For six months in a row, without missing a single day, a man arrived at my daughter’s hospital room at exactly three in the afternoon. He was unforgettable—tall and solid, gray beard brushing his chest, leather vest, heavy boots, tattoos winding over scarred hands.

For six months in a row, without missing a single day, a man arrived at my daughter’s hospital room at exactly three in the afternoon. He was unforgettable—tall and solid, gray beard brushing his chest, leather vest, heavy boots, tattoos winding over scarred hands. He stayed for one hour, never more. He barely spoke to me, just a respectful nod. He would sit beside my daughter’s bed, hold her hand, speak to her softly, and then quietly leave.

For a long time, I had no idea who he was.