BELLA'S POV
Do not think about why he said nothing.
The ceiling offered no guidance on these matters.
I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes until I saw colors. This was something I used to do as a child when I couldn't sleep, press my eyes and watch the shapes the pressure made, purple-green galaxies spinning in the dark behind my lids. My father had told me about it. Push gently, he'd said, when I was maybe seven and scared of something I no longer remembered. And you'll see the universe.
Dad.
The thought of him was a cold cloth laid across a fever, relief and ache at exactly the same time. Six months. I still reached for my phone sometimes to call him before I remembered. I still heard something in the car on the way somewhere and turned to tell him about it before the remember
