Trials Of Thelma: Unbroken

Shadows of My Past

Ava's POV

As I walk back to my room on campus, my mind is a whirlpool of confusion and doubt. Thelma’s voice forgiving me echoes in my head. Why did she forgive me so easily? If our roles were reversed, would I have done the same? I doubt it. I've always been taught that strength means never showing vulnerability, never admitting defeat. But Thelma, she’s different. She has a strength I am struggling to understand.

Instead of going to the hostel, I head to the quiet bench under the large oak tree where I often sit with my friends, but today I am alone and thinking. The leaves rustle softly in the breeze, providing a semblance of calm. I close my eyes and let my mind drift back to where all this started.

Flashback

The house is filled with the sound of my parents’ voices, raised in their usual evening debate about my future. They never argue about my older sister, Laura. She’s perfect. Straight A’s, a star athlete, and the pride of our family. Then there’s me, the constant disappointment.

I can hear Laura practicing the piano in the next room, each note reminding me of her excellence and my shortcomings. I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my textbooks, feeling the familiar knot of anxiety tighten in my chest. “Why can’t you be more like your sister?” my mother’s voice rings through my head as I look at her standing at my door. “Your sister is always so composed, so talented. And you? What do you have to show for yourself?”

“I’m not doing badly myself, just that it's never enough for you,” I mutter, knowing it’s useless.

“It isn’t enough, Ava,” my father adds, his tone stern and unyielding. “You need to succeed. We didn’t pay for all those etiquette classes for you to act like a brat.”

I feel the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes but blink them away. Crying only makes them angrier. “Laura, come here,” my mother calls, and soon my sister appears at my bedroom door, looking as perfect as ever in her neatly pressed clothes and perfectly styled hair. “Yes, Mom?” she asks, her voice as sweet as honey.

“Show Ava your report card,” my mother demands. Laura went to her room to get it and hands it over without hesitation, a straight-A lineup that would make any parent proud. My mother shoves it in my face. “This is what excellence looks like, Ava.” as she walks away after looking at me with disgust.

As I picked up the report and was looking at it, I didn't see anything because my eyes are filled with so many tears and my heart in shambles. Laura just stood looking at me with an innocent look, she did not bother to console me. “I hate you!” I shout, unable to contain my frustration any longer. “I hate you and your perfect grades and your perfect life!” Laura’s eyes widen in shock. “Ava, I’m just trying to help.” “Help? In what world are you doing that? You didn't say anything in my defense. Instead, you are making me look bad!” I snap back.

At that moment, my parents walk in, their faces thunderous. “What is going on here?” my father demands. “Nothing,” I say quickly, but it’s too late. They’ve heard enough. “Apologize to your sister right now,” my mother orders. “No,” I say, my voice trembling. “I’m tired of apologizing. I’m tired of being compared to her.” “Ava,” my father warns, his voice low and dangerous.

“I hate all of you!” I scream, running out of the room and slamming the door behind me.

******* Flashback Ends*******

I snap back to the present, tears streaming down my face. That was the day I decided I would never let anyone make me feel small again. I built walls around myself, shutting out the pain and the constant comparisons. But those walls also shut out kindness, friendship, and understanding. My parents’ constant comparisons and high expectations shaped who I am today. I became obsessed with being the best, not because I wanted to, but because I had to prove I was worth something.

I remember the countless nights spent studying until dawn, pushing myself to the brink of exhaustion just to get a nod of approval from my parents. But no matter what I did, it was never enough. Laura always outshined me. I look around the campus, watching groups of friends laughing and talking. I never allowed myself to have that. I pushed people away, thinking that relying on anyone was a sign of weakness. That’s why I targeted Thelma. She reminded me so much of Laura—perfect, talented, and loved by everyone. I couldn’t stand it.

I hate to think about my home, it still brings me so much pain. My thoughts return to Thelma. How could she forgive me so easily? What kind of strength does that take? I feel a pang of guilt for everything I’ve done to her. Maybe it’s time I start tearing down those walls, brick by brick.

But now, after everything that’s happened, I realize how wrong I was. Thelma’s kindness and forgiveness have shown me a different kind of strength. A strength I desperately want to understand. I wipe my tears away and stand up, a new resolve forming within me. It won’t be easy, but if Thelma can show such strength, maybe I can too.

Later that evening, as I sit in my dorm room, staring at the blank pages of my journal. Writing has always been a way for me to process my thoughts, but tonight, the words won’t come. I keep thinking about my conversation with Thelma and the look in her eyes when she forgave me.

I pick up my pen and start to write.

Dear Journal,