Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

I'm sure.
To get away.
My baby screamed for her mother!
[knocking in distance]
‐ Listen to me! She cannot grow up here.
MOIRA: Hey.
[indistinct chatter over radio]
SINGER: ♪ The silicon chip inside her head ♪
[crows cawing]
And she pumps in her room.
[laughs]
[weeping]
‐ You're getting out of Gilead.
[clock tolls]
I'm sorry, baby girl.
JONATHAN: Is she okay, Mrs. Mackenzie?
I'll take you to Mackenzie.
Mom's got work.
[indistinct radio chatter]
Thoughts?
‐ You wanted a better life for her,
SINGER: ♪ I don't like Mondays ♪
I'll fix this.
HANNAH: [echoing] Mommy?
Even a Commander.
Everyone has lost their minds.
‐ Come on, Nichole.
as any mother would.
Go to my office.
MRS. MACKENZIE: Yeah. Maybe, a Goldendoodle.
["I Don't Like Monday's" by The Boomtown Rats]
Back to the way they were.
[baby cries]
♪ And he can see ♪ CHORUS: ♪ No reason ♪
Of course, she told me.
Take care.