I pulled over. My three brothers did the same. Four Harleys rumbling to a stop in front of this tiny child.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t run. Just looked up at us with these huge blue eyes filled with something no five-year-old should ever feel.
“Hey sweetheart,” I said, climbing off my bike. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”
She pointed to her sign. “Selling my bike.”
“I can see that. But why? It’s a beautiful bike.”
She looked down at her pink sandals. Scuffed and worn. Too small for her feet. “Mommy needs medicine. She’s really sick. And we don’t have money for her medicine and my school.”
My heart cracked right down the middle.
“Where’s your mommy now, sweetheart?”Continue reading…
