Every Monday at 4 o'clock, I knock on the door. A gentle pitter patter of a knock, then slowly I push it open. And like every Monday, I'm carrying an armful of daisies. I replace the old ones with the new and pretend this visit is as bright as the flowers that used to be her favorites. I don't know if they still are – she is beyond the point of caring about trivial stuff. But somehow, this routine makes me feel better.

"How are you this week?" I ask as I settle down next to her in the little loveseat a few steps from her bed. She smiles vaguely, and if you didn't know her, you might wonder what she is even doing here, living in the bedroom she occupied as a teenager. She looks fine. But her words remind me she's not.

"What's your name again?"

I don't bother saying, "I'm Cass, your daughter." I'd been through that enough times and don't want more disappointment or heartache. So I just say: "I'm Cass." Then she nods, and the uncomfortable lump in my throat grows, but I swallow it and continue along with the usual conversation: "Have you been out in the garden this week? Did you read that book I brought last time?" Etc. etc. And as she mumbles a few answers, her eyes lost and faraway, I think of those old dreams I used to have. For years, I dreamed that I could save her. That I could transmit a whole library of memories into her head and she would be back to being Nol instead of this empty shell of a woman.

I'd actually tried it. A bunch of times. But it never worked. Not even for one simple little memory. And yet, here I am now, armed with a new one when in fact I am at my weakest. Like what are the chances this is going to work? I try anyway. I take Nol's hand, then lean my head close as if I'm interested in examining her latest sewing project. That's how she spends her days. But I don't care about the half-finished emerald scarf in her lap. I care about transferring my memory of the conversation with Lyra, her challenging me with the task that could tear me apart. Even though I'd bailed out on the meeting with Lyra, her offer continues to haunt me.

My work is done. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait. I'm expecting nothing. And then she flinches, and her grip on my hand tightens.

"What is it?" I whisper.

"Can I trust you?" she asks.

"Of course you can!" My heart has leapt into my mouth by this point. "Nol, what is it?"

"A woman – her name is Lyra -- asked me to find a soulmate memory. For a client."

The first time since the breakdown that she's even mentioned the idea of catching memories. My mouth is about to fall open, but I somehow manage to maintain self-control.

Instead I say: "Are you going to do it?"

I lift my head and look into her eyes, expecting the vague disconnected look I'd grown to expect with every visit. But this time, they aren't vague.

"I'll have to. It's the only way." Her voice is strong and matter of fact.

"Only way?"

"To get everything back... everything I've lost." A look of delight washes over her face, and she stands up, crosses the room, and stares at her reflection in the mirror. "This is an opportunity that can't be refused."

My heart is racing now. I've saved Nol. Saved my mother. If I managed to transmit this memory to her, I could transmit plenty of others. I choose to ignore the fact that the dozens of other times I've tried this, I've failed. I choose to ignore the fact that now, with weakened powers, I've accomplished something I couldn't do when my powers were at their strongest.

I join her at the mirror and look at our faces, so similar in the late afternoon light. But my joy is short lived. The vagueness is back in her eyes, and the next minute she's turning to me and asking what we were just talking about.

I could push things a little and try to scoop up any remnants of memory, but I don't. No matter how I managed to do part of the job, it's a flop if the memory only lasts five minutes.

Before Nol or I have a chance to say anything further, Gran's footsteps are behind me, and her arm links through mine.

"The usual?" she says.

I can be honest with Gran. She knows and understands the whole story.

"As a matter of fact, it wasn't the usual."

Then I tell Gran the story in the kitchen over tea while Nol goes back to her sewing behind closed doors. I didn't expect what comes next: Gran's eyes fill with a mixture of fury and concern.

"Do you realize what's happening, Cass?"

"Um, not really."

"The reason you were able to transmit the memory but it didn't last... Cass, your powers have reached their strongest ever."

"But wait a minute, Gran, that doesn't make sense. I've been failing assignments left and right—"

"For one good reason, darling. Someone saw your strength, and that someone has been working very hard to try to destroy it."