The Conclusion
Why share the story now? Well, nearly 6 years later, in February of 2025, I wrapped up the last of my legal obligations. Nearly 6 years later, I hope to put a period on this chapter of life.
I was loved, taken care of, attended to, supported by a great deal of people, in big and small ways.
I moved, 5 times. A fresh start, I had hoped.
I flew back to Western Mass for trials, court dates, depositions, testimonies, and meetings.
I wanted to get better, after everything got really bad. (It’s funny that getting better seems to hurt you in legal matters).
I filed a civil suit against that Dunkin' store (one of many franchised stores owned by a large local group), seeking damages for what was clearly preventable. And in February of 2025, I plead my case at a jury trial, one last time.
I came to find out that the woman who was in the fight was an ex-employee at that specific Dunkin’. I came to find out that she was a regular there, would get occasional freebies, and knew the people on shift that day.
I came to find out my near-killer would testify at my civil suit, showing up in a jumpsuit and shackles, admitting that they had been drunk when they got to the Dunkin’, that they had been there for an hour before my brother and I got there. I came to find out they had been arguing and fighting well beforehand, and when asked by opposing counsel why they didn’t just leave, he answered: “she wouldn’t listen to me, she wouldn’t come out…I thought the employees would kick her out”.
I came to find out that the Dunkin’ hadn’t preserved the video of the couple loitering there the hour beforehand—they got away on a technicality on needing to keep that footage.
I came to find out, the proprietor of the franchise group that owned Dunkin’ stores didn’t review the footage of the hour leading up to our attendance, never saw it, or felt the need to see it…or so he testified on the stand, under oath.
I came to find out, on the stand, the proprietor testified that they have no policy for drunk customers.
This case loomed over me for nearly 6 years. There was no offer to mediate, the only settlement offer was of $25,000, about $10,000 short of the medical bills I would owe if I had any winnings.
My lawyer took the case on “contingency basis”, meaning if I won, he won some of my winnings. If I lost, he got nothing. He had to see it as a winning case.
It went to a jury trial—for a week, we were all brought to the stand to testify in front of a judge and 14 jurors. I sat in dutifully for every day of the trail, in a suit and tie, sweating, hoping to be heard. Some days took everything out of me. Some days left me ecstatic—we were gonna win, I thought.
At the conclusion of the trial, the jurors deliberated over two days. They needed to answer “yes” to all three questions, with a 12 of 14 majority to pass the “yes.”, alongside assessing an amount of “damages”.
“Did Dunkin’ have the duty to provide a reasonably safe environment?”
The Jury answered “yes”.
“Was Dunkin’ negligent in that duty?”
The Jury answered “yes”.
“Was Dunkin’ a party to the cause of the incident (not the whole party, not the majority party, but a party to what had happened)?”
The Jury answered “no.”
(They had evaluated my damages to be $250,000, along with interest and additional fees, which I was slated to receive had there been 3 “yeses” to the questions asked).
And just like that, the case was over. No appeal, no second chance. 6 years of work, and when I had taken it to the people who are supposed to make these things right, knowing full well that a dollar won’t undo the blood split, the tears cried, the nights awake in terror—the decision went against me. The validation I looked for in “we know this won’t fix everything, but at least we’ll take your side on this. This was completely preventable and shouldn’t have happened”, vanished. Done, gone. A somber walk back to my lawyer’s office, a brief exchange of good-byes, a sweet sentiment from my lawyer “you’re a smart kid, and if this was 6 years ago, I’d take this case again. I’m sorry.” Hundreds of thousands of dollars were at stake, and I left penniless. The hope that justice would be done, and I left dejected. I had lived—survived—but the wound deepened; yet another thing I hadn’t signed up for, hadn’t asked for, but had to bear the full weight and consequence of.