She didn’t waste time.
“Eleanor,” she began, voice clipped and cool, “this . . . behavior lately is becoming increasingly concerning.”
I swallowed. “What behavior?”
“Don’t play coy with me.”
Her lips barely moved, her tone the perfect mixture of pity and disdain. “I come home to find you roller skating. In the driveway. Like a teenager. And that woman”—she flicked a hand toward the kitchen—“is encouraging you into . . . goodness knows what.”
I felt my spine stiffen. “Belle is my friend.”
“She is not yourfriend,Eleanor. She is a hired employee.” Her voice sharpened. “And someone like that does not understand the standards required of a Tremaine.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “Mom?—”
“No.” She cut me off. “No, I have been patient. I have allowed you to live here. I have done my best to provide stability for you and Ava during . . . this difficult transition.” Her eyes softened with false sympathy. “But you are an adult. A mother. And it is time you began behaving like one.”
The words landed like cold stones in my stomach.
Growing up, she’d said them so many times.Behave, Eleanor. Don’t embarrass us. Don’t be dramatic. Don’t be difficult.
And every time, it pushed me smaller. Quieter. Easier to manage.
I thought I’d grown past that.
Apparently not.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice like she was confiding something for my own good. “You need to think about Ava’s future. And yours.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Which means finding a suitable husband. Someone stable. Someone with standing. Someone who can provide for you both.”
Her meaning was clear.
Not Alex.
My chest tightened painfully.
“Mom,” I whispered, “I’m not looking for someone to provide for us. I’m looking for someone who’s kind. Someone who understands Ava. Someone who . . . makes us happy.”
She scoffed softly. “Happy?”
Like it was an unserious word. A childish one.
“Happiness is fleeting. Stability is what matters.”
I felt myself shrinking under the weight of her tone like I was sixteen again. In trouble again. Never enough, yet somehow too much.
Her eyes softened in that way that made everything worse.
“I know you’re still emotional from the past year,” she said gently. “But you cannot let grief cloud your judgment. It’s time to grow up and make choices that are best for your daughter.”
Best for Ava. As if I didn’t spend every waking second doing exactly that.
Something inside me twisted, anger and shame, and that old, familiar helplessness.
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Not the truth. Not the fight. Not the fire I thought I’d finally found again.
Just silence.
My mother took it as agreement, or surrender, or both.
