But the old safe—the one that had been there for decades—was still intact.
I entered his birthday as the combination and retrieved Grandpa's service medal, cradling it against my chest.
At the very bottom lay a document—an anonymous donation agreement from five years ago.
I glanced at it briefly, then left it where it was.
Let it stay buried forever.
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.