The Biker Found Two Kids Waiting At The Bus Stop With A Note That Said “Please Take Care Of Them”

At a bus stop, two young blonde girls sit by themselves with a message that reads, “Please Take Care Of Them.” We noticed them on our way back from our Saturday morning coffee run with my riding brother Jake.

The neon yellow safety shirts they were wearing were identical to those worn by construction workers. Nobody else was around at seven in the morning.

I pulled up next to Jake after he halted his bike first. There was a problem. Young children don’t sit by themselves at bus stops.

As we drew nearer, I noticed that the older girl had her arm around her sister’s shoulders and the younger one was crying.

A blue balloon tied to the bench and a brown paper bag sat between them. In order to avoid frightening them, Jake and I looked at each other, turned off our motors, and approached cautiously.

Jake lowered down to their level and spoke softly, “Hey there, little ones.” “Where is your mother?”

With the most devastating eyes I had ever seen in my sixty-three years, the older girl gazed up at us. Pointing to the paper bag, she said. “Mama left a nice note for us to find.”

I felt sick to my stomach. As I watched the females, Jake cautiously reached for the bag. There were two juice boxes, a loaf of bread, a folded piece of notebook paper, and a change of clothes for each girl.

Jake opened it with trembling hands. As he read, his face turned white, and he silently gave it to me.

In desperate, hardly readable handwriting, the message read: “To whoever finds Lily and Rose—I can’t do this anymore.” I have no family, no money, and I’m sick.

They are more deserving than to perish in our car with me. Please look after them. They’re decent females. I’m so sorry. March 3rd and April 12th are their birthdays.

They enjoy bedtime stories and pancakes. Please give them a chance at life, but don’t let them forget me. I apologize, I apologize, I apologize.

That was it. No address, no phone number, and no name. Just two little girls wearing bright yellow shirts to attract attention and a balloon to make it appear as though they were attending a party rather than being left behind.

Tears were streaming down Jake’s beard when I stared at him. I had never seen Jake cry in our forty years of riding with, through fights, deaths, and everything in between.

“What are your names, dears?” My voice cracked as I asked. The older one introduced herself as Lily. “Her name is Rose.” She is shy, which is why she doesn’t talk much.

Our mother assured us that a kind person would locate us and transfer us to a secure location. Are you kind? Jake made a noise that was half sob, half giggle.

Yes, darling girl. We’re pleasant. We’re going to look after you.

Jake grabbed my wrist as I took out my phone to dial 911. “Hold on. Simply wait a moment.

I knew precisely what he was thinking as he dried his eyes and glanced at the two young girls sitting there with their balloon and paper bag of possessions. since I was also considering it.

We both ride motorcycles. We never had our own children. Jake was unable to conceive, so his wife left him thirty years ago. Before we had a chance, I lost my fiancée.

We had lived our entire lives as the intimidating men that parents keep their children away from.

The mother of these two little girls had believed that someone, anybody, would treat her children with more kindness than she herself could in whatever misery she was in.

“We ought to give a call,” I muttered. “They require law enforcement, family services, and professionals with experience.”

For the first time, Rose, the younger one, spoke abruptly. “I don’t want police.” desire you. She used both of her small hands to reach out and grip Jake’s vest. “You remain.”

Jake was broke. This enormous, bearded, tattooed motorcyclist, who appeared capable of severing a man in two, simply crumpled

As though they were the most valuable things in the world, he gathered the two girls into his arms and gave them a tight hug. “I understand you,” he muttered. “I have you both. Now you’re safe. I swear.

I described the issue to 911. Three police cars and a family services van showed up in ten minutes. Patricia, a sweet-looking woman, approached with a clipboard.

She continued softly, “We’ll take the girls to a temporary placement while we try to locate family members.” “The way you gentlemen stopped was fantastic.”

Rose and Lily both burst into tears. Lily tightened her hold on Jake’s vest and uttered the words, “No no no.” “We wish to remain with the men on motorcycles.” Please. You discovered us, and we want you because you’re kind, as Mama predicted someone nice would find us.

Patricia appeared uneasy. That’s not how it works, darling, but I get it. We don’t know these men. Foster families have received our training—

“How much time will it take to locate relatives?” Jake cut me off. Patricia paused. Given the incomplete information, it can take weeks or months. They will go into foster care if we are unable to find a foster parent.

I could tell by looking at Jake’s face what he was going to do. He questioned, “What if we wanted to be placed in foster care on an emergency basis?”

“Now. Today. Whatever documentation, background checks, or other requirements you may have. We’ll carry it out. Patricia had a startled expression. It’s not that easy, sir. There is training, home studies, and a certification process—

“How much time?” Jake spoke in a stern tone. “How long will it take to place someone temporarily in an emergency while you do all that?”

Patricia looked at her boss, who had approached. I couldn’t hear the whispered chat they were having. The supervisor finally said something.

Given the exceptional circumstances and the way the kids react to you, if you both clear background checks right once and have appropriate housing, we might be able to grant a 72-hour emergency placement while we speed up the fostering procedure. But let me tell you, gentlemen—this is really erratic.

I said, “Do the background checks.” “We both own our homes, have spotless histories, and are veterans. We are Veterans Motorcycle Club members. For children’s hospitals, we organize charity rides. You will discover that we are just who we claim to be.

Jake went on, “And since these young girls have already been abandoned once today, we’re not letting them go to strangers. Not taking place.

Four hours passed. Lily and Rose sat between us on the bench, nibbling bread and sipping juice boxes, while we spent four hours on paperwork, phone calls, and background checks.

After going to the supermarket, Jake returned with actual food, which included apple slices and chicken nuggets. I purchased crayons and coloring books. They grinned after we made goofy faces and informed them about our motorcycles.

Patricia was carrying papers when she returned at last. “Gentlemen, I’m not sure if you understand what you’re doing. These kids have experienced trauma. They’ll require patience, stability, and therapy— “We are aware,” Jake remarked. “And it will be theirs.”

Three months have passed since then. As of right now, Jake and I hold a foster parent license. On Thursday evenings, we attend parenting classes.

For Jake’s extra room, our biker brothers constructed bunk beds and painted it pink with white daisies. Next month, Lily will start kindergarten. Rose is chatting right now—in fact, she won’t stop. They refer to us as “Mr. Tommy” and “Mr. Jake.”

Their mother was never located. Two counties over, police found an abandoned automobile that fit the description. Clothes, empty prescription bottles, and a picture of two young, blond girls were found inside.

Although it has been months, they are still looking. According to the working idea, she took a difficult decision because she was terminally ill and had no support system.

As stated in the message, Rose’s fifth birthday was April 12th, which was last weekend. Our whole motorcycle club arrived with balloons and gifts. Rose’s current favorite color is blue balloons.

Jake held Lily while she sat on my lap in the park, and our photo was taken. I noticed that Jake was crying once more as we laughed together while both girls were wearing their safety yellow shirts since they adore them.

“Are you alright, brother?” Quietly, I asked. He grinned and wiped his eyes. Indeed. Just reminiscing about the morning. What if we had passed by horseback? Imagine if we hadn’t halted. I gave Rose a firmer squeeze. But we did come to a halt. And they’re present. And we own them.

Lily turned to face Jake. “Why are you leaking, Mr. Jake?” She refers to that as “leaking” or “crying.” Jake gave her a head kiss while laughing. “Because I’m content, sweetheart. I have never felt happier.

Last week, the adoption paperwork was submitted. No relatives ever stepped forward, and we were informed that everything should be resolved in six months. Legally, Lily and Rose will belong to us. Two elderly motorcyclists who never imagined becoming fathers are raising two young daughters who are just as much in need of them as we are.

When we arrive at the grocery store or school, people still gawk at us—two big, tattooed bikers with two little blonde girls. Allow them to gaze. Our daughters are these. At the bus stop that morning, they picked us, and we picked them back.

Lily asked me last night if we were going to abandon them the way their first mother did. I knelt down and met her eyes directly. “Never. You will always be with us. Do you believe you can manage that? She encircled my neck with her arms. “Ever and forever?” “Forever and ever.”

I think about that note and their mother sometimes. “Please give them a life, but don’t let them forget me.”

We will not allow them to forget. When they’re ready, we’ll tell them the truth; we have that picture. We’ll tell them that their first mother loved them so much that she made sure someone would find them who could provide for their needs.

We’ll also let them know that occasionally the family you need can be found on a Saturday morning at a bus stop. A blue balloon, a paper bag, and two terrified bikers whose lives were about to change irrevocably.

Rose refuses to let us discard the blue balloon, even though it is deflated and she still sleeps with it. She explains, “It dates back to the day we got our daddies.” She’s correct, too. That’s precisely where it comes from.