Her son, a college sophomore home for the weekend, had written the steps on a sticky note before he left. She unfolded it now, the yellow paper crinkling.

She did. The screen flashed white for a split second. A notification slid down from the top: Saved to Photos.

Her heart beat fast. One more step.

Grandma’s pie. No longer a cloud-ghost. It was solid, resident, hers . A JPEG. 2.4 MB. Today’s date.

And the only proof—the golden, flaky crust, the steam rising in the morning light—was trapped.