The thing I didn't do

The video is already up. Three phones, two hands flat on my chest, me staggering two steps into the ropes. I didn't throw back. That's the part I keep seeing — not the push, not the crowd going quiet when it happened, not even Briggs leaning in with the swimmer line. Me, gloves still on, hands at my sides, walking through the ropes like I had somewhere to be.

I told Danny I'd train tomorrow. I told my manager the shoulder is fine. I told myself I was being smart — don't give them a disqualification, don't give them a second video, don't give Briggs anything he can use. All of that is true and none of it explains why I walked away from a man who just put his hands on me in front of a room full of witnesses.

My manager thinks we demand a prompt hearing before the card. Legal noise. Make them answer for it publicly. Smart. Professional. Everything I should want.

But I'm watching the footage without the rival audio and I'm looking at the two steps I took before I caught the ropes. My body knew what to do. Hands were right there. Nobody in that room would have blamed me — half of them had their phones out before he even touched me. And I just went the other way.

The shoulder throbs under the ice pack. I iced it. I mobilised it. I filed the report with the right mood set to Excited because that's the energy the day needed. Nobody asked what mood I actually carried through Lygon Street with the wind pulling litter across my path and the word swimmer still echoing like it was tattooed on the inside of my skull.