I hosted a modest birthday celebration for my six-year-old son, Asher, at a local park. There were balloons, streamers, sparkly vanilla star cookies, and a simple chocolate cake nothing extravagant, just a day filled with sunshine and happiness. Most parents dropped their kids off without much small talk, though a few gave me quick heads-ups about allergies. The food was set out buffet-style, and I assumed the children had been briefed at home. The party went off beautifully; the kids ran, laughed, and left sticky-fingered and delighted. By the evening, Asher had fallen asleep on the couch, and I began cleaning up the remnants of a joyful day.

Then came a sharp knock on the door. Standing outside were three sets of parents, including Nico and Priya whose daughter, Kavi, had attended. Their expressions were full of anger. “What did you give them?” one asked harshly. Caught off guard and defensive, I was quickly told their kids had melted down after the party, and they were blaming the sugar and soda I had provided. I hadn’t known about all their dietary limits, and their frustration shook me. When Priya demanded I come see how wild Kavi was acting, I hesitated—but exhaustion and curiosity got the better of me.