I looked at my son. He tried to breathe deeper and stopped halfway.
Dad lowered the television by one click.
“You’re overreacting.”
My sister stayed against the doorway, arms crossed, while her twelve-year-old son remained somewhere down the hall.
“He started it,” she said.
My son shook his head once. Then pain stopped him.
I slid one arm behind his shoulders without lifting him and told him to stay still.
“Look at me, buddy. Small breaths.”
Mom stepped closer. “Stop making this dramatic.”
I asked for my phone again.
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