The Pieces We Heal
Chapter 1- Ellie
Ever since I left home with my dad, I’ve been trying to figure out whether I ran toward a new life or away from the old one.
Summer is slipping away. Five days until school starts, and already the weight of everything I’m supposed to juggle presses against my chest. Greenville’s monotony doesn’t help — it settles into my bones, dulling everything, making the world feel small and airless.
My job didn’t help either. Every shift felt like walking into a storm without an umbrella — cold, isolating, endless.
Yesterday was my last day, thank God. After I got offered a better opportunity at B&B Café — the most elegant antique café in town — my boss acted like I’d already vanished.
She always treated us like we were disposable.
And even though her restaurant was one of the top three in Greenville, she paid us like it was barely staying alive.
This morning, the sun hides behind soft gray clouds, casting a muted calm over everything.
The breeze carries the earthy scent of impending rain — the kind of morning that makes you want to walk slowly and breathe deeply.
My sneakers scuff lightly against the pavement as I walk, grounding me more than my thoughts do.
“See you later, Dad. Have a good day. Love you!” I call out as he grabs his keys.
“Take care, sweetie. Call me if you see anything strange. And don’t forget you have to register for your classes.”
“Damn it,” I mutter. Registration day. My first school year in this town. Being the new kid in college feels like stepping into a room where everyone already knows the script except me.
As I turn left at the stop sign, Greenville University rises in front of me — enormous, intimidating, almost unreal.
The main building looks like something out of an old movie: tall brick walls, wide stone steps, huge windows framed in white.
Ivy crawls up one side like it’s been trying to claim the place for decades.
Students scatter across the courtyard, laughing, talking, moving with a confidence I wish I had.
My heart climbs into my throat the closer I get.
For a moment, I stop walking. Just… stop.
My feet freeze on the pavement, and the world keeps moving without me. A girl with a bright pink backpack brushes past me, her perfume sweet and floral. Someone shouts a name. Someone else laughs. Life is happening all around me, and I feel like an outsider pressing my face against the glass.
I almost turn around. I almost walk back home, crawl into bed, and pretend none of this is happening.
But then I hear my dad’s voice in my head — steady, warm, certain.
You’re stronger than you think, Ellie.
My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag, the familiar edge of panic creeping up my ribs. I wish my dad were here. He always knows how to steady me.
Since we moved to Greenville, it’s been just the two of us. We’re each other’s best friends. He takes care of me, and I try to take care of him. That bond has always been ours.
The airport flashes through my mind — loud, crowded, overwhelming.
People rushing in every direction, announcements echoing overhead, suitcases rolling across the tile like thunder.
I remember gripping my dad’s arm so tightly my knuckles turned white.
My chest felt tight, my breathing shallow, like the world was closing in on me.
But he looked down at me with that calm, gentle smile he always saves for when I’m falling apart.
Even with strangers bumping into us, even with the noise, even with the fear of leaving everything behind — I felt safe because he was beside me. I remember leaning my head on his shoulder while we waited to board, the smell of his cologne grounding me more than the airport floor ever could.
That memory steadies me now.
I wish I had anything close to that with my mom. But I haven’t answered her calls or messages since I moved. I miss her — God, I miss her — and part of me aches for her to be the one holding my hand right now, telling me I’m going to be okay.
I want to forgive her. I just don’t know where to start.
The memory hits before I can stop it.
“Can I talk to you about something, Mom?”
“Make it quick. I have my study session in fifteen minutes.”
My heart was pounding that day, full of hope I didn’t realize was fragile. “Dad is going to move out, but I want to stay here with you. I don’t want to leave you alo—”
“Wait, so you’re going to be my entire responsibility?”
The world went still.
What was I thinking? How could I have believed she wanted me?
No tears came. Shock hollowed me out too quickly.
I forced a smile, pretending nothing had happened.
It’s okay. Breathe. Don’t cry. Don’t look stupid.
I repeated the words like a shield, but they couldn’t dull the truth.
My own mother didn’t want me. After everything she’d put me through, maybe she had a reason.
I’d been difficult since the divorce. I’d been a problem.
As she studied for her doctorate, I admired her — the discipline in her posture, the intelligence in her eyes, the consistency in every choice she made.
Part of me dreamed of a spa day together someday, or even a single afternoon without tension.
But hope feels dangerous. Too fragile. Too easy to lose.
“I love you, Mom.”
I wish I could say it out loud. I wish she could feel how much I admire her. But when I think about us, something inside me caves in. I don’t know how to mend what’s broken between us, and the silence between us grows heavier every day.