Chapter 19 returns to the perspective of the older woman who made predictions on the flight. She reflects on having made the injured young man (Ethan Chang) cry, which distresses her. She recalls standing behind him at Hobart Airport security, admiring his one-handed dexterity, and being startled by his resemblance to Henry, a boy who once sold tickets at the Hornsby Picture Theatre in the 1960s. She and her childhood friend Ivy used to attend Saturday matinees there, and she was always too shy to say Henry's name aloud.

After passing through security, the woman began seeing what felt like deeply personal signs and resemblances everywhere in the departure lounge. A couple buying coffee looked exactly like her friends Bert and Jill—the man a white-haired polar bear in a blue polo, the small dark-haired woman doing a balancing exercise just as Jill would have. A man's kangaroo-patterned shirt paired with a nearby Scottish accent held private significance for her. She noticed an elderly couple with Apple Watches, a woman who could have been Korean, a woman at the bar who might have been drinking a Brandy Alexander, an incredibly tall young man, a little boy with a camouflage backpack—each detail resonating with her personal history.

The most striking sign was a bride and groom passing through the terminal in wedding attire. The bride's dress appeared identical to the woman's own wedding dress—high neck, empire waist, bishop sleeves, chiffon and lace. Most unsettlingly, the hem bore six pale yellow pollen dots arranged in a circle, matching stains made by Ivy's lily bouquet at the woman's own wedding. Her mother had warned that lilies were funeral flowers and that the stains would never come out. Then the woman spotted a younger woman emerging from the bookshop who looked just like Ivy and wore an artificial lily in her hair.

The resemblances continued relentlessly: a man carrying what appeared to be her father's fishing rod tube with her father's worried expression, a woman who looked like her childhood piano teacher drumming her fingers and nearly bursting into tears after knocking over a drink, and a man with Elvis Presley sideburns wearing a moss-green Ralph Lauren polo—details that held deeply personal meaning for her. Even closing her eyes didn't help, as she began smelling her mother's Avon perfume, her Auntie Pat's Pall Mall cigarettes, hearing her father's laughter, and tasting her grandmother's scones.

The woman tried to ground herself, telling herself she was being silly and imagining things, that this was just an ordinary departure lounge. She felt confused, fearful, lonely, and filled with rage about an unspecified errand she had to complete. She thought a cup of tea and a Monte Carlo biscuit might have solved everything.