Becoming Eleanora

Chapter 3: You get some and you lose some

As the summer rolled in, bringing with it warm breezes and a sense of possibility, I found myself slowly drifting closer to my mother. It was as if the season of renewal had awakened something within us both, and we began to bridge the gap that had separated us.

One afternoon, I caught my mother sitting on the porch, gazing wistfully at the cherry blossom tree in the front yard. Her eyes held a mixture of sadness and nostalgia, and I couldn't help but wonder what memories the tree stirred within her.

"Momma, are you okay?" I asked gently, rolling myself closer to her.

She looked at me with surprise, as if she hadn't expected me to initiate a conversation. "I'm fine, love. Just thinking about few things."

I could sense there was more she wanted to say, but the words seemed trapped behind a wall of pride. It was a wall that had divided us for far too long, and I knew that if we were ever going to heal as a family, we needed to confront the emotions that held us captive.

"Can I join you?" I asked, looking up at the cherry blossom tree with her. She nodded, and together we sat in silence, letting the gentle rustle of leaves speak the words we couldn't find. With each passing moment, the distance between us seemed to lessen, and I found the courage to broach the subject that had been haunting our home.

"Mom, I want to understand," I began hesitantly. "At what point did all this happen? At what point did you guys stop loving each other?"

She let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping as if a weight had been lifted off them. "Your father and I still love each other very much; we just argue and say mean things to each other sometimes. It started when Noah was born, he’s always thought he wasn’t his. And then Amelia and then Theodora, he always thought I was sleeping with different men"

Tears welled up in her eyes, and I reached out to hold her hand, surprising both of us with the tenderness of the gesture. "I was always mad at both of you" I admitted, my voice trembling. "I was mad because of the nights I had to sing your kids to sleep, close their ears, I was most especially mad because you guys didn’t even care about the fact that they’re children in the house, if you don’t care about me, care about Amelia, She’s 7 and she has heard things she wasn’t supposed to hear because you both can never get along. But maybe... maybe it's time for all of us to face our pain and move forward."

Mom looked at me with a mixture of love and sadness. "You're right, Ellie. We’re horrible parents. But I just hope you know that I've tried, I've prayed to God to restore the happiness in my marriage and-." “and your ability to walk. And I'll keep trying, I'll try to get along with him, the fights will end soon, I promise” In that moment, I felt a connection with my mother that I hadn't experienced in my entire life. It was as if we had finally allowed ourselves to be vulnerable with each other, and in that vulnerability, we discovered strength.

Over the following weeks, my mother and I continued to open up to each other. We shared stories, memories, and the pain that had long been buried beneath the surface. It wasn't easy, and there were tears shed and a few palms beaten, but through it all, we found a newfound understanding of each other.

As the summer drew to a close, my relationship with my mom began to blossom. We started spending more time together, exploring our shared interests, and supporting each other through the good and the bad.

One day, as we sat together under the cherry blossom tree, mom pulled out an old photo album. Leafing through the pages, she shared stories of her own upbringing, her family, and the struggles she had faced in her life.

"I want you to know where you come from" she said softly, a hint of pride in her voice. "You have a beautiful family line—a blend of cultures that make you unique and special."

As I looked at the photographs, I saw a reflection of myself in the faces of my relatives. I realized that my mixed identity was not just a reminder of dissonance; it was a testament to the resilience of love that had brought my parents together once upon a time.

In that moment, I felt a sense of acceptance and belonging that I had longed for. I wasn't just a casualty of my parents' dissonance; I was the product of a love that had once been strong and pure. And though that love had changed, it had left an indelible mark on my life.

As the seasons continued to change, I found myself embracing the bonds that connected me to my family—both the joys and the pains. I no longer saw myself as a victim of circumstance; instead, I saw myself as someone with the strength to face life's challenges head-on.

With newfound understanding and acceptance, I knew that the journey of healing was not over, but I was no longer afraid to confront the dissonance that had once overwhelmed me. Armed with the support of Nate, my siblings, and most importantly, my mother, I felt ready to face whatever life had in store.

The weight of dissonance no longer defined me; it was just a part of my story—a chapter that had shaped me but no longer held me captive. As I looked towards the future with hope and resilience, I knew that I was not alone in this journey. Together, we would navigate the complexities of life, bound by love and a shared determination to embrace the beauty of life.

As the days passed, the fragile connection between my mother and i continued to strengthen. We shared laughter and tears, and for a while, it seemed like we were finally on the path to healing the wounds that had kept us apart.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange glow over the neighborhood, my mother and I found ourselves in the kitchen. The air was thick with tension, but neither of us wanted to let the pain creep back into our lives.

"I'm proud of the progress your dad and I have made," mom said, breaking the uneasy silence. "It's not easy, but I believe we can rebuild our relationship."

Her words filled me with a mixture of hope and anxiety. While I longed for a better connection between my father and my mother, there was still a part of me that feared that it wouldn’t last

"I want that too," I replied, my voice tinged with vulnerability. "But it's hard when he’s not even home anymore, He goes out early in the morning and comes back late at night."

Mom nodded, her eyes reflecting understanding. "I know, Ellie. But you know things are hard, he has to make money if we’re to eat 3 meals a day." Her words touched a chord within me, and for a moment, it felt like they were finally breaking down the barriers that had kept them distant. But as the night wore on, the stress of our conversation took its toll, and emotions ran high.

In the heat of the moment, I found myself voicing the frustration that had been building up inside me for years. "Sometimes, it's just hard to believe that you and Dad are anything more than 2 siblings arguing over the last slice of pizza. I know you’re trying and this past week it’s been paying off but we both know dad would annoy you or say something to me that’ll offend you and you’ll try to defend me and-”"

Mom's face crumpled, her face burning up with both anger and guilt even though she tried to hide it. "I know it's been difficult, baby, but we can't change the past. We can only try to move forward and rebuild."

But I couldn't shake the bitterness that had taken root within me. "And what if moving forward means pretending that everything is fine when it's not? I'm tired of pretending, Mom. I'm tired of being disappointed."

Her eyes met mine, and I saw the pain etched on her face. "You think I don't feel disappointment too? I never wanted things to be this way, but life isn't always what we want it to be."

The weight of our words hung heavily in the air, suffocating any progress we had made. In the midst of my anger and frustration, I uttered words I instantly regretted. "Maybe you’re just a bad wife."

Mom's face crumpled further, the anger and hurt evident in her eyes. "Eleanora Aaliyah Mikaelson. I've been trying to hold it all in just to get you to trust me, but Jesus Christ, you’ve pushed me" she yelled “Do you know what I've done for you? Or what I've sacrificed? I left med school to take care of you, to give you an amazing life, but where did that take me? In this soap box of a house, with people who look at me like I'm a nasty stray dog, working 2 jobs but still with little to no money, Having to take care of 2 rowdy kids without any support from your father, I’m even putting up with frank’s annoying, unreasonable, misunderstanding butt because I just want you and your siblings to have a good life. If anybody is a bad person, It’s you.”

I stared at her in shock, my mother has never spoken like this to me, of course, she’s yelled at me but his time it was different. This time she meant it. Suddenly, I felt all the pain from before crawl back inside me and I couldn’t stop it. I prayed inside that it was just the shock but deep down I knew it wasn’t, the damage had been done, and the chasm between us felt wider than ever. I retreated to my room, feeling a mix of guilt and anger at myself for lashing out at the one person who had been trying to mend our fractured relationship.

In the days that followed, our interactions were strained, and the pain that had once faded seemed to loom larger than ever. I withdrew into myself, afraid to face the hurt I had caused, and the guilt gnawed at me like a relentless storm.

It was Nate who helped me find the courage to confront the aftermath of our heated argument. He reminded me that relationships were complex, filled with both love and pain, and that it was okay to make mistakes as long as we were willing to learn from them.

With his support, I mustered the courage to sit down with mom and face the consequences of my hurtful words. Tears were shed, apologies were exchanged, and in that vulnerable moment, I saw a glimpse of the love that had always been there, buried beneath the rubble of our pain.

It was a slow process, rebuilding the bonds that had been fractured by years of dissonance. But as we navigated the complexities of our emotions together, I realized that healing wasn't about erasing the pain of the past—it was about finding strength in our vulnerabilities and forging a path forward, hand in hand.

In the midst of our journey, I learned that love wasn't always perfect, and the relationships that mattered most were the ones that withstood the trials of life. My mother and I may have been broken, but together, we were strong enough to mend the fractures and rebuild our connection, one step at a time.

As the days turned into weeks, our relationship slowly began to mend. There were still challenges and moments of pain, but we faced them together, with honesty and openness. It was a process of growth and understanding, and through it all, I realized that our love for each other would forever be a tapestry of beauty and imperfection.

As the weeks turned into months, and the fragile connection between my mother and me continued to mend, a lingering dissonance remained in our home. My father was still a distant presence, and our interactions were mostly limited to awkward exchanges and tense silences.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the living room, my frustration with my father reached its boiling point. He had been avoiding any meaningful conversation about our family's issues, and his indifference got on my nerves.

"Can we talk, Dad?" I asked, mustering the courage to confront him.

He glanced up from the newspaper, his expression guarded. "About what, Eleanora?"

"About everything. About how you and Mom can't even be in the same room without arguing, about how you've distanced yourself from both of us," I replied, the pent-up frustration in my voice beginning to surface.

He let out a sigh, setting the newspaper aside. "I know it's not easy for you, but sometimes, it's best to avoid confrontations."

"Is that what you think?" I asked, feeling the anger bubbling within me. "Avoiding confrontations won't solve anything. It just leaves wounds to fester."

Frank's jaw tightened, his eyes hardening. "You don't understand, Eleanora. This is between your mother and me."

"But it's affecting all of us! Especially me!" I exclaimed, my emotions spilling over. "You can't just shut yourself off from us and pretend like nothing is wrong. We're your family!"

He stood up abruptly, his voice rising in frustration. "Oh please, don’t come here and play the hero! You're not some main character in a dumb story by that dumb Colleen Hoover lady. You will never be my family, you’re a mess "

"At least I have a heart!" I shot back, the resentment in my voice palpable.

"You think I don’t want to spend time with you, Eleanor?" he replied, his voice filled with hatred and anger. "Am I supposed to take you for a walk? To go swim? To the park? I can’t even have any of my friends come over because they’ll see you. You’re a cripple Eleanora! Would you even spend time with yourself?"

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I had never seen my father so angry, and for a moment, I wondered if he meant what he said, he looked like he meant it. At that moment, anger within me started to burn, and I couldn't find it in myself to not talk back even though it’s the wrong thing to do in this situation

"Stop using my disability to sugarcoat the fact that you’re a failure, Frank" I spat out, my voice laced with resentment. "You've let our family fall apart, and you're too much of a coward to face the truth."

The moment the words left my mouth, I didn’t regret it. The hurt in my father's eyes was unmistakable, and for the first time, I saw the impact of my own bitterness on him. But in that moment of anger, I felt warm inside, like I've been wanting to say it but I couldn’t

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone in the living room, feeling a mix of relief and anger. I had finally voiced the anger and disappointment that had been festering within me for years, but it had come at a cost—a further rift in our already fractured relationship.

In the days that followed, the silence between us became even more pronounced. I avoided my father, unable to face the guilt that gnawed at me for lashing out in such a hurtful way. But I couldn't find it in myself to forgive him either, for his indifference and unwillingness to confront the dissonance tearing our family apart.

As time passed, my feelings of hatred towards my father grew. The weight of our heated argument weighed heavily on my heart, and I began to distance myself from him as well. The dissonance that once existed only between my parents now spread to consume our entire home. With each passing day, I became more guarded, more closed off from my father and the world. I carried the burden of my resentment like a shield, using it to protect myself from any further pain. But in doing so, I also isolated myself from the possibility of healing and reconciliation.

As the years passed, the hatred I felt towards my father became a part of my identity, a constant reminder of the dissonance that had consumed my life. I found it difficult to trust anyone, to let my guard down, and to allow myself to be vulnerable again.

But deep down, beneath the layers of anger and hurt, a part of me longed for resolution and healing. I hoped for a family that could be whole again, for a connection with my father that was more than just surface-level.

As I navigated through the complexities of my emotions, I realized that the journey towards healing would not be easy. It would require courage—the courage to confront my own pain and vulnerability, and the courage to open myself up to the possibility of forgiveness.

The hatred I harbored towards my father was a heavy burden to carry, but I knew that letting go of it would not be the end of the journey. It would be the beginning—a step towards embracing the complexities of love, pain, and forgiveness, and finding a way to mend the fractured bonds that once held our family together.