Over a watch.

Over a science fair.

Over a jealousy so petty it should have amounted to nothing, and instead nearly cost my son his life.

I could warm his body.

I could not, that night, do anything about the terrible new knowledge settling into him, the knowledge of how little it can take, in the wrong family, for a child to end up alone in the dark.

I turned and put my hand on Lucas’s blanket-wrapped shoulder, and I did not take my eyes off him again for a long moment, because he mattered more than Arthur’s face, more than any of it.