Word Count: 2301
Disclaimer: I don't own The Big Bang Theory or the characters.

Leonard sat in the quiet of his childhood home's study, the weight of Beverly's journal heavy in his lap. The revelations from its pages were intense, each entry unraveling layers of his mother's struggles and regrets. The quiet of the room contrasted sharply with the turmoil of his thoughts.

The journal had given Leonard a new perspective on Beverly, but it had also left him with questions and a complicated mixture of feelings. His siblings, Michael and Samantha, were in the house somewhere, and Leonard knew he needed to talk to them—share what he'd learned and hear their perspectives.

He found Michael and Samantha in the living room, where they were going through some old family photo albums. The sight of them flipping through faded memories brought a pang of nostalgia. Leonard took a deep breath and joined them.

"Hey," he said, sliding onto the couch next to them. "Mind if I join?"

Michael looked up, his face softening. "Of course. We were just looking through some old pictures."

Samantha glanced at Leonard and nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. "Yeah, come on over. We were just reminiscing about some old times."

Leonard settled in, the photos sparking distant memories of childhood. There were pictures of birthday parties, family vacations, and awkward family portraits. The images were a stark contrast to the complicated reality that had emerged from the journal.

"Do you remember this?" Samantha asked, holding up a photo of a much younger Leonard, grinning with a cake in front of him.

Leonard smiled, the memory bittersweet. "Yeah, I remember that birthday. I think I was turning five. I remember really wanting a dinosaur cake."

Samantha chuckled. "You were obsessed with dinosaurs back then. I think you had every kind of dinosaur toy imaginable."

Leonard laughed, a genuine sound that felt oddly comforting. "Yeah, I think I did. It's funny how those little things stick with you."

"But it was still a fun birthday, right?" His sister asked, and he looked to her. He remembered the two of them baking the cake in the picture, trying to make sure their mother didn't see what they were doing, since she didn't agree with celebrating birthdays.

"Yeah, it really was." He picked up the picture that his sister had placed on the table. A few dinosaur toys are seen in the cake, and he smiled. "I remember running up the stairs to pick some toys to place on the cake. And Mike nearly swallowed one."

Both siblings laugh, as the younger one just stared at them. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. That's when dad found us eating this cake in the kitchen."

"And then yelled at us for making a mess in the kitchen." Samantha told them, and both are surprised by this.

"I don't remember that." Leonard said, and Michael kept staring at his sister.

Samantha sighed and leaned back. "It's strange how different our memories are. I've been thinking about how we each experienced things so differently."

Leonard nodded. "Yeah, I guess we all have our own perspectives. It's hard to reconcile them sometimes." He then hesitated before continuing. "I've been reading through mom's journal. There's a lot in there that I didn't know—about her struggles and why things were the way they were."

Samantha's eyes widened. "Really? What did you find out?"

"It's... it's complicated," Leonard said, struggling to find the right words. "She talked a lot about her insecurities and regrets. It's making me see her in a different light, but it's also painful."

Michael looked at him thoughtfully. "I can imagine. It's like we're getting pieces of a puzzle that we didn't know were missing."

Samantha nodded. "Yeah, it's like we're finally starting to understand her, but it doesn't erase the hurt or the confusion."

Leonard sighed. "Exactly. I'm starting to piece together why she acted the way she did, but it's hard to make sense of it all."

There was a moment of silence as they all processed the weight of the conversation. Leonard glanced at the photo album and then back at his siblings. "What about you two? What do you remember about growing up?"

Michael shrugged. "It's a blur of good and bad. There were moments of happiness, but there was always this underlying tension. I think we all felt it, even if we didn't talk about it."

Samantha bit her lip, her gaze distant. "I remember feeling like we weren't supposed to mention any of it. Like there was all this issues, but they were unspoken. I guess being older I remember a lot more, but it also means I left when you were both children and don't know much about everything else. As the oldest, it felt it was my job to hold everything together. Mom was always distant, and dad... well, he wasn't much help."

Michael leaned forward, his expression earnest. "You did the best you could. And now, with all of this coming to light, maybe it's time for us to really talk about it and understand each other."

Samantha looked at Leonard, her eyes full of empathy. "I want us to be able to talk about these things. I think it could help us all heal and move forward."

Leonard felt a sense of relief at her words. "I agree. I want us to be able to support each other and understand where we're all coming from."

The conversation continued, each sibling sharing their memories, feelings, and reflections as they looked at the pictures on the albums. They talked about their experiences growing up, their relationships with their parents, and how those experiences had shaped their views. The discussion was open and honest, with each person taking turns to listen and speak.

As the evening wore on, the mood in the room began to shift. The tension that had lingered seemed to ease, replaced by a sense of understanding and connection. Leonard could see that Michael and Samantha were also beginning to process their own feelings, finding common ground in their shared history.

When the conversation finally began to wind down, Leonard felt a surprising sense of closeness with his siblings. It was as if they were finally starting to bridge the gaps that had long divided them. There was still much to work through, but the dialogue had opened up new avenues for healing.

Michael stood up, stretching. "I think we've made a lot of progress today. It feels good to talk about this stuff, even if it's tough."

Samantha nodded, her eyes reflecting a mix of relief and hope. "Yeah, it does. I'm glad we're starting to understand each other better."

Leonard smiled, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. "Me too. It's been a long time coming, but I think we're finally making some headway."

As they all prepared to head to bed, Leonard felt a sense of optimism. His own memories were now beginning to surface, things he had long forgotten or simply didn't remember. Memories of waiting for his father to collect him and Michael and not appearing; his mother either locked in her office writing the next book about parenting and ignoring her children; his sister in the middle of it all, taking care of the house.

Somehow he was no longer angry at Beverly. With all these past few days had taught him about her and the person she had been, he felt guilty for never trying to understand the reason for her to be the way she was. He had just chosen to accept it, instead of having any sort of serious conversation with her. Though she had never made it easier, choosing to instead be the cold, detached person he had always remembered her to be. Save for some memories he wondered more than once if they were just fabricated by his brain that wanted her to be the mother he had wanted her to be.

He was starting to get angry at his father though. With all his sister shared as they saw the photo album, his lack of appearance in the photos, and his own memories of the broken promises to appear in their graduations or simply for a weekend, he started to wonder why he had any appreciation for that man. Though it could be simply because he figured he had to – it was, after all, his father.

Laying in bed and finding himself not able to fall asleep, Leonard turned the light on as he sat up. Suddenly compelled to read more of his mother's thoughts, he picked up the journal again.

He felt the need to read the last entry, wanting to understand what had she thought of writing last. The date was a few days before he had received his brother's phone call.

I've spent much of my life in pursuit of learning and understanding, whether it was through my work or the challenges I had throughout my life. Now, as I sit here, pen in hand, I'm faced with a truth that weighs heavily on me: my greatest failures have been as a mother. I wish I could have been the parent my children deserved, but instead, I fear I've been a disappointment in so many ways.

Reflecting on Samantha's early years, I see how much she deserved more than I was able to give. As my firstborn, she came into a world where my ambition and need to prove myself consumed me. I see her now as a woman waiting for recognition and affection that I was too preoccupied to offer. My focus was always elsewhere, and I regret not providing her with the nurturing and support she needed as she navigated those formative years.

Leonard, my middle child, arrived with his own set of needs and expectations. Though there was no shared genetics between us, I still considered him to be my child. I thought I had learned from my shortcomings with Samantha, but I was wrong. My attempts to be more attentive were overshadowed by my ongoing struggles and preoccupations. Leonard was a bright, curious child, and instead of embracing his wonder and enthusiasm, I often remained distant. I was so wrapped up in managing my own life that I failed to fully engage with him. I hope he can understand that my emotional absence was not a reflection of his worth but rather a consequence of my own internal battles.

Michael, the youngest, came into a family already strained by my previous failings. His arrival should have been a joy, but it only added to the pressures I felt. As I struggled to balance my own life and the needs of my older children, I didn't give Michael the stability and affection he needed. His innocence and need for support were often overshadowed by the ongoing turmoil within our family. I can only hope he can forgive me for not being the present and supportive mother he deserved.

My failures as a mother are intertwined with the strained relationship I had with Alfred. For years, our marriage has been fraught with tension and resentment. I often blamed him for not being the supportive partner I needed, but now I see that I was equally at fault. My frustration with him seeped into every aspect of our family life. Instead of working together to support our children, our disagreements and lack of unity only deepened the emotional distance I maintained with them.

Alfred and I have struggled for years, and my animosity towards him has only compounded the difficulties I've faced as a parent. I expected him to fill the gaps in my own failures, and when he didn't, I grew bitter. Our marriage was never the nurturing environment it should have been, and our children bore the brunt of this dysfunction. I regret not addressing our issues more openly and not finding ways to work together for the sake of our family.

As I write these words, I am overwhelmed with regret. I wish I could turn back time and rewrite the years I spent in self-absorption. I hope that my children can see past my shortcomings and find it in their hearts to forgive me. They deserved so much more than what I was able to give. I wish for time to attempt amends, even if they come too late.

The burden of these regrets is heavy, but I hope that in acknowledging them, I can find some peace. I hope my children will remember that, despite my failings, I always cared for them in my own flawed way.

When he finished reading that entry, he finds two more, but they were less about her feelings and more about her work, which made him wonder if maybe her thoughts were still in her work, and not about regrets. If she actually cared she could've called them and tell them all that in person. In her final days she chose her work, as she had done for as long as he could remember.

Shaking his head, he took off his glasses and places them on the nightstand. It was time to sleep, and reading the journal could wait. Whatever lessons she had to offer after her departure could've been taught by her instead of reading in her journal. Reading that final entry, though interesting to see her thoughts and regrets on each of the children she raised, only made it clearer that even if she regretted a lot, she didn't do anything to change it.

End of Chapter 11

I'm sorry for not publishing this chapter last week, it's been a few busy weeks and I forgot. I hope everyone enjoys it!