Weeks after the funeral, Miguel’s Superman cape sat folded on his nightstand. The house felt heavy with loss, but sometimes—just sometimes—he heard it: the low rumble of engines passing by his street. The bikers never knocked, never stayed, but their silent presence whispered the same promise—you are not alone.
At school, when bullies circled again, Miguel didn’t fight back. He only smiled. Because parked at the edge of the lot, two leather-clad men leaned on their bikes, watching. The boys never bothered him again.
They had come because a child asked for “scary men.”
What they left behind was something far greater—proof that even the hardest hearts can choose compassion, and that a hero’s son would never walk alone.
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