A courageous cyclist was stabbed to death by a crazed man at a San Francisco train stop after he stepped in to protect a mother and her kids who were being harassed.

Colden Kimber, 28, was fatally jabbed in the neck with a six-inch blade on July 26 while waiting at a Muni stop in the Ingleside neighborhood with his girlfriend.

The couple had gone on a date before making their way to the stop around 4.15pm, which was surrounded by children and families, when Sean Collins, 29, walked up.

As they waited, Kimber decided to bravely get in between Collins and a woman with her children as he shouted: ‘Oh you think you are better than me’ and ‘You are scared of me,’ court documents obtained by KGO said.

While 6’4in Kimber stood directly in front of Collins as the train approached, the knifeman ‘stabbed the unsuspecting victim on the right side of his neck,’ records showed.

Following the ‘completely and utterly unprovoked’ attack, Kimber stopped moving as blood gushed out of his neck, the court filing read.

He was rushed to San Francisco General Hospital where he died after undergoing surgery.

A family unraveling

Inside a small two‑bedroom home in Bayview, Colden’s absence was everywhere. His mother, battling stage‑four cancer, could barely walk from the living room to her bedroom without losing her breath. The chemo bills stacked higher each week.

His little sister, just 8 years old, still set a plate for him at dinner, whispering prayers to a brother she didn’t fully understand was gone.

And then there was Leah, his girlfriend. Only 22, she had become the pillar holding up what was left of the Kimber household. She worked until midnight, then again at dawn. She bought the medicine. She kept the lights on. She packed the school lunches. She refused to leave them alone.

“She wasn’t just his girlfriend anymore,” a neighbor said. “She became the daughter, the mother, the provider. Everything he couldn’t be after that night, she tried to be.”

The knock at the door

One Sunday afternoon, there was a knock.

Leah opened the door and froze. Standing there, in a plain hoodie and baseball cap, was Eminem.

The family had written him a letter after the vigil, never expecting an answer. But here he was. No cameras. No entourage. Just him.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Colden’s mother, weak but determined, whispered: “Why… why would you come here?”

Eminem didn’t step inside right away. He simply said: “Because I needed to see how much love one man left behind. And because I think you’ve carried enough alone.”

More than sympathy

He sat at their kitchen table, the same table where unpaid bills had been spread like scars. He listened as Leah explained how she had taken on three jobs to keep Colden’s mother in treatment. He saw the drawings on the fridge from Colden’s 8‑year‑old sister — pictures of her brother as a superhero.

Eminem didn’t cry. But he clenched his jaw the way he always does when words fail him. And then he said what no one expected:

“From today forward, you don’t worry about money. Not for treatment. Not for school. Not for rent. That’s done.”

Leah shook her head in disbelief. “But… why us?”

“Because he gave his life for kids he didn’t even know,” Eminem replied. “Because you stayed when most people would’ve left. And because an 8‑year‑old girl shouldn’t have to grow up in the dark.”

Action in real time

Unlike so many promises, this wasn’t abstract. Eminem pulled out his phone and made the calls right there. He covered the outstanding hospital balance. He set up a trust for Colden’s sister, ensuring her education through college. He arranged monthly support so Leah could stop working three jobs and go back to school.

“He didn’t just talk about helping,” a family friend later said. “He literally did it, sitting in their kitchen. We watched lives change in a single afternoon.”

A family lifted

For Colden’s mother, the relief was physical. “I thought I’d have to choose between medicine and food,” she admitted later. “Now I can just be a mother to my little girl, even in these last days.”

For Leah, it was a breaking point. “I thought I was strong,” she confessed through tears. “But I was crumbling. When he said I didn’t have to do it alone anymore… I just fell apart.”

And for the 8‑year‑old sister, it was something simpler. She tugged at Eminem’s sleeve as he was leaving and asked, “Does this mean my brother sees you helping us from heaven?” Eminem knelt down, looked her in the eyes, and said softly: “Yeah. And he’s proud of you, too.”

A legacy beyond the stage

The story spread quietly at first. Neighbors whispered. Volunteers at the church told others. Soon it was known citywide: Eminem hadn’t just spoken at Colden’s vigil — he had stepped into their home, into their struggle, and refused to leave them drowning.

“He didn’t want his name on anything,” said a city council member who confirmed the assistance. “But the Kimber family insisted people should know. Not to glorify him, but to remind the world that compassion can be bigger than fame.”

“He knocked on their door… and when they opened it, Eminem was standing there with more than words.”

Today, Colden Kimber is remembered not just as a man who died protecting children at a train station, but as the spark that connected his family to an unexpected ally.

Eminem’s visit didn’t erase the loss. Nothing could. But it replaced despair with dignity, exhaustion with relief, and silence with the kind of promise that carries weight long after the cameras are gone.

For Leah, it’s simple: “Colden gave his life for others. I tried to give mine for his family. And when I couldn’t anymore… Eminem gave his for us.”