Revenge On My Feet Chapter 22
I closed the box.
“Please return it to him.”
The lawyer asked,
“No message?”
“No.”
I had already spoken my last words to him.
What he had lost wasn’t a single chance to begin again.
It was four years of my trust.
And no medal could ever buy that back.
Renata’s case dragged on for months.
First she claimed the livestream had been edited.
Then she said she had simply lost control of her emotions.
But the hospital video she had re-uploaded, the dog-chasing post on Instagram, and the material pulled from the school forum were all still there.
And in that livestream, she had admitted, in her own words, to tampering with the screws on my prosthetic.
On the day of the formal hearing, Grayson came.
He took the witness box and laid out everything that had happened before the graduation ball.
Renata’s lawyer pressed him.
“You are the plaintiff’s brother. Naturally, your testimony would be biased toward her, wouldn’t it?”
Grayson’s face was hard.
“If I had been biased toward her at the time, we wouldn’t be here today.”
“I stood on Renata’s side and personally handed that dress to Nadia. That is the very thing I have to admit.”
When it was Desmond’s turn, he offered nothing in his own defense.
“I gave Renata the video.”
“Nadia never gave permission for it to be made public.”
When it was Desmond’s turn, he offered nothing in his own defense.
“I gave Renata the video.”
“Nadia never gave permission for it to be made public.”
“The first time she asked us to stop, every one of us knew she didn’t want it.”
Renata sat beside him, glaring at him the whole time.
But no one was calling what she’d done “kindness” anymore.
The final ruling didn’t reach back to every injury in my past.
The 5K I never ran, the gravel slope at summer camp, the books that had come down on my foot — all of it had happened too long ago.
But the ruling confirmed that she had no right to keep or distribute my medical images.
She had to delete all public content, pay compensation and costs, and was legally barred from contacting me by any means.
When I stepped out of the courthouse, my lawyer handed me a copy of the ruling.
“It’s over.”
I looked down at my name on the page.
It didn’t feel as satisfying as I had imagined it would.
There was only a sense of lightness.
Like a door that had never quite closed had finally been locked.