CHAPTER TWO

Eleanor returned home after a summer of relentless work to save for her dream of attending the Charleston Art Institute. 

She was determined to tell mother about her plans of going to art school this evening and she was feeling quite hopeful about the whole situation. Tension hung thick in the air as she entered her family's home, carrying the weight of her decision.

Margaret Mitchell, her mother, had an unreadable expression as she stood in the kitchen. The dining room table was set for dinner, but there was no cheerful welcome awaiting Eleanor. Her mother's silence spoke volumes.

Eleanor tried to break the ice cautiously. "I'm back, Mom."

Margaret turned slowly, her eyes focused on something in her hand. In her grip, she held the acceptance letter Eleanor had kept hidden in her bedroom. The letter had been discovered, and it had ignited a storm.

Without a word, Margaret placed the letter on the table, her gaze sharp and accusatory. The tension in the room was palpable.

Eleanor felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She knew what this meant – a confrontation she had been dreading.

"Mom, let me explain," Eleanor began, her voice trembling.

Margaret's voice was cold as ice. "Explain? Explain why you've been hiding this from me? Explain why you've been planning to go to this... this art school behind my back."

Eleanor took a deep breath, trying to find the words to convey her passion and her dreams. "I wanted to tell you, but I knew how you'd react. Mom, this is my dream. It's what I've worked for my whole life."

Margaret's anger flared. "Dreams won't put food on the table, Eleanor. You need a real career, a stable future. Art won't give you that."

Tears welled up in Eleanor's eyes, but she refused to yield. "Art is my future, Mom. I can't just give up on it. Please, try to understand."

The room was filled with tension, the argument intensifying with every word. Eleanor's mother had discovered her secret, and it had torn apart the sense of trust and understanding they had once shared.

The evening, which had started with hope, had turned into a heart-wrenching confrontation, leaving Eleanor to grapple with an impossible choice between her passion and her mother's expectations.

Eleanor pleaded with her mother, her voice shaking. "Mom, I know this is hard for you to accept, but art is who I am. It's what makes me feel alive. Going to the Charleston Art Institute is my dream, and I can't give up on it."

Margaret's expression softened for a moment, and Eleanor saw a flicker of doubt in her mother's eyes. But it quickly vanished, replaced by the steely resolve that had always defined her.

"You don't understand, Eleanor," Margaret whispered, her voice laden with a deep sadness. "I just want what's best for you, and I fear that art will lead you down a difficult path. I don't want you to struggle."

"A career in art is a pipe dream, and I won't let you ruin your future with it."

"It's not a pipe dream, Mom. It's my passion, my calling. I can't imagine a life without art."

Eleanor felt torn, her love for her mother clashing with her burning desire to pursue her passion. As the argument continued late into the night, the walls of their family home seemed to absorb the echoes of their discord.

Eventually, they retired to their respective rooms, the silence heavy with unresolved conflict. Eleanor knew that this battle was far from over, and the weight of her mother's disapproval pressed upon her like a boulder.

In the dim light of her room, Eleanor stared at the acceptance letter, her dreams hanging in the balance. The Charleston Art Institute represented her future, but it also threatened to fracture the bond with the person she loved most in the world.

Eleanor's heart was a canvas, and on it, the colors of her dreams and her mother's concerns clashed in a turbulent storm of uncertainty. The night felt endless, and Eleanor lay awake, wrestling with the impossible choice before her.

As dawn's early light began to seep through her curtains, she knew that the path ahead would be neither easy nor clear. Her dreams called to her like a siren's song, but the love for her mother pulled her in a different direction.

The canvas of her life was a masterpiece in the making, and every brushstroke, every choice, would shape the portrait of her future. Eleanor closed her eyes, her heart heavy with the weight of decisions yet to be made.

AUTHORS NOTE: Please share your thoughts, I'm looking forward to hear from readers😊, Do y'all want more chapters.❤️❤️