back to the rain

Renee had always been eager to be rid of me. It wasn't just a passing thought—I was certain my own mother barely tolerated my presence. She had Bella, after all, her perfect daughter, the one she could dote on and showcase, the one who had been wanted. I, on the other hand, felt like an afterthought, a mistake that was never quite rectified.

Bella had gotten into an accident. She fell through a window, which would have been entirely plausible considering her natural inclination toward catastrophe. My sister had always been clumsy, that much was undeniable. But something about the entire situation felt off, as though I were missing a crucial piece of the puzzle. Not that my suspicions held any weight. Who was I to question the version of events they had chosen to present?

When Mom and I visited Bella in the hospital, it was as if I had become invisible again. It was a familiar sensation, one I had learned to live with. Still, it was nice to see Bella—to see Dad.

While my mother hovered over Bella, fussing over her injuries, I turned my attention to Charlie. I hadn't seen him in over half a decade. Did he even still keep my room as it was? I doubted it. That was fine. That was normal. Bella had always been their little blessing, their miracle child, the daughter they had longed for throughout their relationship.

Then there was me.

Bella used to tell me, in whispered admissions and rare moments of cruelty, that I was the reason they divorced. Renee had grown tired—tired of taking care of two children, tired of the weight of domesticity. She had always been restless, a woman who longed for something more than the life she had built. She refused to be tethered, refused to be shackled by obligations and responsibilities. She wanted freedom, adventure, the ability to rediscover herself without the burden of children and a husband holding her back.

In the end, the divorce had probably been for the best.

My gaze wandered around the hospital room, eventually landing on an empty chair positioned beside Bella's bed. I hummed softly to myself, stepping forward to claim the seat, eager to bridge the distance that had grown between us over the years. Perhaps we could talk, truly talk, the way sisters were supposed to.

"Oh, you can't sit there, Marianne," Bella said suddenly, her tone light, almost apologetic. "Edward will be back soon."

Oh.

"Bells, now's not the time," Charlie interjected, his voice carrying a quiet authority. "When was the last time you actually talked to your sister? Genuinely talked?"

Dad had always had my back—at least, I thought he did. It was hard to say for certain. I had been away for so long that the image of him had started to fade, his features blurred at the edges like an old photograph left too long in the sun. His corny jokes, the way his mustache twitched when he was trying not to smile—I missed all of it.

"It's fine, Dad," I murmured, forcing a tight-lipped smile. "I'll stand."

Bella hesitated, Charlie's words seemingly sinking in. As I leaned against the wall opposite her bed, she finally spoke. "How's school?"

She toyed with her fingers, her gaze darting between me and the hospital room door, clearly anticipating Edward's arrival.

"Not as entertaining as yours," I replied, a faint smirk tugging at my lips. "Mom told me you almost got hit by a car?"

Bella's lips pressed into a thin line. Before she could answer, Renee interrupted, momentarily pausing her frantic texting to Phil. "That's not something to joke about, Marianne."

I nearly scoffed. Of course. I wasn't allowed to joke, wasn't allowed to deflect, wasn't allowed to feel anything but the appropriate level of concern. "Sorry," I whispered, though I wasn't sure who I was apologizing to.

The conversation withered after that, dying a slow, awkward death. Bella refocused her attention on her bandaged wrist, and silence settled over the room like a suffocating fog.

Charlie and Renee weren't much for keeping the atmosphere lively.

Eventually, the stillness was interrupted by the shrill ring of Charlie's phone. He exhaled sharply, already reaching for it. "Sorry, I have to take this. It's the station."

He leaned down to press a kiss to Bella's forehead before striding out of the room, his phone already pressed to his ear.

And just like that, the quiet returned, thick and heavy, stretching between us like an uncrossable distance.

And just like that, it seemed that one presence was replaced by another. As Charlie left, a boy no older than seventeen or eighteen stepped into the hospital room with a quiet, almost eerie grace. His bronze-colored hair was tousled just enough to look effortless, as though he had walked through a storm and come out perfectly composed. He wore black jeans and a gray hoodie—casual, yet there was something deliberate about it, as if even his clothing choices were meticulously thought out.

This must have been Edward.

The air in the room shifted the moment he entered, like he carried with him an invisible force field that demanded attention. Renee practically lit up at the sight of him and Bella together, her eyes twinkling with some sort of maternal approval.

And just like that, I was invisible once more. A shadow against the hospital wall, fading into the background while the world turned without me.

Edward's eyes were peculiar. Unnaturally golden, like sunlight trapped in honey. It was unsettling. Odd. Almost... unnatural. But what did I know?

I stayed for their excruciatingly long conversation, the kind that felt like it was happening on a frequency I wasn't tuned into. It wasn't meant for me, just another reminder that Bella had her own world now, one I wasn't a part of.

Finally, Renee spoke up. "Well, it'll be best if we leave you for a bit. We'll be back soon, baby."

She leaned down, embracing Bella carefully, swaying her slightly even as she lay in the hospital bed. There was something bittersweet in the way she held her—like she was cherishing a fragile moment, knowing she wouldn't have many more like it.

Then Renee turned to me.

I expected a goodbye, a fleeting gesture of affection, but instead, she reached for my wrist, her fingers wrapping around it with a gentle but firm grasp. Without another word, she pulled me out of the room, leading me into the blindingly bright and impossibly sterile hospital hallway.

As soon as we were out of Bella's earshot, she sighed, brushing her fingers through her hair as if she were gearing up for another one of her life updates. "Phil and I are going on another trip—this time to New York."

My eyes lit up. New York. The city of endless possibilities, where the streets buzzed with life, where dreams unfolded on every corner. A place where I could disappear into a crowd and be someone new.

But then she crushed the spark of excitement before it had a chance to ignite.

"I don't think you should come, my darling," she added, her voice sweet but final. "Bella needs you to keep an eye on her."

The light in my eyes flickered and went cold.

Starting an argument with Renee was easy; getting out of it without crying was nearly impossible. So, I nodded. I agreed. Just like that, I was assigned to be my older sister's babysitter for the foreseeable future. Another year, maybe longer. Another year of being the afterthought, the one who stayed behind.

And that was how I ended up here—bags in hand, standing in the bustling chaos of the airport, waiting for my father.

I had hoped he would be here when my plane touched down, but of course, he had other obligations. Work, probably. He was always busy with a case, always answering the call of duty.

I tapped my foot against the polished marble floor. One tap.

Two taps.

Three taps.

I sighed, giving up. Turning on my heel, I started walking toward the exit, prepared to catch a taxi instead. But just as I considered my next move, I spotted him.

Charlie Swan, my father, standing near the entrance with a stiff wave and what I could only assume was a smile beneath his mustache. It was hard to tell with him sometimes.

Relief and something dangerously close to excitement swelled in my chest. Grabbing my bags with renewed energy, I moved toward him, my steps quick and eager.

"Hey, Dad," I greeted him, my voice softer than I intended. Seeing him again—really seeing him—after all this time felt strange. Familiar, yet distant.

"Hey, kid," he responded, his voice gruff but warm. "Let's get your things in the car."

A grin stretched across my face. For a moment, I actually felt sixteen. A kid. His kid.

The car ride to my new home wasn't as painfully awkward as I had anticipated. Charlie and I were alike in many ways—socially incompatible, more inclined to listen than to speak. But despite our mutual aversion to small talk, we communicated in our own way. Comfortably. Unlike with Renee, where every conversation felt like walking through a minefield.

As we pulled into the driveway, my eyes landed on the house I had once called home.

It was the same. The chipped paint, the old wooden porch, the familiar scent of pine in the air. And yet, standing there, I felt like an outsider looking in on someone else's life.

Memories flooded my mind, unbidden. Losing my first tooth in that house. Building pillow forts with Bella. Late-night whispered secrets between sisters who, back then, still felt like sisters.

But for every good memory, there was a bad one. The echo of slammed doors. The lingering scent of my mother's perfume as she packed her bags, leaving my father behind. The suffocating weight of being left behind myself, dropped off like an unwanted package because Renee simply couldn't look at me anymore.

I sighed, gripping the strap of my bag tighter.

I had never truly belonged anywhere—not in Phoenix, not in Forks, and certainly not in Bella's shadow.

I had spent my whole life trailing behind her, trying to fit into the spaces she left behind. But where Bella was quiet, I was restless. Where Bella was careful, I was reckless. I was nothing like her, and yet I was constantly measured against her.

But not this time.

This year, I promised myself, I would change that.

I would not be a shadow. I would not be forgotten.

I would become someone.