Their exchange was full of awkward silence, uncomfortable remarks, and quiet observation, but there was something strangely endearing about having him tend to her. His raised voice had spooked the dramatics out of her, but not her honesty; Bella glanced up at him and, with a contemplative sigh, nodded.

"My father died," she answered, examining his features in a light pause before continuing. "I was angry. At him, at my siblings, at the world—but not you. I'm sorry." And she was.

---