Most people slow down at seventy, but not Tank. At 71, his life had already been a patchwork of wild adventures — long nights on the open road, near-fatal crashes, bar fights that left scars, and even the memories of a brutal tour in Vietnam. He thought he had seen it all. But one freezing winter night in Montana changed everything. Inside a dimly lit gas station bathroom, he stumbled upon something that shook him to his core: a newborn baby wrapped in a flimsy blanket, shivering in the cold. Next to her was a note scrawled in desperation: “Her name is Hope. Can’t afford her medicine. Please help her.”
