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.