Page 136 of Healing Eleanor

The fall.

The snap.

Nik.

The ambulance.

Surgery.

I lift a sluggish hand to my face, trying to rub away the fog the hospital drugs leave behind.

The voices outside my door grow louder, sharp enough to cut through my haze. I know that voice.

“You will let me in this instant!” My mother yells furiously.

“Ma’am, she just got out of surgery. She may not even be awake yet—” a nurse tries to explain.

“Surgery?” My mother’s screech rattles through me. “What do you mean, surgery?”

“I’m not at liberty to share her medical details. Please, if you could wait in the—”

The nurse’s words are cut off by the scrape of shoes and a hissed curse. The door slams open, ricocheting against the wall.

“Oh look.” My mother gestures toward me before turning to the nurse, her tone dripping with disdain. “She’s awake.”

The poor nurse’s eyes dart between us. “Really, ma’am, you should wait in the—”

“You will leave me with my daughter.” My mother’s voice snaps like a whip as she stalks into the room. “Now, move along.”

The nurse hesitates, looking to me for backup.

I force a nod, my voice rasping. “I—It’s f—fine.”

She gives me a pitying glance before slipping out, the door clicking shut behind her.

My mother stays where she is, arms crossed, her blouse crisp, pencil skirt immaculate, stilettos clicking against the linoleum floor. She doesn’t look like a mom at all, she looks like a prosecutor ready to eviscerate me on the stand.

“You have so much explaining to do.”

My throat burns with dryness, and I scan the table for a water cup. She notices before I can ask, snatching the plastic cup and shoving it at me. Water sloshes over the rim onto my gown, icy against my skin.

I gulp greedily, relief spreading through my raw throat, before setting it down with trembling fingers. I force myself to meet her eyes. “Explaining what? You saw what happened.”

Her fists curl tight at her sides. “I saw,” she says through clenched teeth. “But I have no idea what happened. I tried to visit you in the dressing room, but apparently you’ve acquired some kind of bodyguard. Then I tried calling, but you never answer your phone—so why even have one?” Her voice climbs higher, sharp enough to cut. “And now I find out you’ve had surgery? You’re going to explain everything. Now.” Her tone is iron, leaving no cracks for escape.

I draw in a shaky breath, trying to push words through the fog in my head. “Achilles rupture. Third degree. They had to operate.” My brain throbs with each syllable, the weight of her presence pressing down harder than the pain in my ankle.

I wish I never let her in.

“Unbelieveable.” She shakes her head slowly, stilettos clicking as she steps closer to my bed. “How stupid do you have to be to let something like this happen?”

“Excuse me?” My voice cracks, smaller than I want.

Of all the times she could have chosen to see me—the moments I needed her most—she chooses now to call me stupid? Heat builds in my chest, a tangle of anger, sadness, and a desperate, aching longing. I want a mother. Someone to take my hand, to say I’ll be okay. But that isn’t why she’s here. She didn’t come to comfort me. She’s come to destroy me.

“You heard me.” Her words slice through me. “What little I saw of your performance was garbage. Your épaulement was grotesque. Your bourrées were sloppy. Your pliés and cambrés were completely uncontrolled. I couldn’t tell if you were supposed to be a swan or a dying bird.”

Tears burn hot in my eyes, blurring the fluorescent lights above me. I blink furiously, swallowing them back. I know better than to let her see me cry. Tears are just another flaw for her to dissect.