47 BIKERS SHOWED UP TO WALK MY 5-YEAR-OLD SON INTO KINDERGARTEN AFTER HIS FATHER WAS K.i.L.L.E.D RIDING HIS MOTORCYCLE TO WORK

It’s a letter,” Bear says, his voice catching as he reaches into the helmet and pulls out a folded, yellowed envelope with Tommy’s name written in Jim’s neat block letters.

My knees nearly give out. I press a hand to my mouth as tears spring to my eyes. “He wrote a letter? When?”

Bear nods slowly. “Back when you found out you were pregnant. We were out on a ride. Jim said if anything ever happened to him, he wanted to make sure his boy knew who his dad really was. He slipped the letter under the liner of his helmet, said it was the safest place he could think of.”

I take the envelope with shaking fingers, staring at the name written in pencil—Tommy. My son is still at the window, his breath fogging the glass. I glance up at Bear, who just gives a small nod, stepping aside.

“Tommy,” I call softly. “Come here, sweetheart.”

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