Content warning: This chapter has lots of verbal abuse, manipulation and gaslighting that might be triggering. If you feel uncomfortable reading it, skip to the end where I've provided a summary. 

The hospital monitor beeped out of sync with the frantic pace of my heart. I watched from the glass door outside. Dad stood off to one side, rubbing his forehead while still in his work clothes. Mom whispered in Grandpa's ear, stroking his head. Grandpa's oxygen mask was connected to the extensive machinery hooked up next to him. His empty promise echoed in my skull. I should've been smarter, should've read between the lines. I'd vowed not to let Grandpa give up on life.

That was before I found Grandpa. On the kitchen floor. Barely breathing. A shattered cup of coffee beside him. Alone. All because I'd stayed over at school to listen to a therapist talk about mental well-being and how helping others made a real difference in the world. Suddenly university was a million years away instead of two.

Behind me the glass door slid open again. "Nora," Dad said hoarsely, "do you want to come in?"

I risked another glance inside. My eyes locked with Mom's. They weren't as red as they were flinty blue fire. I froze in place until one of her friends moved in the way. They patted Mom's shoulder, shook their heads with pity, blurred their faces with talk of reassurances. Their bright clothes and painted nails were the only reason I recognized them from my visions. I'd never seen them in person.

"I'll stay here," I mumbled.

"Then let's get out of here."

Was he crazy? Mom was going to throw a fit when she sniffed the cigar fumes clinging onto his work clothes.

I followed him anyway, saying a silent goodbye to Grandpa.

The city roar greeted us outside. Fat drops of rain splashed on my hoodie. I ignored Dad's offer with his umbrella. For such a big city you'd think Toronto was always on the move. Streetcars and news helicopters and rain-sodden commuters. But Dad and I were the only ones in sight who moved at all. Instead of going to our car, we stood under an alcove that faced the hospital's parking lot. I shoved my hands in my pockets and shivered.

Dad put a cigar to his lips. Wisps of smoke blended in with the dull sky. He blew out a cloud. A practised gesture. Natural. The nicotine haze was always lingering in his key's memories.

Why hadn't Grandpa's key told me anything, then? I stifled a sob. Grandpa was doing so well. He'd gone at least six months without being bed-ridden. He even took strolls around the neighbourhood, provided he had his cane and myself for company. All I had seen in his key were snippets of hope. If I'd pieced them together to make the bigger picture, if I'd bothered to connect the dots, I could have accepted that Grandpa was lying to himself. He wasn't as strong as I hoped he would be. Surely somebody in this household was stronger than an antique vase or a compliant lapdog? Not me. Anyone but me. University, quiet dorm rooms and backbreaking assignments were waiting for me. I had a future--unlike the rest of the MacIntyre family.

I felt sick knowing I had thrown myself at the books. I had studied not because I was a hard worker, but because it eased the dread of returning home each day. It forced my brain to ignore the obvious and piece together abstract concepts of algebra, electrons and economics. But the clues had always been there.

Curling the ends of my ponytail into my fist, I gritted my teeth. It could have been so easy. Give up a few days of assignments and club commitments to be there for Grandpa, instead of viewing home through the lens of my Unlocking. Behind my shut eyes, the image of a dying star came to mind.

I had finally distanced myself from home, and everyone was taking a breather. Why did I let my guard drop?

It came out as a whisper. "I'm sorry, Dad."

Rain mixed with Dad's voice. "You came home late?"

"No. We had a speaker in class. It was supposed to help with choosing which university we'll go to after graduation. I stayed over to ask questions."

To ask about things I could've easily learned with my own research. I had the answers typed in my phone. Less than a hundred words. It wasn't worth Grandpa's life.

But for that precious half hour or so, I was safe. Questions brought me answers at school. At home, all I had were my visions. It wasn't like I told the future. Had I known Grandpa would suffer a myasthenic crisis, I would have stayed home.

I felt like I'd robbed something and got away with it.

Dad stubbed his cigar against the wall. "Well, it can't be helped."

I whipped my head to him. Strands of wet hair stuck to the side of my face, and I tied my hair into a ponytail before demanding, "What do you mean by that? Dad, Grandpa's dying because of me!"

Dad's gaze saw right through me like I wasn't there.

He said, "We all make mistakes."

He didn't flinch at my finger.

"No. Don't give me that crap, Dad. Right now, you should be livid. Pissed. How am I supposed to know what you're thinking? I need you to be here with me," I said, my voice cracking. "Say something. Anything. Even if you're angry with me, it's better than slinking off and pretending to not be there at all!"

He blinked slowly. The wind slapped rain in our faces. It was too easy to imagine him at the top of a tall rise building. I'd never forget that vision. But Dad's shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, and he turned to me. Three steps bridged the gap between myself and him. I summoned my fury. Before it could evaporate into apathy, I threw my arms around him. He was warm beneath his jacket.

"Tight," he managed. "You could crush a tree if you're not careful."

A weak laugh escaped me. PhysEd was my weakest class, even when it came to bodyweight exercises. His calloused fingers caressed my hair. I stopped trying to squeeze the life out of him and held my breath.

I could do this. I would face Mom's wrath, and tough it out. Dad was on my side. He promised me we would move away. Just two more years until university, and I could build my own future.

Out the corner of my eye, a red-headed woman made her way through the parking lot. She slammed the car door shut.

"Let's go," said Dad.

We squeezed in the car. It was cold outside--my fingers and toes were almost numb--but the car was like an oven. Thanks to my height, I couldn't sit straight without my head pressing against the car's roof. I stared at my lap, inhaling the heavy car perfume scent. Ocean breeze. It made me sick.

Why wouldn't Dad move already? His commute to and from work took ages on the narrow Toronto streets; traffic was only getting worse from here. I wanted to shake him awake from his daydreaming at the driver's wheel. What was he, hypnotized? The windshield wipers squeaked loudly, smearing rain across the front window.

Beside him, Mom was texting on her phone. Without looking up, she said, "Get us home, Andrew."

Dad started the ignition.

As the car moved, I leaned back and breathed in deep. My audible exhale immediately drew Mom's gaze to me.

The rest of my insults--the threats, the grand opening of all the dirt I've uncovered on her that could fill one of the stupid tabloids she liked reading--dissipated. Because grief was etched so deeply in Mom's face, that to call it an act would disgust myself. We knew whose fault it really was.

We finally got onto the road. Through the rain-splattered window, I watched Toronto melt into a homogeneous mush of car headlights, umbrellas and overhead streetcar wires that fractured the sky into chunks. I was supposed to get my driver's license soon. Memorizing the city maps was one thing, but driving would give me a better sense of navigation. I could have taken Grandpa to more places, too.

If my parents weren't home yet, sometimes I'd take Grandpa to the neighbourhood park. On adventurous days we'd walk all the way to the shopping plaza. He had a sharp memory. He took the time to point out shops that'd disappeared, little landmarks that had changed since he first moved here. An inevitable portion also consisted of Grandpa's miscellaneous grumblings.

"Look at this architecture, could they be any less creative? Where's the subtle beauty in the houses, the trees? With everything's mass-produced these days, it's too easy. Too easy to lie. See those advertisements? Fake, the lot of them. Nora, you better not get your hands into business, you hear? Don't become one of those business people. They're the reason Sinead turned out the way she is."

I had chalked it up to Grandpa being Grandpa. It didn't help that anything I asked was returned with some philosophical answer. I didn't really listen to him; this family excelled at complaining. Except for Dad, who half the time existed on a different planet. At least it made his presence bearable. I didn't have to worry about navigating the spiderweb that was Mom and Grandpa.

Now I regretted not paying closer attention. I knew he'd grown up in a rural part of Scotland, had several dubious adventures as a youth, and some definitely inaccurate ideas about the world.

Not much else. I hadn't told him much about myself. But his absence--even if he was just at the hospital--left a delicate cavity in the car that threatened to collapse and take everything with it.

"I'll stay home for the next couple of weeks," Mom sighed.

Her voice jolted me back to the present like cold water.

"Working from home?" Dad asked.

"Of course not! The charity pays minimum wage, anyway. They force most of them to be volunteers. They're so cheap! How insensitive can you be?"

I discretely took out my phone and scrolled through notifications. Dad was going to work more. And Mom was going to be at home...If I was lucky she'd stay in her own bedroom. That left the household chores to me. Better than parading her ownership everywhere, I supposed. I could concentrate on homework. But sneaking out to visit Grandpa would still be a Herculean task.

My finger hovered over the screen. Would Mom visit Grandpa? Who was he to her?

The twisted, gnarled vice in my stomach weakened, sending fear to the tips of my appendages. No. Mom was a miserable, selfish woman. Even Grandpa agreed. He'd prefer to see me over her.

"Not like you would care," Mom was saying. "See how hard I work to take care of everyone in this incompetent family? I took up your slack. I raised our child while you were knocked out from who-knows-what kind of drink--"

"And you were too happy to let Nora take care of your father, so ease off, Sinead!"

Dad punctuated his words with a sharp U-turn. I grabbed onto my seat as the car spun sharply. My head slammed against the window.

"Would you look at that! You've finally snapped! Good for you, Andrew! Good. For. You!" Mom clapped her hand with every word like a kindergarten teacher. "Drive us off the bridge! Come on! I know you want to do it."

"The hell, Mom? Don't say that!" I cried, my words hitched up into gasps. Dad had the wheel; he couldn't crumble. Not now.

Mom swiveled her head. Slowly, her fake jewel-blue eyes widened in mock surprise. "Nora! Since you know so much, would you like to explain what's going on?"

My heart knocked frantically against my chest, pleading for someone to open. Not this. She couldn't bring this up now. "T-That has nothing to do with Grandpa—"

Her face slackened into a poor disguise of disappointment. "Nora, you wouldn't think your own mother would notice? Give me some credit. I let you figure it out. I let you have the upper hand because that gave you joy. I admitted it and I'll say it again: I've made mistakes, and I'm ashamed of them. I went on shopping sprees because it hurt me to see Grandpa in pain. I snapped at you because I was angry at myself, not you. Even when you turned your father against me, I forgave you because I understood. Who wouldn't be stressed with school? That's why you came home late, right?"

I dipped my head. The car swerved left and right but in slow motion. The artificial Ocean Breeze car freshener swelled in my nose so I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak.

Predictably, she broke down in quiet sobs. I picked up her sniffles from the traffic din like weeds in a garden. "But now I don't know what to do, Nora. I'm going to lose Grandpa. He was such a kind man. And you can't even show remorse!" she screamed. I shrank back.

"Nora apologized," Dad interjected. "We can move past this."

"Move past this?!" Mom shouted. She smacked the dashboard; I flinched. "We need to hold Nora accountable to her actions! Don't underestimate her, Andrew. You're being too soft. If you don't watch your back, who knows what she'll do. She's already been snooping around. Are you really okay with that? We need to show her the consequences for not listening to us."

In the heat of Dad's silence, my resolve eroded to my last line of defense. "Grandpa gave me permission to stay over at school. He said he would be okay."

I locked eyes with Mom, vowing not to back down. I had the upper hand. Grandpa had always favoured me over Mom. While that served as a constant source of tension, now it was an asset in my arsenal. Mom could ask Grandpa for confirmation if she really wanted to. Ultimately, he held the strings to jerk Mom's joints in the right direction.

But Grandpa wouldn't be waiting at home. And Dad...

Dad could never be mad at me. He understood. I wasn't being fair with him, but he was on my side. I knew it.

"Dad, you know how sorry I am," I whispered. Hot tears burned paths down my cheeks. Like violin strings, each word was more strained than the last. "I didn't mean it. Please tell Mom."

Silence swelled in the car.

"Are you blind, Nora?" Mom's voice was so low that I wouldn't have understood her unless every cell in my skin was prickling with dread. "You are a clever liar."

"I'm not lying," I sobbed.

We were stuck in traffic again. How ridiculous would it be for a sixteen year-old girl to jump out of a car and maneuver through traffic in the rain?

Spittle flew out of her mouth. Mom gripped the edge of her backseat so hard that the leather cracked. Bits of yellow foam bounced off my sneakers. "'That's what he said,' 'that's what he said,' 'that's what he said,' is it? I will ask you again, Nora MacIntyre. Did I raise you to forfeit your common sense when a family member is sick? Do you think you were playing a game with Grandpa's life?"

MacIntyre. I despised the name and all it stood for. "He's still alive—"

"He won't be for long and you know it!" she roared.

Why did Mom care? I thought she hated Grandpa.

Dad's lips were knitted shut. Through the rearview mirror, I willed him to say something. To help me.

But Mom was the only person he seemed to listen to.

"Keep an eye on your daughter, hmm?" Mom told him. She smiled sadly in the rearview mirror, and I glared at her. "I'll be busy caring for my father."

Dad grunted. A yes.

Was I invisible? Was my body really wedged in the leather car seat, with Ocean Breeze reminding me of the outside world I would never explore, or was I a fraud? The girl with an altruistic dream to save other people's lives lived at school. At home I was stuck. Stuck in the past. Stuck in my family's shadow as it rippled like a disease, whisking away the people I loved. By chance or fate, it didn't matter because it still ached. R. Dad. Who else was next?

Shamelessly, my mouth opened to wail like a baby.

"Nora, I'm going to count, okay? Three."

My fingers fumbled for the clip on my seatbelt.

"Two. This isn't forgiveness, it's begging."

Wet hair matted my face. Gasps broke my sobs in sync with my heart.

"One."

Dad's warning look had me shrinking back in my seat. I tucked my knees up to my chest.

Mom exhaled, with one finger still left in the air. When there were no fingers, there was a fist. "Silly girl. What were you thinking?"

My face solidified into stone. Mom interpreted the neutral expression as shame and shrugged, turning to face forward.

A clear head gave me room to think. I needed to be realistic.

I hadn't earned my driver's license yet. That hinged on Dad who was as trustworthy as a coin toss. No. I couldn't trust him. But I had spent hours pouring over university websites, programs, advantages, transportation, and co-op availability. With a sinking heart, that future dimmed into darkness. It no longer sparkled. I still had a choice though. I had other options outside Toronto. Less savoury options, but distance from home sounded like heaven. My city knowledge was decent. I knew my rights and the resources for young people like me. School counselors might be destructive if you weren't careful; the education system had less intelligence than a donkey when it came to handling family problems. Some of the tools were helpful though. Advice on living outside of home. Earning a living. Navigating the law.

I would visit Grandpa once before running away. To say a proper goodbye. To hug him and say I loved him—even if it was resentful sometimes—and that he made me feel like I was worth more than who I was today.

"You gave me courage," I murmured in Grandpa's ear two months later. "It's why I need to go. I can't stay here."

He was unconscious. I didn't Unlock his key, so I didn't know what he thought of me.

But I needed to be my own judge. I couldn't wait for forgiveness to be handed on a silver platter, lest I shattered it. If I wasn't a good person by those closest to me, then I had to meet my own expectations. Let the world judge. Keep myself in motion so no one would move ahead and leave me behind.

Was that called success? I wasn't sure if I found it, or had destroyed the possibility when I gave up on my family.

Summary: The flashback revealed what happened the day 18 year-old Nora found her grandfather lying on the kitchen floor. He had suffered a myasthenic crisis, which was a shock given that Nora had only observed improvements in her grandfather's condition. Nora is beating herself up for escaping to school as a stress reliever and avoiding home problems. She regrets not being more observant, since her Unlocking ability never showed her that her grandfather's condition was actually worsening. (What is shown to her is partly random chance.) 

Grandpa was transferred to the hospital. Nora and Dad discuss whose fault it is, with Dad quiet and giving up and Nora wishing he could open up. As they drove home, Mom gaslights Nora and accuses her of not caring enough for Grandpa. Andrew tries to calm her down, but Sinead makes Andrew angry, and the ride is spent home with Nora feeling emotionally abandoned. She resolves to run away.