He promised to finish the incident report that evening and keep the footage. Before I left, he offered something I didn’t expect. “We’d also like to give your son another party.

Not today — whenever he’s ready. We don’t want this to be his last memory of our park.”

It was the first genuinely kind thing anyone had said since the alarm interrupted Kobe’s birthday.

Back at the car, Kobe stared through the window. “Can we go home?”

“Yes.”

“What about the cake?”