I Love My Biker Father More Than Anything But What He Did On My Wedding Day Destroyed Me

I love my biker father more than anything, but he didn’t walked me down the aisle, I thought he’d abandoned me just like Mom always warned he would.

My name is Olivia Mitchell, and I’m twenty years old. I’ve been riding motorcycles since I was eight, sitting on the tank of my dad’s 1987 Harley Softail while he worked the controls. People always said it was dangerous. Mom left us over it when I was six, screaming that she wouldn’t watch her daughter die on a motorcycle.

But Dad never put me in danger. He taught me respect for the road, for the machine, for the freedom that comes with two wheels and an open highway. By the time I was sixteen, I had my own bike—a Honda Shadow 750 that Dad and I rebuilt together in our garage over two years.

That bike became my whole world. But not as much as the man who taught me to ride it.

Dad—everyone calls him Hawk because of his sharp eyes and the way he watches over people—raised me alone after Mom left. He worked construction during the day, rode with the Iron Guardians MC on weekends, and never once missed a single moment of my life that mattered.

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