Liam smiled — a real smile that lit up his tired face. He asked Mike about motorcycles, about how fast they could go, about what it felt like to ride with the wind in your face. Mike answered every question carefully, his voice deep but warm.
“My daddy wanted to ride a motorcycle before he died.”
Mike’s expression changed instantly. His eyes softened. He placed a hand over his chest, nodding as if he understood something more profound than words could convey.
Liam kept talking, and Mike listened like each word mattered. They laughed softly together. They connected in a way that felt deeper than the short time they had spent together.
Then Liam looked up at me and whispered words that broke my heart and healed it all at once.
“Mama… can he hold me? Your arms are tired.”
My arms weren’t tired. They ached to never let him go. But this was Liam’s heart speaking, not his body. He saw strength, safety, and something familiar in Mike — something that reminded him of his father.
With tears streaming down my face, I nodded.
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