I always thought my biker father would walk me down the aisle. He had been there for every single moment of my life—every scraped knee, every heartbreak, every victory. But on my wedding day, when I needed him most, he wasn’t there.
For years, Dad—everyone called him Hawk—was my entire world. He raised me alone after Mom left, teaching me discipline, independence, and the freedom that came with two wheels and an open highway. From the moment he first lifted me onto the tank of his Harley, motorcycles became part of who we were. We rebuilt bikes together, rode endless miles side by side, and created a bond that nothing could break. Or so I thought.
When I fell in love with Danny, an EMT who shared my passion for riding, Dad welcomed him like family. He cried when Danny proposed and promised he’d be proud to walk me down the aisle. But on the morning of my wedding, he vanished. His phone went silent, his truck disappeared, and with every minute that passed, my heart sank.
I believed the one thing my mother always warned me about—that Dad would abandon me. That the road meant more to him than I ever did.
But the truth was far more heartbreaking.
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