Barry nodded. “I want to save the wish.”
A quiet moment passed between us.
“The wish?” the ranger asked gently.
Barry glanced at me, then looked down. “Last year, I wished for a bike,” he admitted. “Didn’t get one.” His voice softened. “This year, I wanna wait until I know it’ll come true.”
My heart ached.
Timmons paused, then smiled. “Well, kid,” he said, standing up, “maybe I can help with that.”
Before I could protest, he reached into his wallet and placed a bill on the table. “For the cake. And whatever wish comes with it.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he shook his head. “It’s my treat.”
Barry looked up at me with uncertainty. “It’s okay, Mama?”
I swallowed my pride. Sometimes, kindness is meant to be accepted. I nodded. “It’s okay, baby.”
The waitress, who had been listening, smiled. “One chocolate cake coming right up.”
Barry sat quietly as the cake arrived, a single candle flickering on top. He folded his hands in his lap, staring at it.
Timmons crouched beside him. “Go on, kid. Make that wish.”
Barry took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and whispered something before blowing out the candle.
For a moment, it was just a kind stranger’s gesture.
Then Timmons stood. “If you don’t mind waiting here for a bit,” he said with a grin.
I frowned. “For what?”
“A little birthday surprise.”
About twenty minutes later, a truck pulled up outside the diner. Another uniformed officer stepped out, wheeling something beside him.
A bike.
A brand-new red bike with a ribbon tied around the handlebars.
Barry’s eyes widened. He turned to me, his voice barely above a whisper. “Mama?”
Timmons chuckled. “Turns out, wishes do come true, kid.”
I stared, speechless. “But how—?”
Timmons rubbed the back of his neck. “I called in a favor. A buddy of mine at the station had this bike. Someone donated it last month, hoping it would go to a good home. This felt like fate.”
Tears stung my eyes. “Officer, we can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he interrupted gently. “I saw how your boy put you first, how he didn’t want to ask for more than he thought you could give. That kind of heart deserves something special.”
Barry stepped forward, hesitating before running his hands over the handlebars. “It’s mine?”
“All yours, kid.”
He turned to me, excitement shining in his eyes. “Mama, can I ride it?”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Go ahead, baby.”
Barry climbed on, a little wobbly at first, but soon he was pedaling across the parking lot, his laughter filling the night air.
I turned to Timmons. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
He shook his head. “No thanks needed. Just keep raising him the way you are.”
As Barry sped past us, he shouted, “Mama! My wish came true!”
I let a tear slip down my cheek. “Yeah, baby,” I whispered. “It did.”
That night, as I tucked him into bed, he looked up at me sleepily. “Mama?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Maybe next year, I’ll wish for something for you.”
I smoothed his hair. “You don’t have to do that, sweetheart.”
He yawned. “But maybe I will.”
As I sat beside him, listening to his soft breathing, I realized something. Today wasn’t just about kindness. It was about hope—about believing that even in tough times, there are still good people willing to step in and make a difference.
And maybe, just maybe, wishes really do come true.