Part 1They Broke My Knees for Fairness

My parents were obsessed with "absolute fairness."

They spent a small fortune customizing a wheelchair for me that was an exact replica of my older brother’s, pushing us out to the garden every day to bask in the sun. Passersby praised them, calling them saints for refusing to abandon their two disabled sons. My father would gently wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth, and my mother would slice apples, dividing them into mathematically equal halves.

But no one knew how we got here.

It happened three days after my brother was paralyzed from the neck down in a car crash. My father took a claw hammer and shattered my kneecaps.

As I screamed in agony from the fracturing bone, my mother wept, holding me tight and whispering in my ear with the gentlest voice:

"Mike, baby, don't be afraid. Mommy is right here. Your brother is such a proud man. He cannot stand the thought of being wheelchair-bound while you can still run and jump. You are the younger brother. Sit in the wheelchair with him, okay? That way, he won't feel like the universe is unfair to him."

And so, I never stood up again.

Until the day the house caught fire, and the flames crept toward our wheelchairs.

I watched my panicked parents desperately push my brother's wheelchair, only for it to get wedged in the burning doorframe.

And I, calmly, stood up from my seat.

...

"Kneel."

My father, Richard, held a heavy claw hammer, its cold steel gleaming under the harsh ceiling light.

I looked at him, then at my brother, Dominic, who sat staring blankly from the couch. Three days ago, Dominic had wrapped his sports car around a tree while street racing. He was paralyzed from the neck down.

"Dad, what are you saying?"

"I said, kneel!"

Losing his patience, Richard stepped forward and kicked the back of my knee. My legs gave out, and I crashed onto the cold tiles, a sharp pain shooting through my kneecaps.

My mother, Helen, walked over. She knelt beside me, her eyes red and swollen.

"Mike, your brother... he is never going to walk again."

"I know, Mom. I will take care of him."

"No, you don't understand." Helen shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Your brother is a proud man. He cannot accept being a helpless cripple while you get to walk around perfectly fine. It is simply not fair."

My heart plummeted. A dark, terrifying realization washed over me.

Richard loomed over me like an executioner.

"To keep things fair, you are going to sit in a wheelchair with him."

With those words, he raised the claw hammer high.

I scrambled to crawl away, but Helen threw her arms around me from behind, pinning me down.

"Mike, don't blame us. We are doing this for the family, for your brother."

"No... please, stop!"

Crack!

The heavy steel head came down with a sickening thud, followed by the dry, splintering sound of bone.

My vision went black. The scream died in my throat, turning into a desperate, bloody gasp for air.

Richard raised the hammer again, lining it up with my right leg.

"Stop! Dad! Please!"

"Perfectly balanced," he muttered.

Crack!

Another violent impact.

The sensation in my right leg vanished instantly.

I curled into a ball on the floor, cold sweat soaking through my shirt. Helen finally let go of me, cradling my face in her hands.

"Mike, sweetheart, don't be afraid. Mommy is right here. See? Now it is fair. Your brother won't feel so miserable when he sees you are just like him."

The agony was so intense that every breath tasted like copper. I glared at them, the monsters who called themselves my parents, who had just crippled me in the name of love.

They brought in a back-alley doctor who smelled heavily of cheap whiskey. He sloppily secured my legs with wooden splints and bandages. To ensure there was no paper trail, they didn't even allow him to use anesthesia.

"Grin and bear it," the doctor muttered impatiently, pocketing a thick stack of cash from Richard. "The bones aren't completely crushed. With some rest, they will heal."

"Remember, he just needs to 'rest.' Don't let them actually heal," Richard whispered, his voice low.

The doctor let out a greasy chuckle. "Don't worry, Mr. Mike's father. I will make sure those legs never carry weight again."

After they left, I was abandoned on the cold floor. Summoning every ounce of my remaining strength, I slipped my phone from my pocket and dialed my aunt, Beatrice. She was my mother's younger sister and had always doted on me.

"Hello? Mike? Why are you calling so late?"

"Aunt Beatrice... help me... Dad..." I sobbed, frantically explaining what had just happened.

The other end of the line fell dead silent. Just as I thought the call had dropped, her voice returned, cold and disappointed.

"Mike, why must you be so incredibly selfish? Your brother's life is ruined. Can't you show a little empathy for what your parents are going through?"

"What?"

"What is so terrible about sitting in a wheelchair to support your brother? You are his younger brother! Your family is going through a tragedy, and you are making things harder for your parents. Stop acting out and be a good boy."

Click. Click. Click.

The line went dead.

The last flicker of hope in my world was extinguished.