The woman stared at him.

“No…”

The man in the suit immediately released her wrist.

The biker reached beneath his leather vest and pulled out an old photograph.

A young woman held a newborn baby.

The woman’s knees weakened.

“That’s me.”

Her fingers touched the picture.

“And that’s my baby.”

The diner went silent.

The biker’s voice cracked.

“You asked me to pretend to be your son.”

Tears filled her eyes.

“I was told my son died.”

He swallowed hard.

“I was told my mother abandoned me.”

The man in the suit started backing toward the door.

The woman noticed.

“You knew.”

He shook his head.

“You’re both confused.”

But the biker turned the photograph over.

On the back was a handwritten name.

The same name the woman had given him.

She began sobbing.

The biker looked at the man in the suit.

“What does he have to do with this?”

The woman wiped her tears.

“He’s my brother.”

The biker’s face hardened.

She pointed at him.

“He’s also the man who brought me papers thirty years ago saying my baby was dead.”

The suited man ran for the door.

Two bikers stood and blocked him.

The woman looked up at the enormous stranger she had asked to protect her.

Then touched his face with a shaking hand.

“I came in here looking for someone to pretend to be my son.”

Her voice broke.

“And I think I found the one they stole from me.”