A little girl at Walmart grabbed my tattooed arm and whispered, “Daddy’s trying to hurt Mommy.”

Sarah survived, remarried a kind teacher, and Addison flourished. Seven years later, she’s thirteen, calling me Grandpa Bear, dreaming of being a police officer.

Craig Bennett pled guilty, sentenced to twenty-five years.

People still see my tattoos and vest and think danger. Maybe I am—to abusers, to predators.

But to Addison, I’m just Grandpa Bear: the man who didn’t walk away, the one who protected her when no one else could.

That day in the cereal aisle gave a tired, scarred old man a purpose worth every mile, every fight, every tear.

Sometimes, the scariest-looking person in the room is the safest person to run to. That knowledge is the only legacy I need.