Isabella's Point Of View
Why the hell was I feeling pity?
I stared down at the ridiculous hospital invoice clenched between my fingers. My nails had pressed little crescent moons into the paper from how tightly I was gripping it.
Pity? For her?
I must be going mad.
I hated that girl. I always had. From the moment Edward brought her into my life, a wide-eyed little ghost trailing behind him like a stain he couldn't scrub off. She wasn't mine.
Not my blood. Not my child. Just some pathetic reminder that he had once chosen someone else... someone he clearly couldn't let go of, even in memory.
But now, now I was sitting beside my husband, the weight of bankruptcy hanging above our heads like a sword ready to drop, and I was feeling something?
I shook my head.
No. That girl wasn't worth my sympathy. And if I had to remind myself why, then so be it.
"We can go on," I said suddenly, breaking the thick silence in the room.
