Their Saturdays went on. No more stares, no more whispers—just community. Veterans stopped by to chat. The cashier kept chocolate milk ready. The janitor always smiled when they came in.
Every week, Bear told a new story—how her father once carried civilians to safety under fire, how he’d sing to scared children, how he said Lily’s birth was his proudest moment.
“Maybe,” Bear admitted. “But love doesn’t change. That’s what stays.”
“Like your promise to me?”
He smiled. “Exactly like that.”
She thought for a moment. “The kids at school say bikers are bad.”
“What do you think?”
She studied him—the patches, the calloused hands, the soft eyes. “I think people who judge without knowing are the bad ones,” she said. “You told me what matters is keeping promises and protecting people. That’s what bikers do. That’s what soldiers do. That’s what families do.”
Bear blinked hard, pride swelling in his chest. “That’s right, baby girl. You got it.”
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