The boy scrambled forward on his hands and knees, grabbed the toy, held it up with shaking fingers, and cried, “Sir… please… buy my teddy bear…”
One biker smirked in disbelief.
“Kid… what?”
The child hugged the toy to his chest and sobbed harder.
“My dad made it…”
The camera would have pushed tight on the bear then—small, handmade, stitched by rough hands, old but cared for.
Another biker slowly knelt beside him.
“Why sell it?”
The boy’s voice nearly broke apart.
“My dad… he can’t wake up…”
Even the wind felt louder now than the street. A paper cup rolled past the curb.
The biker leader reached down and took the teddy bear carefully.
His face changed the moment he touched it.
Amusement vanished.
His hand began to tremble.
“Where did you get this?”
The boy swallowed tears.
“My dad said… you’d know…”
The biker’s eyes widened.
He crouched lower, voice suddenly slow and serious.
“What’s your father’s name?”
The little boy took one shaking breath.
“He told me to find you because—”
Watch Part 2 in the comments.
