The biker caught me stealing food for my pregnant wife but he did something after that made me cry. I was stuffing bread into my jacket at the gas station when this massive man in a leather vest covered in patches grabbed my shoulder. My heart stopped. My hands froze. I thought I was going to jail.
“Please,” I whispered, turning to face him. “Please, my wife is seven months pregnant and we haven’t eaten in two days. I lost my job. We got evicted. We’re living in our car. I just needed something to feed her.”
The biker stared at me with these intense blue eyes. He was maybe six foot five, arms covered in tattoos, beard down to his chest. He looked at the bread in my jacket. Then at my wife waiting in our beat-up Honda in the parking lot. I could see her through the window, her belly huge, her face exhausted.
“I’m sorry,” I said, tears running down my face. “I’ve never stolen anything in my life. But she’s so hungry. The baby keeps kicking and she has nothing to give it. I didn’t know what else to do.”
The biker’s grip tightened on my shoulder. I thought he was going to drag me to the counter. Make me empty my pockets. Call the cops. Instead, he said five words: “Put the bread back”
My heart sank. I started pulling the bread out of my jacket, hands shaking. But before I could put it back on the shelf, the biker took it from me. And then he grabbed a basket.
