My grandfather wasn't a blind man.
He was a true hero.
Time and again, he had driven back invaders on the battlefield, defending the land beneath his feet with his very life. It was in one of those battles that he was gravely wounded and lost his sight.
Yet now, he had been mocked with malice, humiliated without restraint, and beaten like an animal.
In the end, it cost him his life.
Even his guide dog had served with distinction—a decorated service dog, retired from military duty.
They deserved better than this. So much better.
I hailed a cab to the gates of the Regional Military Command. Cradling that heavy First-Class Service Medal in my hands, I dropped to my knees.
My voice rang out, steady and clear, each word deliberate:
"On behalf of First-Class Merit Soldier Jeremy Gilbert, I demand justice."
Behind me, Charles stumbled forward, his face ashen. He clutched the anonymous documents in his fist as he rushed toward me, disbelief written across his features.
"Abigail, what is this? Come back with me right now. This isn't the place for your theatrics."
He grabbed my arm, trying to pull me to my feet.
I didn't budge. My voice only grew louder.
The medal gleamed under the sunlight, its surface catching the light like a small sun.
My expression was solemn as I recounted every indignity, every injustice my family had suffered in recent days.
My grandfather had bled for his country on the battlefield. He didn't deserve to be humiliated. He didn't deserve to be treated like a useless old man.
And Ranger—the guide dog who had been his companion for years—didn't deserve such a brutal end.
I was raised by my grandfather's own hand. Stubbornness and resilience were carved into my bones.
How could I possibly accept being locked away while those responsible walked free, untouched?
Charles went rigid, a panic flickering across his face that I had never seen before.
He still refused to believe what I was saying. He thought this was just another ploy to force his hand, to make him take me to see my grandfather.
"Get up and come with me before more people see this."
"I'll take you to the hospital to see your grandfather."
The drugs were still in my system. My head swam, my vision blurring at the edges. But I only lifted the medal higher.
I called out again and again until finally, a sentry on duty took notice.
He jogged over to assess the situation.
The moment his gaze fell on the First-Class Service Medal in my hands, his entire demeanor shifted. His posture straightened, his expression turning grave and respectful.
He snapped a crisp military salute.
"Please wait here. I'll report to the Commander immediately."
Before long, he returned at a brisk pace, several people following behind him. Their faces were kind, their eyes warm.
The man at the front stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Not bad. You've got your grandfather's spirit."
Seeing my confusion, he smiled.
"You don't remember me, but I remember you. When you were little, I used to hold you in my arms. Bought you lollipops."
He gestured to the men behind him.
"These uncles here—they all served under your grandfather."
"I'm your Uncle Duncan Mercer. Come to think of it, it's been a while since I've seen the old man. We were just saying we should pay him a visit."
His smile faltered.
"Come inside. Tell us everything—what happened?"
They surrounded me protectively as we walked.
Someone noticed Charles and, learning he was my husband, invited him to follow.
"No," I said. "He won't be for much longer."
The men exchanged glances but didn't press further.
Charles opened his mouth to speak. His eyes reddened. But when he saw the cold indifference in my gaze, he could only stand there, lost and alone.
As we walked, I answered their questions one by one.
When they asked about my grandfather's condition, I couldn't hold it together any longer. My knees buckled, and I collapsed to the ground.
"Please, Commander—I'm begging you to seek justice for my grandfather."
"He's gone."
All the grief I had been holding back finally shattered.
