I Abandoned My Sick Daughter At Hospital But A Stranger Biker Became The Only Family She Had

“My daughter—Emma’s mother—she blamed me. Said I wasn’t there enough. Said I cared more about my motorcycle than my family. She cut me off completely. I wasn’t allowed to see Emma. Wasn’t allowed to call. Wasn’t allowed at the funeral.”

His voice cracked. “I never got to say goodbye. Never got to tell her I loved her. Never got to hold her hand while she…”

He couldn’t finish. This massive, tough-looking man broke down crying in the hospital hallway.

“When I heard about the companion program, I signed up immediately. They matched me with kids who didn’t have family visiting. Kids who were alone.” He wiped his eyes. “When I walked into Lily’s room that first day, she looked at me with those big blue eyes and said, ‘Are you my grandpa? Mommy said I don’t have a grandpa.’”

I remembered that. I’d told Lily she didn’t have grandparents because both my parents died when I was young and her father’s parents wanted nothing to do with us.

“I told her no, I wasn’t her grandpa. But she looked so sad. So alone. So I said, ‘But I could be your pretend grandpa, if you want.’ And she smiled for the first time since you left.”

Thomas looked at me directly. “I wasn’t trying to replace you. I was trying to keep her alive long enough for you to come back. I told her every single day that her mommy loved her. That her mommy was coming back. I never let her believe you’d forgotten her.”

“Why?” I whispered. “Why would you defend me? You don’t even know me.”

“Because I know what it’s like to fail your family and not get a second chance.” His eyes were intense. “I failed my daughter. I wasn’t there when she needed me. And now I’ll never be able to make it right because she won’t let me.”

He gestured toward Lily’s room. “But you have a second chance. Your daughter is alive. She’s in remission. She’s going to survive this. And she needs her mother.”

“She has you,” I said brokenly. “She doesn’t need me anymore.”

Thomas grabbed my shoulders. Not roughly, but firmly. “Listen to me. I love that little girl like she was my own flesh and blood. But I’m sixty-four years old with a bad heart. I’m not going to be around forever. Lily needs her mother. She needs you.”

“But I left her. I abandoned her. How can she ever forgive me?”

“Kids are more forgiving than adults,” Thomas said. “They love unconditionally. If you walk into that room right now and tell her you’re sorry, tell her you love her, tell her you’re never leaving again—she’ll forgive you.”

“How do you know?”

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