He just lived his life, trying to forget that night in the machine shop.
Derek Owens fell into a bottle. After the video went viral, his life collapsed. His girlfriend left him, his friends turned their backs, and his father kicked him out. He couldn’t forgive the shame. Derek rented a cheap apartment on the outskirts and worked as a warehouse loader. His fingers had healed poorly, so he couldn’t lift heavy things well, but he had no choice. In the evenings, he drank cheap whiskey and stared at the wall. Sometimes he dreamed of that night—the cold shop, the snap of his fingers, Andrew Sullivan’s voice. He’d wake up in a cold sweat.
Arthur Bennett remained disabled. His knees never fully recovered. The doctors did their best, but the bones had shattered too badly. Arthur walked with canes—slowly and painfully. Every step was a struggle. His father tried to find the best specialists, taking him abroad, but there was no change. Arthur was 25, and he knew: a normal life was over for him. He sat at home, looking out the window, remembering that day at the market. If he could go back, he’d have walked right past that old woman. But you can’t turn back time.
Vera Sullivan made a full recovery. her health returned, and her heart was strong again. She didn’t go back to the market—Andrew wouldn’t allow it, saying he’d provide for her. Vera stayed home, knitting, watching her shows, and going to church. Sometimes the neighbors would ask: “Vera, is it true your son taught those rich kids a lesson?” She’d reply: “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My son works at the shop and lives a quiet life.” But there was a look of pride in her eyes. She knew the truth and was grateful to her son for not letting her be a victim.
Andrew worked at the auto shop. Every day he arrived at eight and worked until six. His hands were greasy, his coveralls were dirty, but the work was honest. The owner paid him well and didn’t ask questions. His coworkers respected him: a quiet, capable man with a talent for engines. No one knew exactly what he’d done—or rather, they knew but didn’t say it out loud. In the neighborhood, everyone knew: that’s Sullivan, the guy who took down three trust fund brats for harassing his mother. The story spread through the city. Some judged him, saying vigilante justice was wrong. Others cheered, saying those spoiled kids got what was coming to them. But everyone agreed: you don’t mess with Sullivan.
At the farmers’ market, people recognized Andrew. When he walked by, the vendors would nod with respect. No one dared to bully the weak when he was around. Once, he saw a drunk guy harassing an elderly seller. Andrew just walked up and looked at him. The guy immediately apologized and left. No words were needed.
Gray, Gus, and Lee remained Andrew’s friends. Sometimes they’d meet up, have a beer in the garage, and talk. Gray would say: “Andy, you did the right thing. People like that need to learn.” Gus would add: “It’s just a shame the system doesn’t work. You have to find justice yourself.” Andrew would stay silent. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done, but he didn’t regret it either.
In the evenings, Andrew sat at home with his mother, having tea and watching TV. Sometimes he thought about what had happened. About the nine years in prison, the day at the market, the nights in the shop, the broken fingers, the shattered knees, the branded back. He wasn’t a hero. He’d just protected his mother. But he’d gone all the way, just like he’d learned inside: “If you start it, finish it.”
Sometimes Andrew wondered: was it worth it? Maybe he should have just moved away, started over, forgotten the whole thing? Но then he’d remember his mother’s face that evening. The tears, the fear, the humiliation. And he knew: there was no choice. He did what he had to do. Justice doesn’t always come on its own. Sometimes you have to take it.
But the price of that justice was high. Andrew knew: he’d never have a truly quiet life. He’d be watched; he’d be feared. He’d always be the man who broke the rich kids. And he’d carry that for the rest of his life. But most importantly—his mother was safe. No one ever dared to touch her again. And that was the only thing that mattered.
This is a story about how the past catches up with the arrogant. About how a man who has lost everything fears nothing. About honor, a mother, and a revenge that became the ultimate mistake for those who thought they were above the law. The law doesn’t always protect the weak. Sometimes, they are protected by those who have walked through hell and come back changed. But remember: revenge is a one-way street. Once you start down it, there’s no turning back.
Comments are closed.