**Note: This is about double the usual length of my chapters, but a) I felt everything was important to a certain degree, and b) I am happy but absolutely exhausted from editing and reading and internally criticizing it way too much. Take your time, and feel free to point out what works and what doesn't. It is imperfect but here it is, the half way point. Thanks so much for reading. :)

Oh, also do take your time through this chapter. It's an emotional whirlwind, and I may suggest drinking some liquid goodness afterwards. <3 If you're not comfortable reading potentially triggering stuff, you can stop after the time skip and go directly to the memory fragment near the chapter's end. Then I've provided a summary of everything that happened.  

In the early morning rays, the downtown shops lining Yonge Street stirred. Those whose owners were early birds, like me, were switching on their lights, wiping their windows, and welcoming their first customers. Storefronts held hints of Halloween decor, while others were edged with piles of fallen leaves. I passed Coop's Bistro and Bar, which wouldn't be open till noon, and Hannah's confectionery, where I waved to Emmanuel rolling out a rack of freshly baked croissants. My condo stood at the next block, patiently waiting for me to gather my nerves. A school bus passed me filled with little kids. A few stray leaves blew my way, hitting my face. They were fun to play with as a kid.

As a teen, I imagined fantasies where my Unlocking ability could help others. Like a fortune teller. People would come in to have their keys read, shed light on their past, and guide them in a better direction. What better way to use my power than giving it a purpose? It was an eccentric pathway I had seriously considered before concluding that it wasn't realistic. Still, the strangeness had its appeal.

The notion oddly reminded me of Tai. I had his number, but discussing my own problems after breaking up would be rude. Still, talking to him was...well it felt like I could tell him anything, and he would understand. 

Not about my parents. Not yet, anyway. But about the strange part of me. My Unlocking and my visions. At one point I'd even used my limited scientific knowledge to speculate the reason for my power's existence. And if there were others like me.

It was late to think like that. If I had given my number to Tai that night—which remained a hazy memory—wouldn't he have called me by now? Other dates have called me back before, mostly just to say hi. It worked to confirm that no, we weren't good matches but yes, we were decent people otherwise. For Tai, all of that was a question mark.

I owed him an apology. It wasn't right for me to treat him so rudely. How long would I take mopping up my mistakes?

As time edged nearer to the inevitable, I made for my condo. Tai might be gone, but my parents would stay in my life no matter how far away I lived.

It was time to have a chat with my parents.

—

Ten minutes left. Hannah offered me a cup of coffee. I sipped it, hoping it'd take the edge off my nerves.

"It'll be okay." Hannah smiled, worry creeping into her eyes.

Meabh sauntered on the floor, stretching in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. She came to my hand and let me scratch her chin.

Hannah picked up one of Allison's paintings, which I'd left on the table beside my laptop. I felt stronger with them. They told me the MacIntyre house was real. Allison was real. And my visions held the key to a deeper truth.

"Your aunt imitated Van Gogh's style in this one," Hannah observed.

"What do you think it means?" I asked. It was a relatively simple painting. A vase of flowers, painting with multi-coloured brushstrokes that moved if I looked at it long enough. Movement in still life. The opposite of the pastel-coloured company graphics I was accustomed to. Yet Allison's paintings drew me in.

Before Hannah could answer, Skype popped up on the laptop screen with the ringtone. Meabh leapt off my lap, nearly scratching me in the process. My chuckle died on my lips.

The sofa dipped as Hannah sat beside me. With her reassuring hand on mine, I answered the call.

Through their camera's low-resolution quality, Mom and Dad had aged faster than I'd imagined. Mom's stringy hair was poorly dyed with a chalk-solid copper shade. She'd lost weight. While Mom was more angular in features, Dad was round. He had spectacles and a distant gaze that didn't quite focus on the camera. The sofa, wall colour and the lighting on the other side was unfamiliar to me.

"Nora. Is that really you?" Dad asked, leaning in. His bewilderment crackled through the laptop speakers.

"I still can't believe it," Mom murmured to Dad. She eyed Hannah.

I touched my jet-black hair. Of course, I had gotten rid of my long red hair, but I didn't realize how different I must look to my parents. "Yes. It's really me. And this is Hannah, who I've told you about."

Hannah smiled pleasantly, with just the right pinch of grace that allowed her to fade into the background. Mom and Dad barely looked at her.

I asked, "So, how are you? Did you move?"

Mom answered. "We're all right. And yes, we did. There's more nature here. We thought it'd be good to move on."

My expression was nothing short of incredulous.

"Oh yes," Mom said mildly, "You know how it is, eventually everyone goes their separate ways. You, for one, couldn't be bothered to care what other people thought, even if they said it to your face."

"Very true."

"Is it?"

"I believe it shows," I said drily, tired of this banter.

Shaking her head, Mom said, "All this time. And we're finally seeing you. We looked long and hard, Nora. As soon as we knew you were gone, we did everything we could to bring you home. Until I got your message, we weren't completely sure if you were okay. I'm happy you're well."

My parents hadn't even called the police! Of course, that was my expectation given the hysterical lengths Mom could jump to. My name did briefly graze the news headlines, but I was sixteen then, and despite my fears the police had no business with a voluntary runaway. A mixture of luck and planning ahead helped me elude the curious schoolmates and adults that did care. After the first couple of weeks, my parents showed no interest in my whereabouts. No more missed calls nor furious text messages from Mom. It made sense. Our lives barely intersected; my departure meant less uncertainty, and that was that.

"My Linkden profile is active. Doesn't take a detective to track me down," I finally replied.

Mom's attention wandered away from the screen. "Yes, but to think you've gone into business! With that fancy company. I knew you would make it somehow though, dear. You've always been as sharp as a tack."

"Yes," Dad added uncertainly. "What your mother means to say, Nora, is that we're glad everything worked out."

The decade-old fury clawed its way up from some dark, deep corner hidden in my chest. Clearing my throat, I showed them the envelope and the MacIntyre key. A flicker of recognition crossed their faces.

"This was mailed to me by an unknown sender. Dad, I'm sure you know that your sister, Allison, handed down your family's house for me to inherit. I wouldn't have known, and the realtor might not have even reached me if this stranger didn't send me the key. Please, Dad. Can you explain?"

His Adam's apple bobbed as Dad swallowed. He adjusted his collar. "It's too painful to talk about. I don't want to burden you."

"That's not an answer," I pressed. "If I'm inheriting a house, I need to know the circumstances surrounding it."

Dad rubbed his neck. Eventually, he said, "I had to leave because I couldn't live there. You saw the house for yourself. It wasn't a functional family, Nora. It was stifling. I didn't want to die."

I raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "Die? That's a—Dad? Are you okay?"

Dad dissolved into a coughing fit while Mom reached to rub his back. Each cough was another blow that punched through the laptop speakers and into my fears. That was just from smoking too much. But Dad hadn't been sick before. He only had arthritis to worry about.

Miniscule clues led to a snowball of hidden problems. Just like Grandpa.

Without meaning to, I stood up. Hannah touched me, and I looked at my hands. They were shaking—from fear for myself or my dad, I couldn't tell.

"There you go, Andrew," Mom murmured. She glared at me. "You might not be a child, Nora, but couldn't you show your father some respect?"

"I-I'm fine," Dad insisted. He waved a hand. The camera went out of focus before sharpening on Dad's figure. "She deserves to know. Understand, Nora. A new country, even one that spoke English, wasn't easy to adjust to. Your grandmother and grandfather, my parents, came for job opportunities. After moving back and forth, we settled in Vaughan. It was fine for a while, but there were complications. I'll spare you the details. You won't want to hear me complaining. For one reason or another, everyone except Allison and I were suffering from some ailment. Allison tried to be the good big sister, but she carried more than she could handle."

My mind had snagged on his words: You won't want to hear me complain. Dad's self-deprecating nonsense chipped at my patience.

"Okay, and? What else?" I pushed.

Dad licked his lips. He rocked back and forth like a child.

"Perhaps," Mom said, "we should do this someplace else. This isn't something to talk about over a screen."

I scoffed. "Nice try, Mom. No. I am sick of you hiding so much away from me, and when I figure it out, you expect me to suck it up and leave you on your merry way! If it wasn't for my—If some stupid stranger hadn't sent me this envelope, I would have never known!" I snapped.

Automatically I leaned back and returned to my proper posture. My muscles tensed on instinct, bracing for the whiplash.

But Mom softened her voice. Her gaze remained fierce as she spoke. My laptop must be lagging, because the words didn't line up with the movements of her mouth.

"Nora, I love you, but you are in no place to judge him."

She wrapped her arms around Dad protectively, as if she was sheltering him. They leaned into each other, like a boulder and a leaf weathering a storm.

Where were you? I wondered. Where was the Mom I needed to be there for me?

A tissue.

Hannah was offering a tissue. I stared, uncomprehendingly, until the first tear hit my knee. I wiped my tears and dragged in a breath. I didn't think I would feel this way again. Like my emotions had wandered beyond my grasp. They pooled into a convoluted mess that swelled inside of me.

Deep breaths, Nora. Control yourself. Slowly, I backed away from that cliff. I swallowed, compressing it all into neat little boxes like the ones at the MacIntyre house.

"What about Allison?" I said in a low voice. "Did you care about your sister?"

Dad raised his head from his lap. I had to look away from his naked vulnerability. "Of course. Of course I did. I loved her. Allison did everything. She took care of everyone, even quitting school to learn how to paint through books at the library. She cooked when Mom was too sick to. She did everything," Dad said again.

I stared at Allison's paintings. The beautiful vase and another painting, a figure of a girl whose fiery hair spilled over the canvas' edge like a flowing river. Please Dad, there has to be more. She's your sister, for goodness' sake! Don't say "everything" like a single word can cover up the fact you barely knew her. "And what did you do?"

"I ran away."

A pause.

"You ran away," I repeated, half-tempted to scoff.

This was a joke. Or some cleverly crafted lie, with Mom behind the scenes, in order to illustrate non-existent parallels between father and daughter.

Hannah tugged on my sleeve. Her glare shut me up. "Give him a chance," she said.

Sure. A chance. That was Dad's way of gambling through life. To humour everyone I softened my gaze, though skepticism pressed my lips in a thin line.

"I ran away, because I couldn't take it anymore," Dad continued. Bare feet slapping against tarmac flashed in my mind. "It wasn't until much, much later that I heard what happened. My mother and uncle had passed away. My brothers and Grant's wife decided it was best to move. I don't know why they didn't sell the house right then and there. Allison was a sentiment. Maybe she wanted to save it all? For what reason, only God knew. But at the last moment, Allison found me. She told me she was passing the house down to you, on your twenty-seventh birthday."

He paused. "Allison died of lung complications four years ago. She didn't state it directly. She was angry with me. But she kept in touch with me the entire time. I was so glad."

Tears flowed freely down his cheeks, mirroring my own expression. I leaned on Hannah's shoulder, closing my eyes. She wrapped me in a warm, tight embrace that told me it was going to be okay, even though I knew better. Neither side spoke. For a while there was only Dad's sobs from the laptop speaker, my own, and Hannah's presence.

"Now, do you understand?" Mom asked, a little tiredly. The pain reflected in her face was raw. Gone was the exasperation of a mother. Instead it was a woman lost in her own sorrows. "Your poor father is hurting. We all are. And we miss you so much. Come back to us. Let us talk. I know, we made so many mistakes, but we're ready to change. For our daughter. For you."

I was like a deer in the headlights. The foundations that were so carefully built to defend the judgement of my seventeen year-old self were flattened. Razed to the ground by my own ignorance. There were no lies here. None of the manipulation, guilt-tripping or ludicrous narcissism I thought I would face.

But here it was, the truth. Sudden, inexplicable relief flowed through me like a vine loosening its grip on my heart. Our family wasn't broken yet. I could still fix it.

"I'm worried about you, too." Even now, the visions from my parents' keys bloomed in my mind's eye like withering flowers. "I was so focused on caring for Grandpa that I hadn't considered you guys at all. I didn't want to admit that you were sick. But you hid it better than Grandpa. It was when my doctor told me I had hypothyroidism that, for the first time, it occurred to me: It had to have been passed down, right?"

I looked up at the screen. Mom nodded sadly, her smile wavering at the mention of her father. Compassion replaced the unforgiving anger I expected in her voice. "Autoimmune diseases can take many forms. They have many symptoms and drawbacks. If only I had acknowledged the signs, I could have saved us all some pain and worry. But you had enough on your plate."

"A lot more than what was necessary! There was so much you took away from my childhood."

"And you ran away, thinking you would find what you needed elsewhere."

It didn't feel like a victory when I said, "I did."

"I know. I know."

Mom's expression was crumpled like paper. We had hit rock bottom, I realized. There was nothing I could say to make it hurt more. The greedy, oily flame of jealousy roared as quickly as it died within me.

Dad, who had been listening to this exchange, now steepled his fingers. They weren't quite steady. "Nora," he said, "can you forgive us?"

I paused, letting the words swirl in my mouth. Taste the ghostly flavour of haggis. Feel the oppressive weight that was sure to return to our lives, should I make the wrong choice. A part of me wanted to accept it all. I had my answers, didn't I? The memories from the MacIntyre key weren't as relevant as I thought. No, they only showed what Dad lost. At the same time, dissatisfaction prickled at me like an incurable itch.

Was Mom so easy to ignore the elephant in the room? She barely mentioned Grandpa.

Forgiveness meant nothing without frankness. I needed to be direct. Not like with Tai, where I had avoided the topic in the hopes it wouldn't crop up later. And like a fool, I bit the bullet.

"I do forgive you. But at the same time, I should apologize, too," I said carefully. "Grandpa—"

I cut myself off, then started again. My skin was already heating up, and my parents had stilled to listen to me. My gesturing hands—a habit from company meetings—were the only things that moved. "Grandpa wasn't the best with keeping secrets. A lot of my knowledge came from him. For example, the financial situation. You never did explain that to me, but I knew that it was a combination of spending habits, hospital charges, and bad luck. From how he described it, I would need to get into a good university to support the family. And after his passing, too."

I swallowed. "That was why I ran away. I know it sounds silly, but at the time, I thought I couldn't break the cycle without doing something different."

There was so much more I wanted to say. It was a thinly veiled lie, of course—I couldn't speak about my visions and the keys. But Grandpa had, in fact, told me many things about my parents. In the small moments of late evenings and early mornings, of minutes and seconds that would have been forgotten if not for Grandpa's presence, he gave the missing pieces that helped me complete the puzzle. An offhanded phrase of Mom's new dresses. Grandpa's disapproval of Dad. Together with my visions, it told me a fragmented love story of failure. I didn't need to know more to understand Grandpa's conviction: I needed to focus on my studies. Not the altruistic sentiments that had led Mom and Dad down the emotional grave they both dug.

Running away was not altruistic. Grandpa's funeral had only reminded me that nothing would change, unless I changed first.

A gentle arm draped around my shoulders. I met Hannah's chestnut eyes, glowing with a quiet sort of pride, even as they filled with tears.

That should have meant more to me, but Mom's question shattered the sense of security I had always lacked.

"Your grandfather told you all of that?" Mom said incredulously.

"Not directly, but I guessed from what he did say."

Mom pressed her lips in a tight, triumphant smile. "I see. You only believed you were smart enough to...to extrapolate all of that, hm?"

"I wasn't thinking straight. Entirely my fault," I conceded, aware of how much ground I was giving up.

"Then that can't be helped," Mom sighed. "You always thought you knew best. That you had the key to all of our troubles, but oh, if only your poor mother and father were smart enough to see it too!"

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

Dad mirrored my puzzled expression. He put a hesitant hand on Mom's shoulder. "Sinead, Nora was very honest. We all make mistakes—"

"Don't pretend to feign innocence, Nora!" Mom cried, slapping away Dad's hand. Her voice grew shrill with desperation, and she pointed an accusing finger at me. "Don't think for a second that your pity tricked me. Even as a child, you pretended to care so, so much for Grandpa and the family. 'Is Grandpa okay? What happens if we don't have money?' Fake, everything! Even now, you think you understand, but you don't care about me or Dad or even Grandpa!" she wailed.

"Mom, where is this coming from?" I had half a mind to scoff, but the conversation was teetering on a cliff. "Please don't act hysterical. You're the one putting words in my mouth. All I said was I made some bad decisions—"

"In the illusion of the family's interests, sure," Mom replied snippidly.

Her arms were crossed over her chest. Better than reaching out to me, but there was nothing I could do as Mom glared at me with loathing through the screen.

"We're done," she said suddenly.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"Sinead, we still have to discuss the house," said Dad.

"Yes we are done, because I said so!" Mom cried, banging her fist against the coffee table. I flinched involuntarily, and Dad did the same. To him the sound was equivalent to a gunshot.

Mom whipped her head to me, her lips pulled back in a snarl to show crooked, pearly white teeth. "Two-faced girl," she hissed. "All goody two-shoes but I know what you've done. I know what you've done! Snooping! Turning Grandpa to your side! Andrew, Andrew, do you see this?" Mom pointed at me. "She wants your sister's house all for herself! She doesn't care about me or you!"

"That's nonsense," I said in a measured voice, shaken.

"You shut your mouth!" Mom scrambled from her seat and picked up the laptop. The screen swayed unsteadily, and the lighting shifted as Mom moved away from the living room.

"Sinead?" Dad's voice asked from the background. "Get back here—"

Her face filled the screen. With wide, blue eyes, Mom whispered gleefully, "You don't care about Dad, do you? You've never been a child that loved her own mother. Oh I know Nora. I know you hate me with every fibre of your being. But this is cruel, even for you. Tell me," she said, climbing up the stairs, "do you feel sorry for your father? Or do you just want to sell the house and get it over with?"

"Don't force words into my mouth!" I said.

Mom hummed. "All right. But just in case, I'll tell Dad so you don't have to, okay?"

"Leave Dad alone!" I shouted. "You're a liar, and you're the reason I couldn't stand to live in that awful house!"

But Mom had already ended the call, and I was left with the white home page of Skype.

Unexpectedly, Hannah hugged me. My reflexes pushed her away until I noticed her body was shaking.

"I didn't know. All this time I've known you, and I didn't understand. I'm sorry." Hannah sniffled.

An overwhelming tsunami of emotions engulfed me. It all crashed down on me in waves of bitter cold regret and burning shame.

We hugged like that for a long time.

—

After returning the black fancy gown and carefully handling my little bouquet of roses—middle school graduation sure made us feel regal—I waved goodbye to my friends. They were still posing for pictures in front of the graduation banner.

"Forgetting something?"

Dad handed me the plaque for Social Studies. The award felt warm and heavy under my clammy hands. While my teachers gazed at me with pride, Dad was already looking into the distance.

"I never knew you liked Social Studies," said Dad as we walked off the school property.

I swiped his cigarette before he could fling it to the ground, marched over to the trash can and dropped it where it belonged.

Somehow Dad thought it was funny. "Thanks. An environmentalist, much? You can be a scientist."

"I don't care about the environment." I hugged my rose bouquet moodily.

He turned to look at me, and I stepped out of his shadow to stay in the sun. "Why can't you two just get along," Dad sighed.

I gripped my bouquet. Plastic crinkled under my hands. "You're defending Mom?"

"Well, if you don't tell me then I don't know. You two are hiding something—"

"Mom's been spending lots and lots of money shopping for stuff." I stood at an appropriate distance away. Dad was taller and stronger than Grandpa. "But she won't ever tell you, and you won't believe it."

I bit my tongue just in time to stop myself. Because Dad spent money too on gambling sometimes. But it wasn't as frequent. He wasn't shameless like Mom. He was just...dense. Like he existed in a different world.

A truck rumbled by, and the sunlight reflected in a way that made me blink and squint. Dad wore one of his I'm-too-tired-to-ask expressions. But for a moment it was like watching paper uncrumple itself.

After wrestling with my pride, I added, "Do you know why she's mad at Grandpa?"

But the conversation had ended. Fortunately Mom wasn't home when we got back, and by nighttime, Grandpa and Mom were knee-deep in a shouting match that didn't make sense. I heard my name, but I busied myself with planting my bouquet in our garden. It blended in with our neighbour's climbing roses. My teacher said plants would grow better if you complimented them.

"You're beautiful and I'm happy to bring you home," I said to them. It was like talking to myself, but it felt less futile than screaming nonsense. 

Summary: Hannah comes to Nora's flat for emotional support and sits through the Skype call mostly silent. In the Skype call, Nora sees that her parents have aged and moved into a new house. Her mom (Sinead) says that they worked hard to bring her back home though Nora knows that's not true. Her dad (Andrew) is revealed to be sick with some kind of disease. Also, Nora learns that Andrew had lived in the MacIntyre house before running away because of the stress that came with caring for and supporting sick family members. Allison was mostly the caretaker while Andrew wasn't immune to the emotional burden and stress (+being immigrants to Canada). Also, Allison died 4 years ago, though she'd been in touch with Andrew. 

Sinead says that everyone's hurting and Nora is on the verge of forgiving them. Nora says she's partly to blame because she shouldn't have run away while and she knew thanks to her Unlocking power & Grandpa that there were financial constraints. (She kept the Unlocking part to herself though because her parents are unaware of her power). Sinead however is angry that Grandpa would leak that info and accuses Nora of not caring enough for Grandpa and only faking her remorse. Sinead ends the call. Hannah and Nora hug and cry. 

Already I am looking back and groaning to myself "Why did you write this? And that? What's happening here?" But I promise to power through this draft!!