Mary reached across the table. “That’s called empathy, sweetie. It doesn’t have to be efficient.”

Mary smiled. “It’s never too late to try.”

The evening cicadas had just begun their mechanical chorus outside the Cooper house in Medford, Texas. Sheldon, now fourteen, sat at the kitchen table, a half-eaten bowl of Froot Loops growing soggy in milk. His mother, Mary, watched him from the sink, dish towel in hand.

Sheldon finally pushed the bowl aside. “Dr. Sturgis’s cat died.”

And for once, Sheldon didn’t correct her grammar. If you’d like a different scenario (Missy, George, Georgie, or a specific B-story), let me know. I’ll keep it original and family-friendly.

Sheldon slid off his chair, picked up the cordless phone, and began dialing. As he waited for Dr. Sturgis to answer, he turned to his mother and whispered, “If I fail at this, I’ll need a flowchart for next time.”

“I’ll help you draw it,” Mary said.

“This morning. He called to ask if I thought the quantum immortality interpretation of the Many-Worlds theory would apply to Mittens. I told him no—consciousness collapse at the neural level is irreversible. He thanked me and hung up.” Sheldon’s voice was flat, but his hands were clasped tightly in his lap. “I then realized that my answer was factually correct but emotionally insufficient.”