Kayla felt fortunate her aunt had arrived during her darkest hour; otherwise, she couldn't imagine her suffering. Kayla grabbed her bag and fled, the door slamming shut behind her. Out of sight, Dexter calmed down, then collapsed and fell asleep.
Everything had happened so quickly, the timing oddly comedic. Myra struggled to understand Dexter's outburst toward his cherished daughter. “Wake up… please wake up… I can’t handle this alone. I’m so tired…” With difficulty, Myra dragged Dexter to their bedroom and onto the bed, her back aching, tears finally overwhelming her.
Dexter, too, wept silently. His body unresponsive, he remained trapped, yet his mind was awake. He recalled Kayla stealing the map and lying, then attempting to suffocate him. His own daughter, whom he cherished above all else, had tried to kill him. The betrayal was unbearable. He feared for Myra's safety. He had to warn her, but he couldn't move, couldn't speak.
In the ensuing darkness, Dexter dreamed. He watched his life unfold as an outsider, witnessing how he and Myra favored Kayla, neglecting their biological daughter, Felicia, due to her late arrival after a birth swap. The realization shocked him. Was he truly that kind of father?
His horror deepened. He saw Kayla repeatedly scheme against Felicia, verbally abusing and endangering her. Most devastatingly, he witnessed Kayla fake her death, framing Felicia for murder. He saw himself expel Felicia, striking her, and ignoring Arnold's imprisonment and torment of her. He watched Felicia's life drain away until her death in the snow, her final whisper, "If I had a second chance at life, I wouldn't want parents like mine…" a heart-wrenching lament.
A bolt of lightning seemed to strike Dexter. Anguish consumed him. Was this a dream, a past life, or a reflection of his present reality? His mind reeled, unable to differentiate. One thought dominated: how could he have been such a cruel father, dooming his own daughter?