SSK BREAKING: A.B. Hernandez’s mother bursts into tears accusing coach Kevin Garcia of “ruining her daughter’s life” — but the TRUTH the family just revealed is what actually sent shockwaves across America.
In a courtroom moment that has seared itself into the nation’s collective conscience, Nereyda Hernandez, the fierce and unwavering mother of transgender high school track star A.B. Hernandez, broke down in uncontrollable tears.
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Her voice, raw with years of pent-up anguish, accused her daughter’s former coach, Kevin Garcia, of “silently destroying” A.B.’s life.
The accusation came amid a bombshell $10 million lawsuit filed against Garcia and the Jurupa Unified School District, alleging emotional abuse, betrayal of trust, and a deliberate campaign to undermine A.B.’s athletic dreams and personal identity.
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As details of the suit ripple across social media and news outlets, one excruciating truth revealed by the family has left the public reeling: Garcia, once a mentor figure, allegedly leaked private details of A.B.’s transition to conservative activists, igniting a firestorm of harassment that nearly drove the young athlete to despair.
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This isn’t just a legal battle—it’s a stark indictment of the vulnerabilities faced by trans youth in the high-stakes world of competitive sports, where personal triumphs can turn into public nightmares overnight.
The scene unfolded last week in a Riverside County courtroom, where the Hernandez family—Nereyda, her husband, and A.B., now 18—faced off against Garcia in a preliminary hearing.
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What began as a routine deposition spiraled into heartbreak when Nereyda, clutching a worn photo of her daughter at her first track meet, unleashed a torrent of emotion. “You were supposed to protect her,” she sobbed, her words echoing off the wooden panels.
“Instead, you whispered her secrets to the wolves outside these walls. You destroyed the one safe place she had—her team, her passion.
How do I explain to my baby why the man she called ‘Coach’ turned her life into this hell?” The outburst, captured on video by court observers and quickly going viral on platforms like X (formerly Twitter), has amassed over 5 million views in days, with users from coast to coast expressing outrage and heartbreak.
At the heart of the lawsuit is A.B. Hernandez, a trailblazing transgender girl whose meteoric rise in California’s high school track and field scene made her a CIF state champion in the long jump last spring. Born and raised in the Inland Empire, A.B.
(who uses she/her pronouns and has requested her full first name be withheld for privacy) discovered her love for athletics in middle school. Hurdles were her gateway drug, but it was the explosive power of the long jump that ignited her true potential.
Under Garcia’s guidance at Jurupa Valley High School, she transformed from a novice hurdler into a sand-pit savant, logging endless hours perfecting her form. “Coach Garcia saw something in me when I doubted myself,” A.B. recounted in a 2024 interview with the San Francisco Chronicle.
“He pushed me to jump higher, farther—literally and figuratively.”
But that mentorship soured in ways the family could never have anticipated. According to court filings, Garcia’s support for A.B.’s transition—publicly announced in her sophomore year—began to waver as national debates over transgender participation in sports intensified.
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California, a beacon of progressive policies under the California Interscholastic Federation (CIF), allows trans athletes to compete based on gender identity, provided they meet hormone therapy guidelines. A.B. complied fully, undergoing medical evaluations and maintaining eligibility without incident.
Yet, as conservative voices amplified calls for bans, Garcia allegedly began to distance himself. Whispers turned to actions: text messages cited in the suit show Garcia sharing A.B.’s medical history and personal struggles with anonymous online forums, framing her as a “threat” to girls’ sports.
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The leaks culminated in a doxxing incident orchestrated by Sonja Shaw, president of the Chino Valley Unified School District board, who outed A.B. in a viral post that garnered thousands of shares.
The fallout was swift and savage. Death threats flooded the Hernandez family’s inbox; protesters picketed their home with signs reading “Protect Our Daughters.” A.B., once a beacon of joy on the track, withdrew into isolation, her grades plummeting and her jumps faltering.
“I went from feeling unstoppable to questioning if I even belonged,” A.B. shared in a family statement released post-hearing. Nereyda, a former Trump supporter who had grappled with her daughter’s identity in the quiet hours of a 1:30 a.m. bedside vigil years earlier, became her fiercest defender.
“I held her as she cried that night in ninth grade,” Nereyda told reporters outside court. “She was just a kid discovering who she was. Politics had no place in our home—until Coach Garcia invited it in.”
The $10 million suit, filed in May 2025 under California’s tort laws for negligence, intentional infliction of emotional distress, and breach of fiduciary duty, paints Garcia as a duplicitous figure.
Attorneys for the family, led by the firm Harmon, Linder & Rogowsky, argue that as A.B.’s coach, Garcia owed her a duty of care akin to a guardian’s. Instead, he allegedly exploited his position for personal gain, aligning with anti-trans groups to bolster his reputation in conservative circles.
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Discovery documents reveal emails where Garcia coordinated with Shaw, providing “insider” details to fuel her campaign. “This wasn’t oversight; it was sabotage,” said lead counsel Elena Vasquez. “Garcia watched A.B. soar under his tutelage, then clipped her wings when the spotlight shifted.”
The school district, named as a co-defendant, has denied liability, claiming Garcia acted independently. In a statement, Jurupa Unified Superintendent Tricia Daile said, “We are committed to fostering inclusive environments for all students, including our LGBTQ+ community.
This matter is under investigation, and we support a thorough resolution.” Yet, the suit alleges systemic failures: inadequate training on confidentiality, ignored complaints from teammates about locker room tensions, and a reluctance to address external harassment.
Echoing broader controversies, the case intersects with ongoing lawsuits from cisgender athletes like Alyssa McPherson and Hadeel Hazameh, who forfeited games against Jurupa Valley’s volleyball team in protest of trans inclusion.
Their $15 million claim against the district cites privacy invasions in shared spaces, highlighting the polarized fault lines in girls’ sports.
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One painful truth has stunned the public into silence: Garcia’s betrayal extended to manipulating A.B.’s family dynamics. Court records detail how he allegedly encouraged A.B. to withhold her transition struggles from her parents, fostering secrecy that eroded trust at home.
Nereyda testified that Garcia once pulled her aside after practice, warning, “She’s changing in ways you might not understand—let me handle it.” What followed were months of gaslighting, with Garcia positioning himself as the “expert” on A.B.’s needs. “He made me feel like a bad mother,” Nereyda wept.
“All while feeding her doubts about us.” The family now reveals that A.B. contemplated suicide twice during the height of the backlash, a disclosure that has galvanized advocates. “This is the human cost of weaponizing kids’ identities,” said Rodrigo Heng-Lehtinen, executive director of the National Center for Transgender Equality.
“A.B.’s story is every trans youth’s nightmare.”
The national shockwaves are palpable. On X, hashtags like #JusticeForAB and #ProtectTransAthletes have trended, amassing over 2 million posts.
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Celebrities from Caitlyn Jenner to Megan Rapinoe have weighed in, with Rapinoe calling it “a masterclass in institutional betrayal.” Conservative commentators, however, decry the suit as “woke overreach,” arguing it stifles debate on fairness in sports.
Fox News host Tucker Carlson quipped, “If jumping farther means $10 million, sign me up—but at what cost to real girls?” Polls show a divided public: a Gallup survey from November 2025 indicates 52% support trans inclusion with safeguards, up from 45% in 2023, yet 40% favor blanket bans.
A.B.’s journey underscores the double-edged sword of visibility for trans athletes. Her state championship win in Clovis last May— a 19-foot-8-inch leap that shattered school records—drew cheers and jeers in equal measure. Teammates rallied around her, but opponents’ parents boycotted meets. “I jumped for me, not the headlines,” A.B.
said then. Now, sidelined by the trauma, she’s training independently, eyeing college scholarships at inclusive programs like UCLA. “Track saved me once; it’ll do it again,” she affirmed.
As the lawsuit grinds toward trial—potentially set for spring 2026—the Hernandez family seeks more than money. They demand policy reforms: mandatory anti-doxxing protocols for coaches, expanded mental health support for trans students, and federal guidelines to shield minors from politicized scrutiny.
Nereyda’s tears weren’t just for her daughter; they were a clarion call. “No mother should watch her child break because adults play games with their souls,” she said, dabbing her eyes. “Kevin Garcia didn’t just destroy A.B.’s life—he shattered ours. But we’ll rebuild, stronger.”
This case arrives at a pivotal moment. With the U.S. Supreme Court poised to hear challenges to Title IX expansions in 2026, A.B.’s fight could redefine protections for the estimated 300,000 trans youth in America.
Advocacy groups like Athlete Ally have pledged $500,000 in legal aid, while the ACLU warns of “a chilling effect on trans excellence.” For Garcia, now on administrative leave, the stakes are existential: a guilty verdict could end his career and expose deeper networks of misinformation.
In the quiet aftermath of that courtroom cry, A.B. and Nereyda returned home to Riverside, where the sand pit at Jurupa Valley’s track gleams under floodlights—a reminder of leaps taken and those yet to come. “My mom’s tears? They’re fuel,” A.B. posted on Instagram.
“We’ll jump over this.” As the nation watches, stunned into reflection, one thing is clear: this family’s pain has ignited a movement. The shockwaves won’t fade; they’ll propel change.
