A boy called Eli was looking at the framed photos on the wall at his nan's house. Lots of his cousins, his aunts, big family days out. And he noticed something that made his chest tighten: hardly any of them had him in. Whole years of family memories, and he was barely there — off sick that day, or not invited, or just somehow always missing. He didn't say anything. But standing there, he felt a strange, quiet sadness, like proof on the wall that he was somehow on the edge of his own family. He didn't know if it meant anything, or if he was reading too much into a few photos.