Page 144 of Healing Eleanor

I wipe at my cheek, embarrassed by the tears that keep spilling over.

“She taught you to tie your worth to performance,” Evelyn continues carefully. “But that was her voice, not yours. Her choices, her pain, her regrets… they don’t define you.” She pauses, letting her words sink in. “When you punish yourself now, whose voice do you hear? Yours… or hers?”

The question hangs between us, like a noose headed straight for me. My throat closes, but the answer is clear. “Hers,” I breathe out.

Evelyn’s head dips softly. “That’s an important truth to name. And naming it means we can begin separating what belongs to you, from what never should have been yours to carry.”

I bite my lower lip, ready to face the pain. Ready to face reality. To accept that I’ve been deceived my entire life. It doesn’t feel like ripping off a bandage, it feels like pulling stitches before the wound has closed.

For the rest of the session, Evelyn helps me separate fact from truth, showing me that change is possible if I want it. For the first time, I can see the damage my own flesh and blood has inflicted on me. And though it stings, the clarity is strangely freeing.

Recognizing the weight of my situation, Evelyn asks me to come in three times a week, determined to get to the root of my pain. She even offers her Saturdays—one of her only days off—just to make room for me. My breath hitches at the thought because I know my mother never would have done the same. Even when she’s been given the chance to be my mother, she chooses to leave me behind in my most vulnerable state.

When I leave Evelyn’s office that afternoon, my chest is raw. Beneath the sting, there’s resolve. For once I’m not taping myself back together and pretending to be fine. I’m sitting with the pain and letting it bleed because maybe that’s the only way it will ever heal.

Lily comes over with food later that night. She spreads the containers across my bed and makes herself comfortable, a silent reminder that she’s not going anywhere. She’s a friend I don’t deserve, but one I’m deeply grateful for.

“So,” Lily says around a forkful of her farro and roasted veggie bowl, “how was your session with my mom?”

I poke at the chicken in my own bowl before taking a bite. “It was… a lot.”

Her brows pinch together. “Good ‘a lot’ or bad ‘a lot’?”

“Both,” I admit with a sigh, dragging my fork through the grains. “It was eye-opening. Just… painful to get to the clarity part.”

Lily nods in understanding. “Yeah. My mom’s scary good at that.”

I let out a small laugh. “No kidding. She wants to see me three times a week—even on Saturdays.”

Lily’s eyes grow wide. “Saturday? Wow, you must really be messed up.”

I bump her elbow, making her nearly drop her forkful of food.

“Hey! I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” she says quickly, grinning.

I take another bite of food. “How have the performances been going?” The words sting as they leave my mouth. It hurts knowing I’m not out there with them soaking it all in.

Lily doesn’t brighten the way she usually does when talking about the stage. Instead, she lets out a sigh. “They’ve been going well. Attendance has been great.”

I stop chewing. “But?”

Her shoulders slump. “But everything feels… off. Tense. Paloma has basically crowned herself prima donna, throwing herself at Nik for recognition—or who knows what—and she’s been setting the tone for every performance. It’s gotten so bad that Nik doesn’t even stay for them anymore. Backstage is a mess.”

I blink in surprise. “He hasn’t stayed?”

She shakes her head. “No. Not since opening night really.”

My heart lodges itself in my throat, but I force myself to ask the one question I’ve been avoiding. “How… how is he?”

“Nik?” Lily questions, chewing her next bite before answering. “Still as moody as ever. He barely talks to me. Even at church he used to sit with my family, or with Gabriel and me, but lately…” She set down her fork. “He sits alone.”

I sit up straighter, wincing at the ache in my ankle. “I’m sorry all of this has been happening.”

Lily’s smile is thin, her eyes shadowed. “Yeah… it sucks seeing him like this. Maybe you should come to church with us sometime. You could… talk to him?”

My stomach plummets. The idea both thrills and terrifies me. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

“Why not?” Lily challenges gently, leaning forward. “You both care about each other. He’s hurting, Eleanor. And so are you. What’s the worst that could happen if you just showed up and talked to him?”