"Even better."
My son seemed satisfied.
Then he announced that they needed to celebrate with a special race.
Wade placed the card inside his vest and sat beside the bed.
For the next fifteen minutes, he played as he always had.
He laughed when Eli accused him of cheating.
He invented a ridiculous engine noise.
He allowed the green truck to make a miraculous comeback from last place.
Everything looked ordinary.
But I noticed how often Wade touched the pocket containing the card.
I noticed the way his eyes kept drifting toward Eli.
And I noticed that every time my son laughed, the biker seemed to be holding something back.
When Eli finally became tired, Wade gathered the toys.
"Good race, champion."
My son nodded.
"Tomorrow, blue wins again."
Wade smiled faintly.
"We'll see."
Eli closed his eyes.
A few minutes later, he was asleep.
I followed Wade into the hallway.
This time, I didn't let the moment pass.
"Wade?"
He stopped.
"Yes, ma'am?"
I looked toward Eli's room.
"Can I ask you something?"
He nodded.
"Sure."
I took a breath.
"You've been coming here for a year."
Wade looked down.
"Guess I have."
"Every day."
He gave a small smile.
"Pretty much."
I stepped closer.
"You've brought toys, made him laugh, sat with him when he couldn't speak, and somehow found time to be here through all of it."
The biker looked uncomfortable.
I continued.
"I don't understand how you do it. You have a business. You have your own life. You don't owe us anything."
He stared at the floor.
"Wade, why?"
He didn't answer.
I waited.
"Why do you do this?" I asked gently. "You don't have to come here every day."
His expression changed.
It happened so quickly that I almost missed it.
The small smile vanished.
His shoulders tightened.
And the sadness I had glimpsed so many times finally became impossible to ignore.
For several seconds, he stared at the toy bag in his hand.
Then he whispered, "Because somebody should."
I waited for him to continue.
He didn't.
Instead, he looked toward Eli's room.
His eyes filled.
"I'm sorry," he said.
I frowned.
"Sorry for what?"
He shook his head.
"Nothing."
"Wadeβ"
"I should go."
He turned toward the elevator.
I reached out instinctively, then stopped before touching his arm.
"Did I say something wrong?"
He paused.
For a moment, I thought he might turn around.
Instead, he shook his head.
"No, ma'am."
His voice broke.
"You didn't."
Then he walked away.
I stood in the hallway, feeling as though I had opened a door into something painful without realizing it.