Biker Brought My Baby To Prison Every Week For Three Years When I Had No One Left

my wife. And he’s keeping it.”

When Destiny was two, Thomas started video calls too. The prison didn’t allow them normally, but he petitioned. Got special permission because of the unique circumstances. So now I could see my daughter’s face clearly. Could hear her laugh without the prison phone static.

“Daddy, look!” she’d say, holding up drawings she’d made. “Daddy, I love you!” she’d say, kissing the screen.

Every call ended with me crying. Every single one.

Thomas was patient with her. Gentle. He taught her everything. Colors. Numbers. Letters. He read to her every night. He took her to the park and the library and the zoo.

But he also made sure she knew who I was. Made sure she knew Daddy loved her. Made sure she knew this arrangement was temporary.

“Your daddy made a mistake,” he told her when she was old enough to understand. “He’s paying for it. But when he’s done paying, he’s coming home to you. And until then, Papa Thomas is going to take care of you.”

She started calling him Papa Thomas. And she never stopped asking when Daddy was coming home.

When Destiny was three, Thomas had a heart attack.

I found out from the prison chaplain. The same way I’d found out about Ellie. “Mr. Williams, I need to inform you that Mr. Crawford is in the hospital. He’s stable but it was serious.”

I lost my mind. Not just because Thomas might die. But because if he died, Destiny would go back to the system. Would become another foster care statistic.

For two weeks, I heard nothing. The longest two weeks of my life. I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t function.

Then Thomas showed up for our regular visit. Thinner. Paler. But there. With Destiny in his arms.

“You scared me,” I said through the glass, tears streaming down my face.

“I scared myself,” he admitted. “But I made a promise. I’m not done keeping it.”

After that, Thomas made arrangements. He got an attorney to draft documents naming me as Destiny’s guardian upon my release. He set up a trust fund for her. He made sure that if anything happened to him, his motorcycle club brothers would step in until I got out.

“These men are my family,” he told me. “They’ve already agreed. If I die before you’re released, they’ll take care of Destiny and bring her to you every week just like I do.”

A whole motorcycle club, committed to protecting my daughter. Because of a promise one man made to my dying wife.

I got released six months ago. Good behavior. Completed every program they offered. Became a mentor tContinue reading…