Everyone Underestimate Liam Cross

LIAM CROSS.

INTRODUCTION.

About a year and a half ago, my life took a drastic turn... one that dragged me to the lowest point I’ve ever known. Not that I was rich or living some perfect life before, but at least I had hope. I could see my breakthrough coming, I could almost taste it.

Then, just like that, it was snatched from me, and I was thrown down to a place far worse than zero.

The day it happened still replays in my mind. I was on the track, running, feeling unstoppable. The crowd’s cheers were fuel, the cameras flashing, and for the first time, I believed I was finally becoming someone.

I had started seeing my face on local billboards, hearing my name whispered with pride. But that sprint... that single, explosive start, became my undoing.

One wrong step, one awkward landing, and everything shattered. I felt something tear deep inside both knees, a burning, ripping pain that made the world blur. Later, they told me it was a bilateral ACL and meniscus tear... a catastrophic injury where both my anterior cruciate ligaments and menisci were torn.

Both knees became swollen, unstable, and useless. I went through surgeries, months of rehab, endless pain. I told myself I’d bounce back, that champions don’t quit. But that was the lie I fed myself until reality hit me... my career had ended before it even had the chance to begin.

PRESENT DAY.

There on the table, the phone rang loudly, interrupting the silence of the room. Its shrill tone echoed against the walls, almost taunting me. I watched it vibrate closer to the edge, a lifeline just a few feet away, and with all the strength I could muster, I pushed myself up.

My legs throbbed with every movement as I took an unsteady, limping step toward it. But I wasn’t fast enough.

Mrs. Elaine Davenport moved quicker, her heels clicking as she swooped in. She shot me a look... that same condescending glare that said I wasn’t worth the air I breathed

A hiss escaped her lips before she lifted the receiver to her ear, her expression instantly switching into a forced, sugary smile.

“Davenport here,” she said sweetly, her voice dripping with fakeness. “Please, who is on the line?”

I knew what came next. Once she hung up, it wouldn’t just be a phone call that ended... it would be the start of another round of insults.

I exhaled quietly and limped back to my seat, lowering myself slowly, my mind already bracing for the insults waiting behind that polite smile.

“Thank you for reaching out to us.” Mrs. Davenport’s voice rang out with that practiced sweetness, so thin and forced it. The moment the call ended, the mask fell.

She dropped the receiver back onto the table with a loud clack and turned to me, her eyes blazing with disgust like I was some stain she couldn’t scrub off her family name.

“You can’t even manage to walk across a room to answer a phone,” she sneered. “Pathetic. A man who can’t stand on his own feet doesn’t deserve to stand in my house.” Her words stung more than my leg ever did.

My throat tightened as I tried to speak, the shame pressing on my chest.“I–I’m sorry,” I managed to whisper as my voice trembled.

Her lips curled, not in pity but pure contempt. She took a slow step toward me, heels clicking against the tile. Her eyes roamed over me with the kind of disgust one reserves for something rotten.

I wanted to shrink into the chair, to vanish before she could unleash whatever venom she’d been brewing. But she stopped just close enough for me to catch the faint scent of her perfume.

“Sorry?” she repeated. “You think sorry can fix uselessness?” Her tone dripped with venom. “You’re nothing but a burden, limping around like some broken thing we’re forced to pity.”

I dropped my gaze, the floorboards blurring under my eyes. Every word she threw at me landed heavy, but I stayed quiet. What was there to say? She’d already made up her mind about who I was.

A cripple. That’s what they saw whenever their eyes landed on me... a burden the Davenports never asked for but got stuck with anyway. They didn’t need to say it out loud because it lived in the way they looked at me, the disgust on their faces.

I knew their wishes... they wanted me gone far away. Out of sight, out of their perfect little world. Sometimes I wonder if they pray I never return, not in this life, not in any life where they’d have to bear the shame of calling me their son-in-law.

“Always limping,” she continued bitterly, her voice a low growl now. “You can’t even stay upright for more than a heartbeat. You’re a walking embarrassment, a mistake my family has to carry.”

She crossed her arms, shaking her head with a cold laugh. “I honestly don’t understand what my daughter still sees in you. Maybe pity blinded her too.”

And I just stood there, wishing for once the pain in my leg could drown out the ache in my chest. She glared at me one last time, her eyes filled with that same burning disgust that never failed to pierce straight through me.

Then, without another word, she turned sharply on her heels and disappeared into the hallway she came from. Her footsteps echoed until they faded, leaving behind only the bitter air she’d poisoned with her presence.

She thinks she hates me more than I hate myself... but she’s wrong. I’ve lived with that self-loathing longer than she’s known me. Ever since the accident that shattered my knees and crippled my dreams, I’ve carried that weight like a curse.

Each limp step reminds me of what I used to be... of the man I lost the day everything fell apart.

I raised a shaky hand to my chin, scratching it absently before exhaling hard. The humiliation, the names, the constant reminders that I’m no longer enough... the maltreatment I’ve endured from my in-laws feels like poison.

I never thought my life would turn into this, that I’d become a man merely tolerated out of pity.

I leaned back, my throat dry, the kind of dryness that made swallowing feel like dragging sand down your chest. I turned, reaching for the glass of water on the small table beside me. My hand trembled halfway there... slowly, and weakly, and before I could grip it properly, the cup slipped from my fingers.

Cold water splashed across my waist and thighs, soaking through my trousers. I froze, staring at the spreading wetness, my heart pounding faster than it should for something so small.

I heard approaching footsteps, Mrs. Davenport appeared in the doorway, her eyes narrowing as they dropped to the mess on the floor, then back to the wet stain on me.

Her face twisted into a crueler stern look, and irrigation evident in her eyes. Then her lips parted, and I braced myself for the venom I knew would follow. “You couldn’t even make it to the bathroom?” she said, her voice low, and laced with disgust. “Is this how crippled you’ve become?”

She took one step closer to me, her lip curling angrily.

“Did you just…” she paused, and her voice trembling with disbelief before switching into mockery, “…urinate on yourself?”