Chapter 1: Main Street’s Breaking Point

My daughter was harassed and assaulted by a bunch of punks on Main Street—they ripped her clothes and left her a mess.

The memory of that night still claws at me. Main Street—just a sleepy stretch of storefronts and old brick—turned into a place I couldn't even walk without my stomach twisting up. Not anymore. The sight of her torn jacket on the kitchen table, the way she stared blankly at the wall, it all haunts me. Every parent worries, but I never thought I'd see my little girl come home like that—her trust in the world shattered by a bunch of lowlifes who thought they owned the night.

She couldn't take it. She broke down. And one night, without telling anyone, she almost ended her own life.

There are some wounds you can't bandage. After we lost her, the house felt too quiet. Too still. Like even the air was holding its breath. I found her note tucked in her favorite book. I read it over and over, hoping there was something I missed—a sign, a plea, anything I could have done. But there was nothing. How do you move on from that? I’d lost my daughter, and all I had left was rage and regret.

My heart shattered. I kept my head down, day and night, plotting my revenge. I was determined to make them pay myself. I couldn’t think about anything else.

Grief twisted into something hard and cold inside me. I stopped sleeping, barely ate. I kept a notebook under the counter at the diner, scribbling down faces, names, anything I remembered. I was hunting now. I watched the street from behind the fryers, just waiting. For a chance. There was nothing left to lose, and I swore I'd never let them hurt anyone else the way they hurt Lauren.

One night, while I was flipping burgers at the diner, a commotion broke out across the street. A pack of young men were shouting, and a girl's cry cut through it.

It was a Friday night—Main Street’s lone neon flickering, the grill hissing—then a sharp, desperate cry. My hands shook. Not again. I wiped them on my apron, feeling the old panic rise up. But this time, I wasn’t going to freeze.

I set down my spatula and rushed out. And there she was—Lauren.

The world narrowed to that alley. Lauren, crumpled on the pavement. Surrounded by those same punks. She was just a kid again.

She was black and blue, bruises deep around her neck.

Her face was swollen, tears streaking the dirt on her cheeks. The bruises on her neck stood out like fingerprints, dark and angry. My heart nearly stopped. She gasped for air, clutching at her torn jacket, eyes wild with terror. I almost lost her.

“Man, what’s with the act? You too good for us, huh?” one of the punks with bleached hair yelled.

He swaggered forward, reeking of cheap beer and bravado. The others egged him on, laughing like they owned the place. Their words hit like punches. Nobody around stepped in—not yet, anyway. Folks in this town know when to look away, but not me, not tonight.

I rushed to help Lauren up. My heart ached. I tried to show them I was her dad. Begged them, with everything I had, to let us go.

I signed frantically, hands trembling, hoping they'd see the desperation in my eyes. Please, God, let them understand. I mouthed, "She's my daughter, please." My arms wrapped around her, shielding her as best I could. My voice caught in my throat, useless as ever, but my intent was clear: I would not let them touch her again.

The punks hesitated, not getting what I was saying.

They looked at each other, confusion flickering across their faces. But then the leader sneered, and just like that, any hope was gone. One kicked a bottle down the curb, his bravado crumbling just a little.

Then they started mocking me. “Hey, even a mute thinks he's a hero? Old man, you think you can protect her?”

Their laughter was sharp and ugly, echoing off the storefronts. But I stood my ground. Not tonight.

They laughed, pointing at me and jeering. Let them laugh.

One mimicked my signing, waving his hands in the air like a bad mime. Another spat at my feet. The humiliation burned. I kept my eyes on Lauren. Squeezed her hand.

I grabbed the hand of one punk who reached toward us, clamping my right hand around the crook of his elbow and applying a little pressure. Not this time.

He yelped, surprised by the strength in my grip. Years behind a grill had left me with hands like vises. I twisted just enough to make him whimper, not enough to break, not yet. He whimpered. Good.

He howled, face twisted up like he’d bit into a lemon.

He tried to pull away, but I held tight. A couple punks like this? Nothing. His friends stopped laughing, suddenly realizing this wasn't going to be an easy win.

Nights bouncing at bars. Breaking up fights. Learning how to end trouble before it started. These kids had no idea who they were messing with.

They closed in, not backing down.

They circled, puffing up their chests, trying to look tough. I wasn’t scared. I planted my feet, keeping Lauren behind me. My pulse hammered in my ears, but I kept my focus sharp.

I raised my other hand and, without hesitation, struck down hard on the wrist of the guy I’d grabbed. The move was quick, practiced—a snap from the shoulder. I heard the joint pop. Saw his eyes go wide with shock.

In a blink, his arm bent the wrong way with a sickening crack. It was over in a second.

The sound echoed in the alley, silencing the rest. Nobody moved. Not at first. Then chaos erupted.

“You bastard, you think you can mess with us? You ain't leaving here alive!”

The leader’s voice shook, but he tried to sound tough. I saw through it. They surged forward, fists clenched, ready for a real fight.

Just as they were about to jump me, police sirens wailed nearby. Saved by the sirens.

Blue lights bounced off the windows. The punks scattered, melting into the shadows. I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, holding Lauren close as the squad car rolled up.

I signed, “Come on. Let’s get you to the hospital.” We had to get out of there.

I gestured to Lauren, my heart pounding. I needed to get her somewhere safe.

I wiped a tear from her cheek, signing, "It's okay, honey..." She was shaking. She nodded, shivering, and leaned into me. I held her tight, guiding her toward the car as the officers approached, asking if we needed help.

I flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED, locked up, and sped down Main Street, ignoring every stop sign. The diner could wait.

Lauren’s cheek was badly swollen, her cheekbone fractured. I could barely look.

The doctor winced as he cleaned her wounds. I hated seeing her like this. He spoke softly, explaining the fractures, the bruises, the stitches she'd need. I squeezed her hand, promising silently that I wouldn't let anyone hurt her again.

Her jacket had been torn to shreds by those scumbags. If I'd been even a minute later... I don't even want to think about it. My chest tightened. I was lucky, and so was she.

The thought haunted me. I couldn't let guilt eat me alive.

They patched her up as best they could.

He asked gentle questions, made notes on his clipboard. Thank God for kindness. The nurse offered Lauren a warm blanket and some water. I mouthed my thanks, grateful for their care in a world that suddenly felt so cold.

I needed to know. I signed to Lauren, asking what had happened.

My hands moved slowly, careful not to overwhelm her. "Can you tell me what happened, sweetheart?" She hesitated.

Lauren replied, “The delivery was to a new content studio nearby. The boss kept staring at me.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. She stared at the floor, twisting the hospital bracelet around her wrist. "He kept asking me to work for him. Said I'd make good money, just needed to be on camera. I said no."

“He wanted me to be their on-camera streamer. I said no. Next thing I know, he sent people after me.”

She swallowed hard, voice cracking. "He said if I didn't do what he wanted, he'd make sure I never worked in this town again. I just wanted to help at the diner, Dad."

My heart clenched, eyes burning with tears. I couldn't protect her.

She broke down in my arms. “Dad, they said they won’t let me go. I’m so scared. I don’t want to live anymore!”

She sobbed against my chest, shaking like a leaf in a storm. I'd do anything to take her pain.

I patted her back, tears streaming down my face. I couldn't stop crying.

I stroked her hair, the way I used to when she was little. We'd get through this.