(Rebecca's POV)
Luke receives the news differently. Quieter. He removes his glasses first, sets them on the desk with the specific care of a man handling something fragile, and looks at me for a long moment before he speaks.
"The field can wait a year," he says. "Genius requires nap schedules."
It's the closest I've ever seen him come to actual tears, and I don't push further, because pushing would mean acknowledging it, and some moments deserve to just exist without commentary.
Jack gets told over cookies, because everything important in this family apparently happens over cookies now.
He goes through the entire spectrum of a seven-year-old's emotional response in roughly forty seconds. Shock first — mouth open, cookie forgotten. Then suspicion.
"Is it a robot?"
"No, baby. It's a p
