That evening, as the sun lowered behind the trees, Maya asked if we could ride to the end of the street.

“Just to the mailbox,” she said.

“Maybe farther.”

I walked beside her while she pedaled slowly, wobbling at first, then steadier.

Waffles ran circles around us.

Nina filmed from the porch.

Vance pretended not to care and watched like a guard dog in human form.

At the mailbox, Maya stopped.