Emma nodded, gripping the handles. I revved the engine gently so she could feel the vibration in her bones. Her face lit up with a grin so bright it felt like sunrise.
Sarah touched my arm. “Thank you,” she whispered again.
I looked at the two of them—mother and daughter—and understood what really mattered. That bike had been stolen from me, but finding it again gave me back something even more precious: a chance to help a family in pain, to honor my son’s memory by saving another child’s life.
Sometimes justice isn’t about taking back what was lost. Sometimes it’s about giving what you still have. Because in the end, the road is long, and we’re all riding together.
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