The voice cut through the chaos like a knife through butter. Dr. Harris, my physician, stood there with an expression that could silence a storm. The crowd fell into an uneasy silence, their earlier enthusiasm for the spectacle waning. My brother’s grip on my shirt loosened as he turned, confusion etched on his face.

“Dr. Harris?” Tyler mumbled, suddenly unsure of himself.

“Yes, and I’ve been treating Marcus since his accident,” Dr. Harris continued, his voice carrying the authority of truth. “I can assure you, his condition is not a fabrication.”

The crowd shifted awkwardly, eyes darting between the doctor and me. Tyler took a step back, his bravado slipping away like sand through fingers. The wheel of my fallen wheelchair continued its solitary spin, mirroring the swirling emotions I couldn’t quite control.

“No one saw the accident because it happened early in the morning,” Dr. Harris explained to the gathering. “And Marcus has been working incredibly hard to regain mobility. You might have seen him standing or even taking a few steps, but that’s due to extensive physical therapy. His progress doesn’t negate the reality of his condition.”

A murmur rippled through the onlookers, doubt creeping into their previously confident expressions. My mother, her hands still wringing, took a tentative step forward, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “I didn’t know, Marcus,” she whispered, her voice cracking like fine china. “I thought maybe… maybe you’d given up.”

To her, and everyone else, I wanted to shout about the countless hours of exercises, the endless cycle of pain and small victories. But I stayed silent, staring at the rough texture of the concrete beneath me.

“The disability checks aren’t a free ride,” Dr. Harris continued. “They barely cover Marcus’s medical expenses and therapy sessions. And as for living with your mother, that’s a decision made out of necessity, not convenience.”Uncle Richard awkwardly lowered his phone, switching off the recording as if realizing the gravity of what he had been doing. My cousin Jake shifted his weight uncomfortably, eyes cast down at his feet.

Tyler opened his mouth, but no words came out. Whatever fight he’d had was gone, replaced by a dawning realization of the hurt and damage caused by his words and actions.

Dr. Harris knelt beside me, helping me into a sitting position. “Are you all right, Marcus?” he asked softly, his concern genuine.

“Yeah,” I replied, though the pain still throbbed in my leg. “Thanks.”