“We’ve got two separate camera angles on the breakfast nook.”

The screen showed my mother’s kitchen in bright morning light.

Sun poured through the bay window onto the pine breakfast table, showing the blue flowered tablecloth and a glass bowl of strawberries.

Four-year-old Emma sat on the far bench in her eighteen-dollar Target sundress with the tiny white flowers.

She held Barnaby, her stuffed purple rabbit, by his left ear while she colored a picture with a green crayon.

Vanessa stood at the stove six feet away in a white blouse and dark slacks.