I didn’t understand what mercy looked like until I saw it through bulletproof glass.
For three years, a biker I had never met brought my infant daughter to prison every single week.
After my wife passed away and I had no one left to care for our child, this sixty-eight-year-old white man in a leather vest stood on the other side of the visitation glass and held my mixed-race newborn so I could see her while I begged God just for one chance to hold her.
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