Jake’s fourteen now — healthy, happy, playing baseball again. Marcus still comes over every Sunday for dinner. Jake calls him Uncle Marcus. They built that model motorcycle together, and now they’re rebuilding a real one in my garage.
Sometimes I catch them laughing, heads bent over the bike, grease on their hands — the biker who hit my son and the boy who changed his life.
He didn’t just save my boy’s life that day on the street. He saved something inside all of us — faith, hope, and the belief that people can choose to turn pain into purpose.
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