Kyle slams his hand against the locker. "I'm talking to you, dipshit."
Sebastian flinches but stays silent. The video goes on for three more excruciating minutes—Kyle knocking Sebastian's books to the floor, shoving him against the lockers, making crude comments about Sebastian's mother.
Not once does Sebastian fight back.
"There's more," Anya says. "Much worse ones. The library. The cafeteria. Behind the gym."
I close my eyes, but the image of that vulnerable boy burns behind my eyelids.
"Sebastian never told me Kyle was his bully," I say.
"Did he know it was the same Kyle?"
"He must have. Kyle recognized him immediately that night."
My inbox pings with another video link. I hesitate before clicking. This one's from the school gymnasium. Sebastian, still painfully small, sits alone on the bleachers. Kyle approaches with a cup of something. Pretends to trip. Dumps the entire contents over Sebastian's head.
Chocolate milk. It drips down his face, soaks his clean shirt. The camera shakes with the videographer's laughter.
"Sebastian just ... takes it," I whisper.
"Different person back then," Anya says. "Before hockey. Before he grew to his full height and gained eighty pounds of muscle."
"Why wouldn't he tell me?"
"Ask him yourself. I've got to coordinate with the team. This is blowing up."
After she hangs up, I stare at my phone. The notifications keep coming—media outlets, social media mentions, journalists seeking comments. Within hours, the narrative has completely flipped.
Sebastian isn't the unprovoked aggressor anymore. He's the bullied kid who grew up, made something of himself, and then protected his future wife from the same tormentor.
It's PR gold. Vindication served on a silver platter.
So why does my chest ache and I just feel like doing nothing but cry?
Public opinion shiftslike a flock of starlings—all at once, in perfect synchronization, as if controlled by a single mind. By noon, Kyle's reputation lies in ruins.
Every media outlet runs the story. Childhood bully confronts former victim. Victim defends his woman from verbal assault.
Context really does change everything.
My professional side watches with satisfaction. This is perfect crisis management—organic, authentic, emotionally resonant. Sebastian's endorsement partners are calling to reaffirm their support. The team's social media accounts overflow with messages from fans and anti-bullying advocates.
Kyle's social media has gone dark. Smart move, but too late.
But beneath my professional satisfaction sits something deeper, more personal. Those videos. That boy. The transformation from there to now.
I close my laptop and head upstairs.
Sebastian's in his home gym, punishing the heavy bag. Sweat glistens on his shoulders, across his back, his hair sticking to his forehead and neck. The tattoos ripple with each impact. He's everything that skinny boy wasn't—powerful, confident, imposing.
He sees me in the doorway mirror, stops, and turns. The way he looks at me makes me feel like crying, and I don't cry often. My breath stutters, and I blink back furious tears.
"Hey." He grabs a towel and wipes his face. "You okay, baby?"
"You never told me Kyle was your childhood bully."
He goes still, then nods once. “Mm, how did you find out?"
