“Yes. I prefer being annoyed by the accurate version.”

I drove to San Antonio the next morning. Grandma’s house smelled of tea, fresh laundry, and cinnamon bread. It had smelled that way my entire life. She pointed toward her desktop computer.

“Write down my passwords before this thing ruins itself.”

“It isn’t going to ruin itself.”

“You don’t know what it reads at night.”

I helped her log in. She leaned closer, adjusted her glasses, and read my mother’s post. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. She used my wedding picture.”