Morning found me annoyingly well-rested.
It wasn't just sleep it was the kind of sleep that reset your soul, like the universe had quietly hit a refresh button while I wasn't looking. Every day since… well, since arriving in Forks, I'd been waking like this. Clear-headed. Light. Energy humming under my skin like I'd swallowed sunshine in my dreams.
No groggy haze, no pillow lines branded across my cheek. Just me, sitting up in bed with a sigh that felt smug and suspiciously undeserved.
I stretched, toes curling into the carpet, then hummed some ridiculous catchy taylor swift song that refused to die in my mind. The bathroom mirror confirmed what I already felt hair falling sleek and glossy without even trying, skin behaving like I lived inside a permanent filter. My reflection looked like the cover of a magazine and I wasn't even doing anything. Unfair. Downright rude.
Jeans. Simple top. Done. Honestly, I could've worn a sack and still looked "effortlessly chic." Forks didn't deserve this level of unbothered glow-up, but here we were.
Downstairs, the kitchen welcomed me with the faint ghost of last night's roast and the sharper promise of coffee. If anything could make this strange new life feel normal, it was the steady drip-drip of caffeine magic.
I got the pot going, still humming, then pulled out bacon, eggs, and bread. Cooking had become its own kind of therapy warm pan, sizzling bacon, toast popping up like little victories. Charlie thought he was subtle about his bacon obsession, but the way his eyes lit up whenever it hit the table? Busted.
As I moved around the kitchen, my thoughts flickered back to yesterday. Lucien. His shadow clinging to me like a second heartbeat. His words that tangled in my mind long after they'd ended. It had been… a lot. The kind of "a lot" that drained people for days.
And yet here I was, humming over scrambled eggs, refreshed, steady, like nothing had happened. Like I was designed to recover faster than I should.
I decided not to question it. Not yet.
Charlie padded down the stairs in his sheriff slippers, hair tousled like he'd lost a fight with a pillow. He squinted into the kitchen light, spotted me at the stove, and let out one of those soft, tired smiles he reserves for small domestic victories coffee brewing, bacon on the pan, life under control before eight a.m.
"Morning," he grunted, voice still rough with sleep.
I handed him a steaming mug like it was a peace offering to the household god of Forks. "Morning."
"Thanks," he said, already half-possessed by the caffeine. One sip later, his whole body loosened like he'd just been blessed. If I ever needed proof coffee counted as magic, there it was: Charlie Swan, looking like someone kissed him on the mouth and whispered, you've got this.
Before I could laugh, the door rattled, and Bella swept in. Not so much "entered" as "arrived in a small hurricane." Backpack slung one-handed, hoodie thrown on, hair trying to stage a rebellion against gravity. She made a beeline for the coffee pot, mumbling, "Sorry, sorry I'm in a hurry. Got stuff to finish."
"No problem." I flipped an egg with the unnecessary flair of a Food Network contestant, then gestured with the spatula. "Breakfast is almost done. Have a coffee before you combust."
She poured herself half a mug practically inhaling it and muttered, "Thanks." Finally, she glanced up at me, took in my neat ponytail, skin still smugly behaving like Photoshop lived under it, and squinted. "Seriously. How do you always look like you stepped out of a magazine?"
I shrugged like it was nothing. "Guess the Forks tap water has hidden properties. Or maybe my pillow has a magic setting. Either way no trade secrets."
Bella rolled her eyes, the universal Swan response to my existence. But her mouth twitched like she was fighting a laugh.
Charlie cleared his throat, coffee in hand, and defaulted into Dad Mode. "Plans today?"
I slid a plate of eggs onto the table with a flourish. "Homebody agenda. Laundry, maybe catch up on reading, possibly reorganize Bella's disaster zone of a room if she'll let me."
Bella poked me with her fork. "You touch my room and I'll make you regret it."
I batted my lashes. "See? Gratitude in this house flows like maple syrup."
She stuffed eggs in her mouth and mumbled through them, "Same here. Homework. Maybe shopping later." Her chewing speed suggested she thought the faster she ate, the sooner she could flee.
Charlie looked between us, suspicion giving way to something warmer. "That's… surprisingly responsible. Proud of you two." He raised his mug in a mock-toast. "Don't stay out late, okay?"
"We won't," Bella promised, looking serious for a second. I noticed the faint tension in her jaw Forks nights weren't exactly relaxing but she buried it under coffee.
Breakfast wound down in the easy rhythm of forks, toast, and small talk. Domestic normalcy at its finest.
Afterward, Bella and I split toward our respective cars. I slid into my Audi A4, the leather cool and smug under my palms. Meanwhile, Bella scrambled into her truck with all the joy of someone strapping themselves into a carnival ride that shouldn't have passed inspection.
She grinned at me as she buckled herself in, like the thing was a badge of honor. I shook my head, staring at the dented beast.
"You actually like that truck," I muttered, starting my engine.
Bella didn't answer just smirked and revved the thing like it was some prized stallion.
I rolled my eyes, but the truth nudged me anyway. Of course she likes it. Charlie gave it to her. That truck could be held together by duct tape and stubbornness, and she'd still worship it. Sentimental value trumps horsepower every time.
We pulled out of the driveway together me gliding like a civilized adult in my Audi, Bella rattling along behind me like she was taming a prehistoric machine. If Forks had been watching, they probably thought we looked like a mismatched car commercial: "Luxury for her, nostalgia for her cousin."
The road stretched out slick and quiet, the trees leaning in like sentinels. For once, I didn't reach for music. No chatter, no distraction. Just the hush of rain against the windshield and the lumbering reflection of Bella's truck in my rearview mirror.
I needed the quiet. After everything lately the vampires, the intensity, the secrets I craved silence to remind myself what was still real. Asphalt under tires. Breath fogging faintly against the glass. The steady rhythm of a morning drive in a sleepy little town.
My thoughts drifted, of course. Transmigration is an odd thing to unpack with the radio off.
In my other life, mornings had been different. I'd wake up far too late, scrolling through feeds on my phone until my eyes burned. Ramen at odd hours, Spotify playlists that felt like soundtracks to moods I couldn't explain, the anonymity of being just another face in the crowd. I missed the conveniences: Netflix algorithms that weirdly understood my soul, the lazy familiarity of group chats, the ritual of ordering greasy pizza from the place that always got my name wrong but remembered my toppings. I even missed my old apartment's leaky faucet and the squeaky radiator that never worked right. That life had been messy, chaotic, mine. And it had been blissfully free of vampires and wolves.
But here here was different. This small town that smelled like rain and pine had handed me something I hadn't expected: people who cared. Charlie, steady as bedrock, sentimental when he thought no one noticed. Bella, awkward and intense, but so earnest it made my chest ache. Even Jessica and Angela, with their gossip and laughter, had slipped past my guard until friendship didn't feel like something I had to work for it was just there.
The truth settled into me like a soft inevitability: you lose things, you gain others. It didn't make the loss hurt less, but it did give me a kind of map. One life traded for another, messy in its own ways but filled with new threads worth holding onto.
The school parking lot came into view, ordinary and unassuming, with its tangle of cars and chatter. Students drifted between doors, the air buzzing with the small dramas of teenage life.
Inside, it was more of the same: corridors alive with the slam of lockers, Angela's gentle voice mixing with Jessica's sharp-edged chatter about clothes and some upcoming movie. People noticed me they always did but I let it wash over. A few smiles, a wave here, a nod there.
I stepped into the rhythm of it all, letting the ordinary moments anchor me. Forks might not have had Netflix or late-night ramen shops, but it had something else: a place that, against all odds, was starting to feel like mine.
And as I slipped into the steady current of small-town life, one thought stuck: maybe I hadn't lost everything after all. Maybe I'd just… shifted.
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