Page 52 of Healing Eleanor

I sit there, too numb to respond. Taking it like I always do. Because what can I say? For once, I’m proud of myself. And nothing I say will ever make her proud of me.

“Let’s think about this diplomatically,” Edward starts.

She lifts a hand, stopping him mid-sentence. “I want you to leave, Eleanor.” Her voice is ice-cold. “I’m so disappointed, I can’t stand the sight of you.”

Scarlett gasps. Edward flinches and looks away. But no one says anything. I just sit there, gutted. How can I be on cloud nine one moment, and obliterated the next? By my own mother. The one person who’s supposed to love me unconditionally.

I quietly rise from the table and gently push in my chair.

“Thanks for dinner,” I mumble softly, glancing between Edward and Scarlett. “It was nice to see you both.”

“Eleanor—” Scarlett begins, but I can’t stay a moment longer.

I retrieve my purse, slip my phone inside, and make my way toward the front door.

“Mom, really?” Scarlett’s voice carries behind me. “We couldn’t have one nice dinner with her here?”

I don’t wait to hear what Mom says.

As I step out into the cool night air, my heels wobble slightly against the uneven cobblestone driveway. I pause, steady myself, and keep walking toward the gate, the only escape out of here.

Once I’m on the other side, I whip out my phone and request an Uber. Then I sink down onto the sidewalk to wait, not caring how it looks to the passing drivers. Let them think I’m a stray dog. Mom would say it herself if she saw me.

When the Uber pulls up, I climb into the back seat, exchange a few polite words with the driver, and then let the silence consume me. The hour-long drive stretches before me, quiet except for the hum of the tires and the echo of everything that’s just unfolded.

Mom’s words replay in my head, one after the other, their disappointment and dismissiveness lingering in every part of me. But I breathe in and do my best to let them go. I tell myself to let them roll off me like rain, in thin rivulets sliding away before they can soak in.

Maybe this is just a stepping stone. Maybe Hollingford isn’t the end but the beginning. She just needs to see I’m serious, and one day she will.

The streetlights blur past in gold streaks as the sky deepens to indigo. I lean my head against the window and look up at the stars blooming in the dark.

A hint of a smile plays on my lips. She’ll see. They all will.

11

Enjoying The View?

Eleanor

The past week and a half has been brutal, and that’s putting it nicely. After the disaster that was Edward’s dinner party, Scarlett wouldn’t stop calling. Ever the peacemaker, she somehow managed to get Mom to actually apologize for her behavior. That alone was shocking.

Then, as if possessed by some alternate version of herself, Scarlett offered to help me move. Who was this person, and what had she done with my sister? I didn’t know this new considerate Scarlett.

Still, I didn’t question it. Secretly, it was nice having her on my side… though I’d never admit that out loud.

Soon after, Mom offered to pay my first month’s rent as an apology gift. I didn’t want her money, or her attempts to buy my love, but if this was her version of an apology, who was I to question it?

Once everything in my apartment was packed, I took Kasper’s offer to hire a moving company, and Scarlett and I hit the road. Shockingly, the drive wasn’t terrible. Our conversations weren’t nearly as dull as the first time she drove me up here.

She actually asked about me, didn’t brag about her job, and somehow didn’t bring up Edward, which was a miracle, considering they’re basically best friends who just happen to share DNA. She asked thoughtful questions and seemed genuinely interested in my answers. It was… refreshing.

Unfortunately, after Scarlett dropped me off, I was left alone to tackle the mountain of unpacked boxes.

In hindsight, I really should’ve labeled them better. Finding anything in this chaos has been a nightmare. This studio is even smaller than my old apartment. Everything is close together, like it’s been built to conserve space and, ultimately, my patience.

A small kitchen flows into floating counters that double as my dining area. The living room holds a TV, a coffee table, and a futon tucked into the corner. My bed sits against the wall, framed by two narrow bedside tables. Next to it is a bathroom barely large enough for the essentials, stripped of any counter space.

I’m trying not to be bitter about it, but right now the boxes take up about eighty percent of the floor space, and the claustrophobia is getting to me. I’m just grateful I managed to dig out a box with my ballet attire. One less thing to stress about this morning.