Page 137 of Healing Eleanor

“And then—” she leans forward, lips curling, “to fall on a simple fouetté.” She scoffs. “Humiliating. I felt ashamed to call you my daughter at that moment. But not as ashamed as I feel now knowing you’ve ended your career with a surgery. You weak, foolish girl.”

I gulp, trying to gather myself through the fog of lingering medicine. “The doctor recommended it. There was no other choice. I can still dance after physical therapy.”

She straightens. “Physical therapy?” Her nostrils flare. “Have I taught you nothing about strength? About control? Or did you toss it all aside when you came to this pathetic company?”

“It isn’t a pathetic company,” I say, my voice cracking. “I’ve made friends, built a life—”

She laughs bitterly. “Friends? A life? Eleanor, that’s not why you came here. You were meant to survive a season and then move on.” Her smile turns cruel and predatory. “Or did you imagine you had a chance with that coach of yours?”

My blood turns to ice. “Wh—what?”

Her grin widens, venom dripping from every word. “You think coaches protect their dancers? Let me answer that for you: no. You got distracted… by a man who can’t advance you, can’t make you more than a footnote. A complete waste of focus.”

“Nik isn’t like that,” I whisper, instantly regretting the words.

She barks a harsh laugh. “You really are stupid, Eleanor.” She strides toward the door. “I’m done with this foolishness. When you get a grip and regain your focus, you may contact me. But if you’re going to sit here and play the delusional child… I want nothing to do with it. Destroy your life all on your own. I want no part of it.” She storms out, leaving every bit of hurt behind.

With the click of the door, the sob I’ve been holding barrels out of me. All my life, I’ve wanted to make her proud, like Edward and Scarlett. To be just as successful and to finally earn her love. But now… I’ll never earn it. I’m as insignificant as the gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

And yet, beneath the pain, a strange sense of relief unfurls.

No longer do I need to be the girl who tries to please her. No longer do I need to follow every rule, only to break them unintentionally. No longer do I need to bottle up who I am—who I want to be—even if I still don’t fully know. No longer do I need to judge myself harshly, trying to fit the perfect version she demands.

Now… I can figure out who I am.

And as daunting as that feels, it’s like a ton of bricks lifting from my shoulders.

It’s been one week since the fall.

One week since Nik confessed his love.

One week since the surgery.

One week since my mother rid me from her life.

One week of being home.

Seven days of lying in this bed, my leg confined in a splint, the walking boot sitting across the room like some kind of cruel joke.

Bored doesn’t even begin to cover it.

My phone buzzed relentlessly that first day, a steady stream of messages pouring in wishing me well, and praying for my healing. Gabriel and Dillon checked in almost every morning. Even Kasper and Russell sent emails, their tone more formal but still kind.

But Lily… she’s only texted me once.

And Nik… Not a single word.

His silence hurts more than the surgery scar stitched into my ankle.

I’ve thought about texting him first, wanting to pour out my heart, but it doesn’t feel right. Everything I need to say has to be said in person. Besides, my life is still a mess. I no longer have a leg to stand on—pun intended—and I have nothing to offer. I can’t go to Nik like this. The same girl who fears weight, who lives in anxiety, who’s certain she’s unworthy. He deserves better, even though I’m not sure where to begin.

I click through the TV channels, sick of the reruns. The walls feel like they’re closing in, and I’m going to go completely mad if I stay in this bed much longer.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Dillon’s name lights the screen.

I hit accept and put the phone to my ear. “Hey, Dillon.”

“Hey, Eleanor, how are you doing?” His voice is bright, muffled by other noise in the background.