BELLA'S POV

The sound of water pouring into the bucket filled the entire room, echoing softly against the cracked walls like a reminder of how quiet this house had become. I sat there on the edge of the bed, my feet barely touching the floor, watching my mother kneel in front of me with a small rag in her hand.

She dipped it into the bucket again, wrung it out carefully, and began wiping my arm with slow, firm strokes.

I frowned.

She already knew I had taken my bath. I had stood under the shower until my legs felt weak, scrubbing myself until my skin burned, but that still...