It started as checking whether she'd moved. Forty minutes later he was in 2017: a lake trip, a birthday he wasn't at, a dog that has since passed. He was being careful. He was also holding the phone directly above his face in bed, which is not careful.

The phone slipped. The heart appeared, red and enormous, on a photo of her in a sun hat from six summers ago. He unliked it in under a second. The notification had already left. He lay awake until it got light, waiting for a reply that never came, because she was busy showing it to her group chat.