The biker didn’t blink.

The officer stared at the waitress, his breath suddenly uneven.

“What did you say?” he whispered.

The biker stepped closer.

“I said that’s my mother.”

The waitress slowly stood, holding her burned hand against her apron.

Her eyes locked on the officer’s name tag.

Then her face went pale.

“Mason?”

The biker turned.

The officer froze completely.

Nobody in the diner moved.

The waitress took one trembling step forward.

“My baby’s name was Mason.”

The officer shook his head.

“No. My mother died.”

The waitress’s eyes filled with tears.

“That’s what they told me about you.”

The biker looked between them, his anger turning into confusion.

“Mom?”

She reached under her uniform and pulled out an old locket.

Inside was a faded photo of two little boys.

One with dark eyes.

One in a tiny police costume.

Her voice broke.

“They took your brother when he was three. I searched until your father told me to stop, because searching would get us all killed.”

The officer covered his mouth.

The biker’s hard face cracked.

The waitress looked at the broken glass on the floor, then at both men.

“One became a biker,” she whispered. “One became the law.”

Her tears fell.

“And both of you came back to me in the same diner.”