The man my son called « uncle. »
The man who never showed up to the funeral.
The man who disappeared when we needed him most.
At least, that’s what I believed.
What I discovered that Tuesday morning would force me to question everything.
Including my anger.
The Funeral Without Him
When Marcus died, nearly the entire motorcycle club came.
Rows of leather jackets filled the church.
Men who looked tough enough to scare strangers stood in line wiping tears from their eyes.
Some traveled hundreds of miles to be there.
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