Emma is nineteen now. She’s in college, studying to be a teacher, just like she always planned. She volunteers at the library every weekend, reading to toddlers. She finally finished Charlotte’s Web with them.
Thomas is her grandfather in every way that matters. He taught her to ride a motorcycle last summer. Marie taught her to make her famous apple pie.
Last month, Emma gave a speech at the Guardians’ annual charity event. Three hundred people, most of them bikers, listened to my daughter talk about the night that changed everything.
“I was dying in that car,” she said. “I could feel myself slipping away. And then this man appeared. This big, scary-looking biker who broke my window and grabbed my hand and refused to let go.”
She looked at Thomas in the front row.
“He made me a promise that night. Said I wouldn’t die alone. What I didn’t know was that he’d keep that promise for six months while I lay in a coma. He visited me every single day. Held my hand. Talked to me. Refused to give up even when the doctors said I might never wake up.”
Tears streamed down her face.
“Thomas lost his daughter Emily twenty-three years ago. He couldn’t be there for her. But he was there for me. He turned his greatest tragedy into my greatest blessing.”
She stepped away from the podium and walked to Thomas. Hugged him tight while the entire room stood and applauded.
“You saved my life,” she whispered in his ear. “Not once. But every single day for six months. I love you, Grandpa.”
