She was 7, dying in a hospital bed, when she asked a stranger,
She was 7, dying in a hospital bed, when she asked a stranger,
“Will you be my daddy… until I die?”
I was a biker with tattoos and a broken past.
She was a little girl with cancer and no one left.
So I stayed. Every day.
I read to her. Held her. Loved her.
Doctors called it a miracle.
I call it love — loud, stubborn, unbreakable
She’s 15 now. Cancer-free. Still calls me Daddy.
Because sometimes, family is chosen
