In the living room, there are family portraits that’ve been hanging undisturbed for years. In them, we smile outward as we would’ve when we were still a young family, instead of inward like we do now, hiding, reluctant to show pleasure too boisterous for our circumstances. My mother’s lips are full and unlined. My father’s eyebrows haven’t whitened yet. I am constantly laughing, but with my front teeth only half grown in. There are no current photos.