My 3 kids never visited me once while I was dying of cancer but this biker I’d never met held my hand every single day. I’m seventy-three years old, lying in this hospice bed with stage four lung cancer, and my three children haven’t visited me in six months.
But this man—this tattooed, bearded biker I’d never met before last week—has been here every single day. And what we did together is going to haunt my ungrateful kids for the rest of their lives.
My name is Robert Mitchell. I’m a Vietnam veteran. Purple Heart. Bronze Star. Thirty-two years as a construction foreman.
Raised three kids by myself after their mother ran off with her boss when they were little. I worked seventy-hour weeks to give them everything. College educations. Wedding payments. Down payments on their houses.
