Biker Who Hit My Son Visited Every Single Day Until My Son Woke Up And Said One Word

Jake’s finger moved.

“JAKE!” I rushed to the bed. “Jake, buddy, can you hear me?”

His eyes fluttered. The machines started beeping. Nurses rushed in.

And then Jake opened his eyes. He looked confused, scared. His gaze moved around the room—to me, to the nurses, to the machines.

Then he saw Marcus.

“You,” Jake whispered, his voice hoarse from weeks of intubation. “You’re… you’re the man. The man who saved me.”

I froze. The nurses froze. Marcus’s face crumpled.

“What do you mean, buddy?” I asked gently.

Jake’s eyes filled with tears. “I remember. I ran into the street. I saw the motorcycle. I thought I was gonna die.” He looked at Marcus. “But you grabbed me. You pulled me back. You held me and told me I was gonna be okay. You called for help. You saved my life.”

Marcus was sobbing. “I hit you, son. My bike hit you.”

“You stopped,” Jake said. “You didn’t leave. You saved me.”

The doctors examined Jake. Miraculously, his cognitive function was perfect. His memory was intact. The swelling had gone down. He’d need physical therapy, but he was going to be okay.Continue reading…