Those words were whispered to Big John—a 300-pound Harley rider with teardrop tattoos and hands like baseball mitts—who had stumbled into Room 117 by accident, just looking for a bathroom. That wrong turn would change everything. Not just for Katie, the seven-year-old girl left behind by parents too broken to watch her die… but for every tough, tattooed biker who would spend the next ninety-three days making sure she never felt alone again.
Big John had been visiting his own dying brother that day, pacing the halls of Saint Mary’s Hospice, when he heard a cry that pierced the soul. It wasn’t fear. It was surrender. He pushed open the door and saw her: bald, pale, tiny—swallowed by a hospital bed too big for her little body.
“Are you lost, mister?” she asked.