Chapter 9
When I turned fourteen, Karen was released on supervised parole.
The notification came in a letter.
Dad read it first.
His face changed.
I knew before he spoke.
“She’s out?”
He nodded.
My body remembered the clinic floor.
Pain shot through my leg like memory had nerves.
Ethan said, “She can’t come near us.”
“No,” Dad said. “She can’t.”
But legal distance does not stop fear from knocking inside your chest.
For weeks, I checked windows.
I hated myself for it.
Then Nina said, “Fear after harm is not weakness. It’s your brain trying to guard you.”
“Can I fire my brain?”
“No.”
“Rude.”
She laughed.
Karen violated parole three months later.
She sent me a package.
Inside was my old knee brace.
The one she had hidden.
A note said, See? You never needed it.
I did not cry.
I called Dad.
Then police.
Then the parole officer.
Karen was taken back into custody for violating the order.
At the hearing, she cried and said she only wanted closure.
I gave a statement.
“My closure is not being contacted by the woman who hurt me.”
The judge agreed.
Her restrictions tightened.
That night, I stood in my bedroom without my cane for twenty seconds.
Twenty.
Ethan timed it.
Dad stood in the doorway with one hand over his mouth.
I looked at both of them.
“She doesn’t get my progress.”
Dad nodded.
“No. You do.”
By fifteen, I could walk most days.
Not perfectly.
Not pain-free.
But mine.
I joined adaptive sports.
Then became a peer mentor for younger kids recovering from injuries.
One little boy cried because he hated his walker.
I told him, “Mine felt like a metal spider at first.”
He laughed.
Then tried again.
I thought of Karen calling me lazy.
May you like
And I realized her voice was getting quieter.
Mine was getting louder.
