Chapter 7 - Confronting Eleanor
Before leaving Charleston forever, there was one last thing I had to do.
I drove up the long, oak-lined driveway of the Vale estate one final time. The grand white tents were gone. The catering trucks were gone. The lawn was littered with dead leaves and tire tracks from the federal raid vehicles.
I pushed open the heavy mahogany front doors. The grand house was eerily quiet, smelling of dust and stale flowers.
I found my mother sitting in the dark living room, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows toward the Ashley River. She wore an ankle monitor beneath her gray sweatpants, her hair unstyled, looking twenty years older than she had three days ago.
Hearing my footsteps, she turned around.
"Maren," she whispered, her voice hollow.
I stood near the entryway, keeping my distance. "Hello, Eleanor."
"Look at this place," Eleanor gestured weakly around the empty, silent room. "The bank froze our accounts. The board removed me from every charity. My friends... women I’ve known for thirty years... won't answer my calls. They act like I have the plague."
"You built a life on appearances, Eleanor," I said quietly. "When the illusion breaks, there's nothing left."
"I was your mother!" Eleanor suddenly shouted, tears springing to her eyes as she stood up. "I carried you! I raised you! How could you destroy us like this?! You could have come to us privately! We could have fixed it!"
"Fixed it?" I laughed, a bitter, dry sound. "You were celebrating my death, Eleanor. You didn't cry when you got the casualty notification. You called a caterer."
Eleanor flinched as if I had struck her. She sank back into the sofa, burying her face in her hands. "David told me it was the only way to save the family from bankruptcy. Julian owed terrible people money. The house was mortgaged to the hilt. We were desperate, Maren!"
"You were greedy," I corrected her gently. "There's a difference."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box I had retrieved from my old bedroom closet—the only thing I wanted from this house. Inside was a silver locket my grandmother had given me before she passed away, containing a tiny photo of her holding me as a baby.
"I came to get this," I said, putting the box in my pocket. "And to tell you that I'm leaving."
"Where are you going?" Eleanor asked, her voice small, vulnerable.
"Somewhere far away from here," I replied. "I'm buying a piece of land in Montana. I'm going to build a cabin, adopt a dog, and breathe clean air."
"Maren... please," Eleanor sobbed quietly. "Don't leave me alone."
May you like
I looked at the woman who had birthed me, feeling a profound sense of sadness—not for what I had done to her, but for the realization that she had never truly known how to love her own daughter.
"You're not alone, Eleanor," I said softly as I turned toward the door. "You have your memories. And your house."
