They thought she was powerless.
They thought she’d stay silent.
They thought she’d just take it.
But they were wrong.
The sun hung low over Fort Darby’s administrative wing, scattering long shadows across the pavement as soldiers rushed between buildings—papers in hand, radios crackling, boots striking concrete in steady rhythm.
Specialist Emily Carter rolled her wheelchair across the walkway, the metal frame glinting in the golden light. She wore no visible sign of the battles she had survived—but the tightness in her shoulders, the faint tremor in her hands, and the quiet focus in her eyes told a deeper story.
