Little Girl Selling Her Only Bike Said Three Words That Made Four Bikers Cry

“Lily, can you take me to your mommy? I’d like to talk to her.”

Lily’s eyes went wide with fear. “Are you going to tell her I’m in trouble? She doesn’t know I came outside. She can’t see me from her bed.”

“You’re not in trouble, Lily. I promise. I just want to help.”

She studied my face for a long moment. Then she looked at my vest. At my patches. At my brothers standing behind me like a wall of leather and muscle.

“My daddy had a motorcycle,” she whispered. “Before he went to heaven.”

Those words hit me like a truck. Tommy actually had to turn away. Marcus sat down on the curb and put his head in his hands.

“When did your daddy go to heaven, sweetheart?” I asked softly.

“When I was three. Mommy says he got sick too. The same sickness she has now.” Lily’s voice was matter-of-fact in the way only children can be. “That’s why she cries at night. She thinks I’m sleeping but I hear her.”

I stood up slowly. “Lily, I need you to take me to your mommy right now. Can you do that?”

She nodded and started walking toward a small house at the end of the street. The paint was peeling. The lawn was overgrown. A ramp had been built over the front steps—the kind you need for a wheelchair.

Lily opened the front door. “Mommy? Some nice men want to talk to you.”

I heard a panicked voice from inside. “Lily! Where were you? I’ve been calling—” The voice stopped when I appeared in the doorway.