“I know. Would you like us to save it?”

“Yes.”

The damaged crown mattered. Soon enough, my family would start rewriting what happened — someone would call it a harmless prank, someone else would insist Kobe barely remembered.

The crushed crown couldn’t lie. It still carried the shoe print across the glitter.

At nine, my phone filled with messages. Gage first: Did you cancel the ski account? Then: The academy says I have seven days to replace an $18,000 payment.

What are you doing? Then Mom: My meal service says your card was removed. Is there a banking issue? I saved both. I answered neither.