The room falls silent.
"Shadow," Dad says, his voice carrying authority and weight. "Step forward."
Shadow does, his posture straight, his face carefully neutral.
"You were exiled from this club," Dad begins, and the room is absolutely silent. "Stripped of your patch. Cast out for lying to me, to this club, about your relationship with my daughter."
I see Shadow's jaw tighten slightly, but he doesn't react otherwise.
"But you lied to protect her," Dad continues, his voice softening just slightly. "You chose her safety over your standing with the club. You gave up everything—your brothers, your patch, your home—to keep her safe from a threat you knew was coming."
Dad pauses, and I can see emotion flickering across his face despite his attempt to stay stoic.
"And then when she was taken, when Copperhead Kings took my daughter’s life into their hands, you didn't hesitate. Youled the charge to get her back. You coordinated with multiple clubs. You went into enemy territory and killed the men who threatened her. You ended a war for our family."
His voice roughens with emotion he's trying to control. "I felt betrayed before. Was pissed you lied to me about your relationship. I thought it was betrayal, but that's loyalty. To family. To the woman you love. To what matters most in this life."
Dad reaches under the table and pulls out Shadow's cut—the leather vest with the Shotgun Saints patches, the Enforcer rocker on the bottom.
My throat gets tight. This is it.
"Shadow," Dad says firmly, holding up the cut for everyone to see. "You are reinstated. Full patch. Full standing. Enforcer. Welcome home, brother."
The room erupts.
Brothers pounding on the table with their fists, shouting, cheering. "Welcome home!"
"About fucking time!"
"Shotgun Saints!" The noise is deafening, joyful, celebratory.
Shadow's face—God, his face. Relief and gratitude and emotion he's desperately trying to hide but can't quite manage.
His eyes are wet, his jaw working as he tries to maintain control.
He steps forward and takes the cut from Dad with hands that aren't quite steady.
"Thank you, Prez," Shadow says, his voice rough and breaking slightly. "I—thank you."
Dad doesn't say anything for a moment.
Just looks at Shadow—really looks at him—and then pulls him into a brief, hard hug. The kind of hug men give when words aren't enough.
"Thank you for protecting my daughter," Dad says quietly, so only Shadow and I and the brothers closest can hear. "Welcome home, son."
Son.
Not enforcer. Not brother.
Son.
I'm crying now, tears streaming down my face as I watch Shadow put on the cut.
The leather settles on his shoulders like it was made for him—because it was.
This is who he is. This is where he belongs.
He's home. Really, truly home.
