Biker Brought My Baby To Prison Every Week For Three Years When I Had No One Left

For three years, a biker I had never met brought my infant daughter to the prison every single week. After my wife passed away and I had no one left to care for our child, this sixty-eight-year-old white man in a leather vest stood on the other side of the visitation glass and held my mixed-race newborn so I could see her while I begged God just for one chance to hold her.

My name is Marcus Williams. I am servingFor three years, a biker I had never met brought my infant daughter to the prison every single week. After my wife passed away and I had no one left to care for our child, this sixty-eight-year-old white man in a leather vest stood on the other side of the visitation glass and held my mixed-race newborn so I could see her while I begged God just for one chance to hold her.

My name is Marcus Williams. I am serving an eight-year sentence for armed robbery. I was twenty-three when I went to prison, twenty-four when my wife, Ellie, died a day and a half after giving birth, and twenty-four when a stranger named Thomas Crawford became the only reason my daughter did not enter foster care.

I made choices that led me here. I accept that. I robbed a convenience store with a gun because I was in debt to dangerous people. I did not physically injure anyone, but I traumatized the clerk. I still see his face in my nightmares. I earned this sentence.

But my daughter should never have had to grow up without parents. And my wife should never have died in a hospital room without me beside her, while I sat locked away sixty miles from her, forbidden even to say goodbye.

Ellie was eight months pregnant when I was arrested, and she was in the courtroom when I received my sentence. She collapsed the moment the judge said eight years. The shock sent her into early labor. She was rushed to the hospital, and the prison refused to let me go.