Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY93V239BMS4941DB3023VX

The sun dipped low, gilding the slides at Maple Park, where a half-dozen mylar balloons—tattered now, sagging like deflated optimism—bobbed above a white tent. Inside, a smushed vanilla cake with “Happy Birthday, Lila!” swirled in pink icing sat on a table, its candles long since snuffed. Between the swings, a man in a neon clown suit (crumpled, bead eyes loose) and a woman in a sequined tank top (one strap broken) huddled behind a pine tree, binoculars dangling from the woman’s hand. The woman, Molly, adjusted her glasses—actually, a pair of hockey goggles she’d spray-painted gold. The man, Bill, gnawed on a stale chocolate chip cookie he’d swiped from a gas station convenience bag. “You sure this is the right party?” he mumbled, crumbs falling on his “I <3 Pizza” T-shirt. “You sure *we’re* the right thieves?” Molly shot back, squinting through the goggles. She’d seen Lila’s mom post the invites on Facebook—“No gifts, just cake!”—but Mom had a *way* of phrasing things. “Cake’s a lie. Presents are in the oak. See? Two big ones, maybe three. Lila’s a gear head; the blue box is probably a pedal car. And the unicorn? Stuffed, but the kind with the sparkly horn that *actually* lights up. Perfect.” Bill peeked through his goggles. “But what if the mom notices? She’s holding a clipboard, like she’s grading kids’ art projects.” “Clipboard’s for the goodie bags. She’ll be too busy counting lollipops to check under the tree. You distract her. Point at the cake and ask if it’s “death by sprinkles.” She’ll ramble about the dye, you ghost. I grab presents. You follow with the cake.” “Cake’s heavier than a toaster oven.” “Then *you* lift,” Molly said, already inching toward the tree. “And if I get caught, yell ‘clowns!’ It’s a code. Means ‘eat the cake and blame the clowns.’” Bill sputtered. “‘Clowns’? They’re *our* disguise!” “Disguises are trash,” Molly muttered, ducking under a branch. The presents were stacked by the oak: red, blue, silver. She reached for the red—then the silver one *beeped*. Lila! Molly thought, freezing. The kid had snuck a toy beeper into the gift, probably to “scare” the mouse who’d “stole” her teddy. Now it trilled a high-pitched tune. “Mom! My unicorn’s *alive*!” Lila shrieked, pointing. Mrs. Lila—blonde, in a floral shirt that said “World’s Okayest Mom”—looked up, then gasped. “Lila! Where’d you get that? I told you no sharp toys!” Bill, who’d been edging toward the clipboard, lurched. “Sharp toys? *This*? It’s a *unicorn*!” He snatched it up, hugging the beeping thing to his chest. Mrs. Lila stared. “Is… is that a toy? It was in the clearance bin—” “CLEARANCE?!” Bill said, fake gasping. “That’s not clearance, that’s *art*! A masterpiece! Mom, we need to buy this unicorn. For the town. For the *kids* who don’t have unicorns. For *Lila*.” He wheezed. “I’m adopting her. As my unicorn daughter.” Mrs. Lila blinked. “You… you want to be Lila’s unicorn dad?” “*Clown* dad,” Molly said, materializing from behind the tree, holding the blue box. She’d already torn it open—pedal car, yay—and was now shoving it under her clown suit. “Wayne the Marine says we’re family.” Wayne—Lila’s dad, who’d been kneeling to tie his daughter’s shoe—stood up, grinning. “Unicorn dad, huh? That’s… sweet. Hey, if you’re adopting her, you can have the cake, too. Don’t tell Lila I said it’s 80% frosting.” Bill stilled. “Cake’s for the *unicorn drive*.” “Drive needs sugar,” Molly said, shoving a forkful of cake into her mouth. Lila wrapped her arms around Bill’s leg. “Uncle Clown! You’re my best friend!” Bill crumpled, the beeping unicorn still in his arms. “Bestest.” Molly grabbed the red box. “We’re leaving, Bill. The drive’s starting.” Wayne waved. “Happy unicorn dad-ing!” Behind the slide, Molly collapsed, the pedal car sticking out from under her suit. “We’re idiots,” she said, crumbs falling on her goggles. Bill opened the unicorn box—inside was a tiny silver horn, not a full bike. “Still, we got Legos.” “Small victory,” she said, taking a bite of cake. “Milkshake?” He held up a crumb-strewn cookie. “We’re halfway.” Lila’s unicorn beeped a cheerful tune. Somewhere, Wayne laughed. Molly smiled. “Deal.”