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They Mocked Me for My Prosthetic Leg — But Then the Black SUVs Showed Up.

The high school hallway smelled like floor wax, stale cafeteria pizza, and cheap body spray—a combination that always made my stomach turn.

I held my history textbook against my chest like a shield, eyes down, counting the tiles on the floor. One, two, three. Breathe.

Just get to third period. I knew the routine better than anyone. Don’t make eye…

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