He had bought that red Harley the week before the crash, in secret, because red was Isla’s favorite color.

The story of “the miracle child on Route 27” spread through biker communities and beyond. Doubters called it chance or childish imagination. But those who witnessed Sophie hold back death with her small hands knew the truth.

Sometimes angels appear not with halos but in sparkling dresses and glowing sneakers. Sometimes they carry the voices of those who’ve left us. And sometimes, when engines roar in harmony under the fading sun, Jonas feels small arms encircle his waist again.

Sophie, now older, only smiles with quiet certainty. “She’s riding with you today, isn’t she?”

She always is.