That was eight months ago. Marcus and Jake have watched my twins three days a week ever since. They never charge me. Never ask for anything. They’re basically the twins’ uncles now.
Anna and Ethan love them. Run to them. Hug them. Draw them pictures. Call them on my phone to tell them about their day. Marcus taught Ethan to tie his shoes. Jake helped Anna learn her ABCs.
“Happy birthday, Mama!” Anna shouted. I started crying. Again. Like I always do. Marcus handed me a card. Inside was a gift certificate to a spa. “Jake’s wife got this for you,” he said. “She said moms need breaks too.”
“I can’t accept this,” I started to say. “You already do so much.” Jake cut me off. “You can accept it. You will accept it. You’re family now. That’s what we do for family.”
That word. Family. I haven’t had real family since my mom got sick. My dad died when I was a kid. No siblings. No cousins I talk to. No friends because I work all the time.
But now I have these two terrifying-looking bikers who love my kids like their own. Who text me dad jokes. Who show up when I have car trouble. Who brought groceries when I had the flu. Who are teaching my son that real men are gentle and kind.
The title of this story says I begged them not to bring my kids back. Here’s what I mean: Last week, Marcus asked if he could take the twins to his motorcycle club’s annual picnic. “Lots of families. Lots of kids. Completely safe. Jake and I will watch them the whole time.”
I said yes. They picked up the twins at 9 AM. I sat in my empty apartment. Cleaned. Did laundry. Had silence for the first time in years. At 6 PM, Marcus called. “Hey, the kids are having such a good time. There’s a movie playing here at the clubhouse. Can we keep them a little longer?”
“Of course,” I said. At 8 PM, they called again. “So… Anna and Ethan fell asleep. They’re passed out on the couch. We can bring them home or if you want to come here and see how cute they look…”
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