He stood next to his pregnant wife, watching it burn in the early morning light. He'd done it: he'd freed himself from his mother; he'd freed himself from the passions that made him kill his loved ones as himself.
It was true, what his wife had said. Norman Bates had changed for the better. He may be cured after all.
The fire was out. The firefighters had gone.
Connie and Norman turned to leave. Norman hesitated.
"Go on home without me. Go on in your own car," he said. "There's one last thing I need to do here, alone. I'll meet you there."
"Are you sure?" Connie asked.
"Positive. I'll meet you there."
"OK…" Connie said, still unsure. "Just don't hurt yourself."
"I won't." He watched his wife drive away, waving as she went. He waited until he couldn't see her anymore.
She was gone, so he went into Cabin One, using the key he'd snatched before meeting his wife in the old house.
Norman sat on the bed, taking it all in one last time. His glance rested on a piece of paper on the desk, one he'd never noticed right before his arrest and reinstitutionalization four years before.
He walked over to the desk and picked it up. It was a letter, in a handwriting he didn't recognize.
I shouldn't have left you. It was wrong. I was wrong.
My religion was supposed to teach me tolerance, forgiveness. I realize this now.
My suicide attempts failed. I was removed from the convent. I saw the Virgin Mary twice here, in the shower and in the window of your home.
She's trying to tell me something, Norman; I know it. You saved me, and I'm supposed to forgive you for your sins. You weren't the one to do all those things. Father Brian helped me realize this.
Norman cried, realizing what could have been. He realized that, in the end, it may have ended the same way: Maureen dead, Norman in the asylum again.
It saddened him to realize that the ring he was planning to give to Maureen ended up being the one gave to Connie, and she was still wearing it.
Five months later, Norman and Connie had a healthy, normal baby girl, Maureen. Norman resolved to see to it that the little girl, who was starting to have a blond fuzz of hair, would have a good father.