My knees gave out. Bennett caught my arm before I hit the floor.

The first photo showed my boys asleep in the back seat of a truck, under blankets. The second showed them outside a small cabin, both in baseball caps pulled low.

The third was dated almost two years after the lake. Daniel stood between them — thinner, bearded, but alive. Ethan had lost a front tooth. Noah held a fishing rod.

They were alive in that photo. At least then.

I pressed both hands over my mouth and made a sound that frightened Sophie. “Mom,” she cried. I pulled her into my arms. “Your brothers lived,” I whispered.

“After the lake, they lived.”