Stacia's a dab hand at blistering sarcasm as a defense mechanism herself, she doesn't rise to Brainy's jab. Though that does explain why there was no one to intercede on his behalf with his "handlers" if his mother is that bad. Though given her own maternal issues, it's not much of a surprise that Brainy's impassioned defense of his son is replaced by a confrontation between Stacia and an older blond woman in the living room of a 21st century suburban home.

"You knew," Stacia hisses, hands balled into white-knuckled fists. "You knew this whole time, and you never said anything. You never warned any of us what could happen if we got scared or angry--" Her voice cracks and she swallows hard to restore it. "Aren't you at least sorry for that?"

The woman stares her down, chin lowered -- not in shame or guilt but almost as if to protect her throat.

"I won't apologize for protecting my family," she says. For a bare moment, Stacia looks like she's been slapped before fury rises in her face and she turns on her heel.

"If Dad asks, I'm at Mila's place," she says as she storms out of the room and slams through the front door. Present-day Stacia sighs.

"Moms, huh?" she says. "Not that mine is anywhere remotely in the same category as yours, she just...doesn't consider me family anymore, I guess."