Part 1Lawyer Father Defends My Attacker

I was beaten into a permanent disability by the school bully. Yet, my father, a star attorney, took the case as the defense lawyer for the main attacker.

In court, his words were sharp and flawless as he successfully argued for a verdict of not guilty. He saved the girl who had nearly taken my life.

All because the girl's mother was the benefactor who had sponsored his college education decades ago.

When I confronted him, my father stood tall, entirely self-righteous.

"Everyone is equal before the law, Tessa," he said. "I cannot abandon my professional ethics just because my daughter was the victim. Brenda was just impulsive. I couldn't bear to see her entire life ruined over one mistake."

As I watched the girl walk out of the courthouse, a free woman, a smile stretched across my face.

I pulled the disownment papers from my bag—the ones I had prepared days ago—and threw them directly at his face.

"Since you value your professional ethics so highly, and since you love repaying favors so much," I said, "I hope you do a good job defending the rest of your life."

My father didn't even look at the document. To him, this was just another dramatic tantrum from his teenage daughter.

"Have you had enough, Tessa?" He picked up the sheets of paper, crumpling them into a ball without reading a single line, and tossed them into the trash bin. "Tonight, Glenda is hosting a dinner at The Gilded Fork to celebrate. You're coming with me."

"Brenda will be there too. I'll have her offer you a proper apology, and we can put this entire mess behind us."

I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing.

Put it behind us?

I was still confined to a wheelchair, and the girl who had shattered my knee had just walked free. And he wanted me to attend her victory dinner?

"I'm not going," I said quietly, turning my wheelchair toward the exit.

Behind me, my father’s voice rose, thick with suppressed anger. "Tessa! Can you stop being so incredibly petty? Glenda’s family isn't wealthy. She spent half her monthly wages on this dinner. If you don't show up, you're disrespecting me, and you're disrespecting her!"

I didn't look back. I wheeled myself forward as fast as my arms could manage, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of his voice.

When I rolled past the courthouse doors, the blinding afternoon sun made my head spin.

My mother’s sedan was parked at the curb. Seeing me emerge, she scrambled out of the driver's seat, her face pale and anxious.

"Tessa! How did it go? What was the verdict?"

Looking at this woman, who had lived her entire life as a quiet shadow in our household, a wave of profound exhaustion washed over me.

"Not guilty," I said.

My mother froze, her mouth slightly open. "But... how? Your father said the trial was just a formality. He said he was going to negotiate a suspended sentence. How could she be acquitted?"

I let out a dry laugh. "Mom, your husband is a star lawyer. If he wants someone to walk free, they walk free. Even if that person broke his own daughter's leg."

My mother wrung her hands, her eyes darting away in sheer discomfort. "Well... your father must have had his reasons. Glenda did help him back in the day..."

"Save it," I interrupted, cutting her off. "Take me to the hospital. I'm not going home."

She hesitated, glancing back at the courthouse steps. "Actually... your father texted me. He wants us to head straight to The Gilded Fork. He said if we don't show up, he'll freeze my credit cards."

I stared at her. Fifty years old, and she lived like a dog on a leash, entirely dependent on my father's money, never daring to raise her voice.

"Then you should go," I said, pulling out my phone to hail an accessible rideshare. "I'll go by myself."

"Tessa, please don't be like this—"

She reached out to grab my arm, but I yanked it away.

"Mom, if you still want to be my mother, do not go to that dinner. If you go, don't ever bother coming to see me again."

My ride pulled up to the curb. The driver quickly got out, gently helping me into the passenger seat.

Through the glass window, I saw my mother standing on the pavement, her face twisted in agonizing conflict. But in the end, she let out a quiet sigh, turned back to her sedan, and drove off.

She headed toward the restaurant.

I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall in the silence of the car. This was my family. A self-righteous saint for a father, and a weak, submissive coward for a mother.

And I was nothing but an inconvenient casualty in their lives.

Shortly after I was settled into my hospital bed, my phone began to buzz incessantly.

I opened social media. Brenda had posted a photo album of her celebration dinner.

In the pictures, she was raising a champagne glass, her face flushed red with joy. My father sat at the head of the table, offering his signature warm, distinguished smile.

Her caption read: Thank you, Uncle Victor! Justice may be delayed, but it is never denied! Cheers!

Justice?

What a joke.

I opened the comments. They were filled with congratulations from her friends.

Brenda is queen!

Attorney Victor is legendary!

Where's the cripple? Didn't she come to pour the drinks?

Brenda had replied: Probably crying in her bedroom, haha.

My fingers shook against the screen. Suddenly, a notification popped up.

A bank transfer of two thousand dollars from my father.

His note read: Stop throwing tantrums. Use this to buy yourself something nice. I told Glenda she doesn't have to worry about your medical expenses. Their family is struggling, and we need to show some compassion.

I stared at the words, a wave of intense nausea rising in my throat.

I hurled my phone against the brick wall.