In the quiet that followed the sirens, Alex Pretti’s family found themselves trapped inside a version of him they did not recognize. Their son, who had spent long nights steadying failing hearts in the ICU, was recast as a danger to justify the irreversible. Clips of his last seconds were dissected by strangers who never knew the way he stayed late on shifts, or how he carried groceries up three flights for an elderly neighbor without being asked.
They do not ask for sainthood, only accuracy. For people to watch the footage without the script already written, to hear witnesses without deciding first who deserves belief. To let Alex be what he was in life: a neighbor who stepped toward trouble, not away from it. The cost of that step cannot be undone, but the story told about it still can.
