The biker bought my daughter a birthday present after I told him we couldn’t afford one this year. I didn’t know him. Never seen him before in my life.

But he overheard me at the grocery store telling my baby girl that maybe next month, maybe when Mama got paid, we could get her something special for turning six.

She’d nodded like she understood. Like a six-year-old should have to understand that birthdays sometimes don’t come with presents because rent is due and the electric bill is overdue and there’s barely enough for food.

I was checking out when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and nearly jumped. He was massive, leather vest covered in patches, arms covered in tattoos. The kind of man you cross the street to avoid.

I pulled Destiny closer to me. “Tomorrow,” I said carefully. “Why?”

He smiled. His whole face transformed. “Because every kid deserves a birthday present. Would you mind if I brought something by for her? Nothing crazy. Just something to make her day special.”

I should have said no. I should have walked away. You don’t give strangers your address. You don’t accept charity from people who look like they could be in a gang. But something in his eyes, something genuine and kind, made me pause.