The Biker Who Hit My Son Never Missed a Day at the Hospital — Until the Morning My Boy Finally Woke Up

By the third week, something had changed. I no longer avoided the hospital room when Marcus was there. We’d sit together, each keeping silent watch over my son.

Sometimes, I’d find Marcus whispering, “Come on, buddy. You’ve got a whole world waiting for you. Don’t give up now.”

On the twenty-third day, Marcus brought his motorcycle club — fifteen riders from the Nomads — who filled the hallway in their leather vests. They couldn’t fit in the room, so they went outside and revved their bikes in unison, their engines echoing through the hospital walls.

“Jake loves motorcycles,” Sarah said, crying. “If he can hear anything, maybe he’ll hear that.”

That night, the nurse said Jake’s heart rate spiked briefly.

The Longest Wait

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