The video lagged, froze for a moment on Lucas’s face, and my breath snagged in my chest at the sight of him held there, mid-sentence, mid-life.

Abigail reached over gently and nudged the slider forward past the frozen place.

“Mom, listen to this next part,” she said softly.

“It matters.”

On the screen Lucas had set the adjusted jacket down and was looking at his brother with a small smile.

“Okay,” he said.

“Fine.

Don’t come fishing with us tomorrow.