She wants nothing more than to reflect on the bright and good, but miracles the likes of which she has been blessed with are still only starting points, the rest of the work up to her. The field around them is the perfect example, and she wishes that she could stop to appreciate its' beauty, if only for a moment, but it isn't time. Instead, Anabelle tries to piece the puzzle together with what few clues she has been given; he changed his mind, the chair broke, he's still here. Anabelle wonders whether this came before or after the message, whether he was saying hello or goodbye. She leans toward the former, but whether that's some kind of intuition or just blind hope, she can't say. The two, she's found, are not mutually exclusive.

Slowly, Anabelle leans in closer, her hand now resting against his shoulder, each an attempt at reminding him that she is here. Her own side needs to be told, too, and she doubts he'll be happy to hear it, but first things first. "What changed your mind? Before, you said it was your dad."