Page 158 of Healing Eleanor

“Let’s pray,” Dillon says simply.

“Father.” Gabriel’s voice rumbles low. “We lift Nik up to You. You know his grief, his pain, the weight he’s been carrying alone. We ask You to meet him here, right now, in the middle of his brokenness.”

Lily squeezes my hands. Her words come softer, trembling with emotion. “God, remind him he isn’t alone. Surround him with Your comfort the way You surrounded us when we didn’t know how to keep going. Show him that leaning on others doesn’t make him weak—it makes him more like You.”

Dillon’s voice joins theirs, warm and unwavering. “Lord, we ask You to bring peace that only You can give. Heal his heart. Help him let go of the fear that keeps him pushing people away. And give him courage to love fully, even when it hurts.”

Their words wash over me like balm, breaking down walls I hadn’t realized I’d built. I shake beneath their touch, the tears spilling faster, but for the first time since Mama died, I feel… seen.

Not just by them, but by Him.

All I can whisper, over and over again through the sobs, is, “Thank You, Jesus.”

30

Sunday Morning

Eleanor

The weight on my chest feels lighter. It’s still there, but it no longer crushes me into oblivion. It sits like a reminder instead, a whisper from God saying, Look where I’ve brought you from.

I’ve thrown myself into the Bible these past two weeks, reading from sunup to sundown, devouring every note Lily has scribbled in the margins, and even scouring the internet for verses I didn’t understand.

I didn’t realize how quickly an entire outlook on life could shift. I don’t feel alone anymore. Instead, I feel a love that doesn’t make sense, a presence that presses against my ribs and fills every hollow part of me. And for the first time, I can’t help but believe in the One who saved me.

I’m not an expert—not even close. But I want more. I want to dive deeper than I’ve ever imagined, to hold onto this feeling that’s swallowed me whole and consumed me in the best way.

After finishing John, I started to pray. It was messy at first, my words tangling, and tears streaking my cheeks, but I kept going. I laid down every fear, every failure, every aching thing at the feet of Jesus. I wept. I screamed. Sometimes I begged for the pain to be taken away.

And there He was. Meeting me right where I was. Just like Evelyn said He would.

I prayed for healing. That food would no longer be a weapon or a battle, but a normal part of life. That the words my mother had spoken over me would lose their power. That I could live a life that honored the body God had given me instead of punishing it.

I prayed for my future. I had no idea what it would look like anymore, but I knew I couldn’t keep dancing. The conviction was too strong. Every time I thought about ballet, my stomach turned. It felt like stepping back into the very cage that once held me captive. And while the uncertainty of what came next scared me, I trusted God to guide my steps, to not let me fall.

And then, I prayed for Nik. I poured out every desire I had for him. I prayed he would forgive me. That he would look at me again and be able to trust me. I prayed for just one conversation—not a text, not a call, but face-to-face. That he would have the heart to hear me out.

My heart still longs for Nik in ways I don’t expect. Even with God’s love filling so many of my empty places, there’s still a corner of me that aches for his presence. His warmth, his kindness, his humor, and above all, his love. If I don’t try at least one more time, I know it will be one of the greatest losses of my life. And I can’t bear to leave it like that.

I grab my beanie and tug it over my head, grateful that my hair is finally starting to grow back healthy again. In the past few weeks, with Evelyn’s help and a steady meal plan, I’ve gained seven pounds. Back up to one-hundred and five instead of ninety-eight. It isn’t much, but it’s a step. A small victory.

I slip on my caramel-colored coat and check that my walking boot is secure. With all the snow that’s fallen lately, the last thing I need is to wipe out in a grocery store parking lot.

I call for a cab and sit by the window to wait. Grocery shopping still feels complicated. Part of me is eager for a sense of normalcy, but another part of me dreads it. It’s like the shelves are waiting to collapse on top of me, crushing all the fragile progress I’ve made.

But I refuse to let fear stop me. The only way forward is through, and I know I’m not walking alone. God is beside me, and that truth steadies me.

It also helps that Evelyn gives me a shopping list each week, breaking the task into something manageable. In one of our sessions, she sat with me and went through every food I felt safe enough to try, building a list from there. Each week we add something new, sometimes even a dessert. When I confessed my fear of sugar, she grew determined to prove that small indulgences were not only okay but necessary. That a piece of chocolate wouldn’t undo my recovery or ruin me. That life wasn’t meant to be lived in fear of food.

When the cab pulls up, I grab my purse, lock the door behind me, and slide into the warmth of the back seat. After giving the driver the address, I rest my head against the window, watching as sunlight and snow blur together in a silver-white haze.

Halfway there, the car slows. A line of traffic stretches out in front of us. Strange for a Sunday morning.

I peer out the window and spot the reason. Car after car turns into the lot of the same church where Irina’s funeral was held.

“It’s always like this around this time. That church stays busy. But don’t worry, it shouldn’t take long,” the driver explains.

I nod faintly, but my attention is fixed outside. Something in me stirs, like a pull deep in my gut, insistent and undeniable. Go. Now, Someone whispers.