shorter of the two officers, says as he eyes me oddly. "You've never met her, right?"
My brow creases as I cock my head. "Excuse me?"
Pulling a bag from his pocket, he holds out a faded Polaroid photo. "She had this on her. I could be wrong, but I see an uncanny resemblance between this younger man in the photo and you, Dr. Cullen."
As my eyes fall on the photo, I'm shocked to see my teenage self next to . . . "Holy shit," I mumble. "This . . . this picture was Bella's." My nightmares come back to life as I take in the picture of us as teenagers. Bella always kept this photo in her wallet.
"I'm drawing a lot of conclusions here, Doc, but this kid looks very similar to the woman next to you in the picture. Is that Bella?"
"Yes. She was seventeen weeks pregnant when she went missing," I say solemnly, keeping my eyes on her in the picture. "They found her car, and there was a lot of blood, but they never found a body. She had crashed in the woods and must have . . . She's dead, according to the police."
"And the baby was presumed the same."
I swallow back the threatening tears as I remember that night. It was the worst fucking moment of my life. "My daughter . . . sh-she was due January eighteenth, two-thousand-eight. She'd be fourteen and th-this . . ."
"This kid's about fourteen, probably, right?"
I nod silently.
It's not possible. It's been fifteen years and twenty-six days since she went missing. Could she really have given birth?
"We need to do a DNA test," I say, snapping my eyes to the officer. "And Bella's case . . ."
He nods. "Is her family still around?"
"Yeah, her dad is chief of police in Forks, but her mom is in a memory care unit in Florida."
"What's her full name?"
"Isabella Marie Swan Cullen."
Writing it down quickly, the officer tucks the notepad back into his pocket and clasps his hand over my shoulder as I stand in utter shock. "The picture is hers," he says. "We have copies, and I'll let you know when I get the DNA order."
"Thank you," I say quietly, still looking at the photo. We were seventeen, having fun with our friends. But right now, it feels like a tornado blew through my life.
The officers leave the room as I sit there silently. This can't be possible.
My daughter . . .
Looking up at the door, I quickly stand and rush out of the empty room to the young girl, no, to my daughter. Because I know, I feel it. She's mine.
My eyes fall on the bronze hair under the bandage around her head, the light freckles dotting her cheeks, and I remember her green eyes—just like mine. I've spent the last fifteen years of my life grieving for the love of my life and our daughter, and . . . she could have been right here all along.
"Are you mine?" I whisper, sitting next to her and taking her small hand in mine.
And if you are, where's your mom?
Don't own Twilight.
Thanks to May, Brier, and Mary for prereading. And thanks to Fran for beta'ing.
I'm sorry about the short chapter, but most will be much longer. I'm blown away by the support, follows, favorites, and reviews. Thank you all so much for reading.