I'm staring at the ceiling, lost in thought, when the door to my room creaks open. It's Pop-Pop Moe first, his familiar face breaking into a smile as he sees me awake. Behind him, Mom and Dad step in, their expressions a mix of relief and worry. The air feels heavy, like there's a storm brewing, but no one's quite ready to start it.

"Sammy, my dear, you're looking… well, as good as one can in these circumstances," Pop-Pop Moe says, his voice warm.

I can't help but smile at him, despite everything. "Hey, Pop-Pop."

Mom comes over first, her steps hesitant. She reaches out, gently brushing my hair – well, where my hair used to be. Her touch is light, afraid, as if I might break. "Oh, Sam… we were so worried."

"I'm okay, Mom. Really," I say, though 'okay' is a stretch.

Dad hangs back, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He's never been good with hospitals, or emotions, or… well, a lot of things. "We're glad you're awake," he says, and I can hear the unspoken 'but' in his tone.

Pop-Pop Moe pulls up a chair, his old bones creaking almost as much as the chair. "Your parents and I, we've had a little talk while you were… out."

I brace myself, expecting the usual lecture about being a superhero, about the dangers, about how I should be a normal kid. But it doesn't come.

"Your father and I… we've come to understand that we can't stop you from doing what you think is right," Mom says, her voice soft. "We just want you to be safe."

Dad clears his throat, looking anywhere but at me. "Your Pop-Pop made some good points. I don't like it, Sam, not one bit. But I'm not going to be the cliché dad who stands in the way of his kid saving the world. Don't expect me to be on your team and enabling it, but I'm not going to stop you either. You did a good thing. And it's important we recognize that."

It's not what I expected, and for a moment, I'm speechless. They're giving in? Just like that?

Pop-Pop Moe nods sagely. "A mensch is one who understands their duty to others, and you, my child, have shown you are a true mensch. But," he adds, raising a finger, "that doesn't mean recklessness is wisdom."

"I know, Pop-Pop," I reply, feeling a lump in my throat. "I'll be careful. I promise," I lie.

Mom sits down on the edge of my bed, her hand finding mine. "We just want you to get better, Sam. That's all that matters right now."

"Yeah, about that," Dad interjects, finally looking at me. "The house repairs should be done before your birthday. It… it was a mess, Sam. I'm just sorry you got mixed up with people who thought trashing our home was a good way to get to you."

I feel a pang of guilt, sharp and sudden. "I'm sorry, Dad. I never wanted any of this to happen."

"We know, honey," Mom says, squeezing my hand. "We know."

There's an uncomfortable silence.

It stretches out like a tightrope, each of us balancing our words carefully. I can almost hear the creak of the rope, the tension in the air. Mom's the one who finally breaks it, standing up with a determined look.

"I'll be right back," she says, leaving the room briskly.

Dad shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, uh, school's still important, Sam. Don't think you're getting a free pass just because of… all this."

I roll my eyes, but there's no heat in it. "Don't worry, Dad, I wasn't planning on dropping out and becoming a full-time superhero."

He cracks a small smile at that, the first real smile I've seen from him since I woke up. It's a relief, like a bit of the old Dad peeking through the clouds.

Mom returns, lugging in a backpack that's bursting at the seams. "Lily dropped this off for you," she says, setting it down with a thud. "She's been collecting your schoolwork."

I blink, surprised. "Lily did that? Wow."

Pop-Pop Moe chuckles. "That girl cares about you a lot, Sammy. You've got yourself a good friend there."

I nod, feeling a wave of gratitude for Lily. I'll have to thank her properly when I see her next.

Mom starts pulling out papers and books from the backpack, and it's like she's unpacking a magician's endless scarf. "Your teachers have been sending assignments. They're all here. We can help you get caught up."

The pile of work looks daunting, like a mountain I have to climb with no gear. "Thanks, Mom. I'll… I'll try to get through it."

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Dad looks at the stack, then at me. "We know it's a lot, Sam. But we're here to help. Right, Moe?"

Pop-Pop Moe nods sagely. "Education is the foundation of a meaningful life, Samantha. Even superheroes need a good head on their shoulders."

I can't help but smile at that. "I'll do my best, guys."

Mom sits back down, her hand finding mine again. "We're just so relieved you're okay, Sam. That's all that matters."

"I know, Mom. And I'm sorry for… for everything."

She shakes her head. "No apologies, Sam. You're alive, and that's more than enough for us."

Dad's gaze is heavy on me, like he's trying to read my thoughts. "Just… be careful, okay? We can't go through this again."

"I know, Dad," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

The conversation shifts, ebbing and flowing like the tide. We talk about mundane things - the weather, the neighbors, how it's been living in Ventnor. Mom still has her old job waiting for her, but she's been also working at one of the libraries in Ventnor just to pass the time, while Dad's been able to do most of his work remotely. "A T-Rex destroyed our house" is generally a good excuse for getting your bosses to play nice with you.

After lunch, my parents decide to give me some space. They think I don't notice the worried glances they exchange, but I do. The door closes behind them, leaving me alone with the bland taste of hospital food and a nurse who's trying too hard to be cheerful.

Once the nurse leaves, the room falls into silence, except it's not really silent. The walls in this place must be paper-thin because I can hear voices outside, just barely. It's Dad and Pop-Pop Moe, their voices tinged with tension.

"You're encouraging her, Dad. You're pushing her to be this… this superhero," Dad's voice is strained, frustrated. "It's like you're living vicariously through her, getting a thrill from her risking her life."

There's a pause before Pop-Pop Moe responds, his voice calmer but carrying a weight to it. "I won't deny that I find what Samantha does exhilarating. But, no, it's not about me. It's about her. She has a gift, a responsibility to the world."

"A responsibility? She's a child, Dad! She should be worrying about grades and dates, not fighting criminals and getting hospitalized!" Dad’s voice rises slightly, a note of desperation creeping in. I find myself folding up. "I mean… How many times are we going to have this conversation before she turns 18, for… For fuck's sake?"

"Mensch doesn't pick the time, the time picks the mensch, and she was chosen for this. She's more than capable," Pop-Pop counters.

"Capable? Look where her capabilities got her, Dad! Lying in a hospital bed, fighting for her life!" Dad’s voice cracks a bit, and I can almost picture his face, the mix of anger and fear.

"Yes, she's in a hospital bed, but think of how many people she's saved. Think of the good she's done, the lives she's changed. Isn't that worth something?" There's a fervor in Pop-Pop’s voice now, a belief so strong it's almost tangible.

"It's not worth her life, Dad. Nothing is worth that. She owes the world nothing if it means sacrificing herself," Dad argues, his voice firm.

Pop-Pop Moe lets out a heavy sigh. "She's doing what she believes is right, what she feels she must. That man turned himself in because she could touch his heart in a way that clearly nobody else could. That enough should show that she's no ordinary child. She has to be true to what's in her heart. She has to be true to herself."

"And what if being true to herself gets her killed, huh? What then, Dad?" Dad’s voice is a mix of anger and fear, a father’s worry laid bare. I pull the blanket up to my chest and try to ignore the creeping feeling of disgust - from where it's coming, and to who it's directed, I'm not sure.

There’s a moment of silence, heavy and thick. "Then we know she lived and died for something she believed in, something greater than most dare to dream. Isn't that a life well-lived?" Pop-Pop Moe’s question hangs in the air, heavy with implications.

Dad doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is quieter, resigned. "You're just as reckless as she is. Is it too much to ask for sane family members? For my daughter to… you know, have a week of safety and security? I don't even care about the house, Dad. I don't mind living with you. I'll uproot my life if that's what we need to avoid these supervillains, but what's it doing to her?"

"No, it's not too much to ask," Pop-Pop Moe agrees softly. "But it might be too much to ask of her. She's not just your daughter anymore. She has a life outside of school and sports. It would've happened eventually."

He doesn't say anything about the comment about his recklessness. Instead, he just continues. "Benjamin, you know I would do anything for any one of my grandchildren. I don't even mind that she chewed up the boat. It's worthwhile to see my progeny doing something good and important with their lives."

I can almost hear the pain in what comes next. "Am… Do I disappoint you, Dad? All I do is zone housing. Is that good and important to you?"

Hearing my Dad sound so close to crying makes my gut feel queasy. I eye the nausea medication sitting on my nightstand. There's a pause, a deep, aching silence that fills the space between Pop-Pop Moe's wisdom and Dad's vulnerability. It's a rare moment, hearing Dad question his worth in the grand tapestry of our lives. I can almost relate.

Pop-Pop's voice softens, tinged with an emotion I can't quite place. "Benjamin, every person's contribution to this world is important in its own way. Zoning housing, ensuring people have a place to call home, it's as noble a cause as any. You've provided stability, a foundation for many lives. That's more than good and important. It's essential. It's not flashy, but neither is a good stew. Even superheroes need a place to live."

Dad's response is barely audible through the door. "I just… I want to protect her, keep her safe. Is that not my most important job as her father? To protect her from the world until she's ready to take it on herself?"

"And you have, in so many ways," Pop-Pop reassures. "But Samantha has grown, she's not just our little girl anymore. She's making choices, difficult ones, for reasons she believes in. We might not always understand or agree, but we have to respect her journey. She's ready."

There's a minute of deeply painful silence.

"I love you, Benjamin. Don't ever forget that," Pop-Pop says quietly.

"I love you too, Dad," he responds.

The conversation shifts then, turning from the philosophical to the practical. They talk about the logistics of living with Pop-Pop, the arrangements for the house repairs, and the everyday minutiae of life that goes on, even when your world feels like it's stopped spinning. The conversation dwindles into a quiet, uneasy truce. I’m left alone with their words echoing in my head. They’re debating my life, my choices, like I’m not even here. Like I’m just a character in their story, not the one living it.

I lie there, listening to their voices fade away as they move down the hall. The nausea medication on my nightstand looks more appealing now, but I push the thought away. I don't need it, not yet. I can handle a little queasiness.