The pain of what she suffered at the Indian Residential School comes back to her, paralyzing her with fear. Flora is going to have another meltdown, she knows it, but this time her brother is there. Rémi, no, Kiwedin is here. For his little flower, for Wabikoni.
He takes her in his arms, reassures her. She struggles, she tries to push him away, still feeling betrayed by him. Old wounds, a persistent resentment. Kiwedin refuses to let her go. Flora, no, Wabikoni is broken. He's broken. They all are, the Indian Residential Schools’ victims.
Kiwedin has made mistakes. He broke his family, his wife, his son, but now he is willing to do anything to mend the pieces. Wabikoni, too, made mistakes. The way she treated her two children in her state of mind. All the meltdowns, all the "punishments" she inflicted on her daughter, a reflection of the Indian Residential School’s punishments. All that pain, all that hatred, but she too can put back together what has been broken. Wabikoni is a grandmother now. She has a grandson. She has to think about him, about his happiness. Her children's happiness. Her happiness. She has the right to be happy.
Wabikoni, despite the mixture of emotions that runs through her mind, listens to her brother. She no longer struggles. Her fear slowly leaves her, the past's painful memories fade away. She gently asks her brother to let her go. Not in French, but in Anishnabe. Kiwedin fulfills her request. His sister thanks him.