You leave the chain on. Nora notices. Her face tightens, but she doesn't ask you to trust her. The monitor in her hand gives a little sigh. At the same moment, the recorder behind you sighs back. Nora puts the monitor on the floor and steps away from it. She asks you something only your sister would ask: whether you still hide the chipped mugs when company comes. You glance at the kitchen cupboard. That small, embarrassing kindness almost undoes you. From the hallway behind your shoulder, your mother asks why you're keeping her daughter outside. Nora closes her eyes. When she opens them, she looks directly at you. We can talk about everything else later, she says. Right now, tell me what you need. You slide the chain free. She waits for you to make room before crossing the threshold.
Someone is breathing beside you. You live alone. Your estranged sister knows why it sounds like your mother.
Listen closely. Choose carefully. Carry the consequences.
Every path leaves a different story.