“Bottom of the electronics bin.

In the hall closet.” She was already rummaging in the drawer for a cable.

“Mom — what if there are old pictures on here?

Family pictures we’ve never seen?”

“They’re probably just old photos,” I said, trying to keep my own hope on a short leash, because hope had become a dangerous animal to me, a thing that had bitten me too many times.

But Abigail had already found a cord that fit, and plugged it into the wall, and she sat down beside it on the counter to wait, watching the dark screen like a nurse watching for a pulse.