The biker froze as the officer cuffed him during a routine stop for a broken taillight on Highway 49. Her badge flashed in the light — Officer Sarah Chen. He stared, unable to breathe. She had his daughter’s name. When she stepped closer, the world tilted, and he noticed the familiar eyes and the crescent-moon birthmark below her left ear.
“License and registration,” she said, calm and distant. His hands shook as he handed them over. Robert McAllister. Known to most as Ghost. She showed no reaction. Amy must have changed their names, but he recognized everything — her stance, the scar on her brow, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when focused.
“Mr. McAllister,” she said. “Please step off the bike.” She didn’t know she was arresting her father, the man who had spent thirty-one years searching every crowd for her face. Decades earlier, he’d held her as a baby, making promises before her mother disappeared with her.
He remembered it all: being a struggling mechanic, a young mother afraid, and one night when everything was gone. Now she stood before him — grown, steady, wearing a badge. Everything he had failed to be, she had become.
He met her eyes. “Officer Chen,” he said softly. “You ever wonder where you got that scar on your eyebrow?” She blinked. “You fell off a red tricycle. I carried you inside.” In the fading highway light, duty and love collided, and neither felt lost anymore.
