I’m 15, and I was raised by my grandfather. I never knew my parents. My mother died during childbirth, and my father disappeared right after that.
Then, a year ago, something terrible happened. A friend was driving me home from school when another car skidded straight into us. Our car flipped over.
We miraculously survived, but I could no longer walk.
The doctors said there was only a small chance I might ever walk again, and it would require long and expensive therapy. We couldn’t afford it, and our insurance didn’t even cover half the cost.
But my grandfather clung to that tiny chance and told me: “My dear, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you get that therapy.”
So, at 76, he began making small children’s blankets and selling them at a flea market. He sewed at night after coming home from working double shifts at a grocery store.
I felt terrible that Grandpa was doing so much for me, but he hugged me and said we would get through it together.
I helped him however I could, and on weekends, I went with him to the flea market.
Then, last Saturday, I was sitting beside Grandpa behind our table when a man headed straight toward us.
He looked about 40. He wore a leather vest and a bandana, and both arms were covered in tattoos. He had parked his motorcycle nearby.
He examined Grandpa’s blankets. Grandpa smiled and offered to help him choose one.
Then the biker looked up and stared at him intently.
He pulled an envelope from his pocket, held it out to Grandpa, and said: “It’s you. I know it’s you. I’ve been looking for you for 20 years. I know WHAT you did back then. You WON’T fool anyone else.”
My hands started trembling. So did Grandpa’s.
But he took the envelope and opened it.
His face turned pale as he said: “No! Is that really you? This can’t be. HOW DARE YOU?”
(The shocking truth behind the biker’s sudden arrival is about to be revealed! Click “Next Page” to continue reading…)
