sz. BREAKING: A.B. Hernandez’s mother breaks down in front of reporters, accusing coach Kevin Garcia of “silently destroying” her daughter’s life — the $10M lawsuit has ignited a nationwide firestorm, and one heartbreaking detail from the family has left millions speechless.

In a heart-wrenching scene outside a Los Angeles courthouse, Nereyda Hernandez collapsed into sobs before a swarm of reporters. Her voice trembled as she pointed a finger at Jurupa Valley High School track coach Kevin Garcia.

She accused him of “silently destroying” her daughter A.B. Hernandez’s life through relentless psychological torment and exclusion. The emotional outburst came amid a escalating $10 million lawsuit filed by the family.

This legal battle has exploded into a nationwide firestorm, drawing parallels to broader debates on athlete welfare. Social media is ablaze with hashtags like #JusticeForAB, amassing millions of views overnight.

One detail from the family’s statement has left the public reeling: A.B., a rising trans track star, allegedly confided in her mother about suicidal thoughts triggered by Garcia’s actions. “He broke her spirit,” Nereyda whispered through tears.

The incident unfolded on November 21, 2025, just days after new evidence surfaced in discovery documents. Reporters captured the moment as Nereyda clutched a photo of her daughter mid-jump, her face etched with pain.

Neighbors and former teammates rallied behind her, holding signs demanding accountability. The raw vulnerability of the breakdown has humanized the lawsuit, shifting focus from legal jargon to personal devastation.

As cameras flashed, Nereyda’s words echoed: “No child should endure this isolation.” Her breakdown wasn’t just grief; it was a clarion call for systemic change in youth sports.

The lawsuit stems from events in early 2025, when A.B. Hernandez, a 17-year-old transgender athlete, dominated the high jump at regional meets. Her victory at the CIF Southern Section finals in March propelled her to national attention.

But success came at a cost. Coach Garcia, according to court filings, began enforcing “biological fairness” policies, sidelining A.B. during key practices. He reportedly whispered doubts to teammates, fostering a toxic environment.

A.B.’s journal entries, submitted as evidence, detail nights of crying alone, feeling like an outsider in her own team. “I jump higher than anyone, but he makes me feel small,” one page reads starkly.

The family’s attorney, Maria Lopez, revealed during a press conference that Garcia ignored school protocols for inclusive coaching. Emails show he lobbied administrators to bar A.B. from competitions.

This wasn’t isolated; similar complaints from other LGBTQ+ students at Jurupa Valley surfaced in affidavits. One former athlete described Garcia’s locker-room talks as “veiled threats” against non-conforming peers.

By April, A.B.’s grades plummeted, and she missed school for weeks, citing anxiety. Her mother sought counseling, but the damage deepened as Garcia allegedly spread rumors online via anonymous parent forums.

The tipping point arrived at the CIF state championships in May. Despite qualifying, A.B. was disqualified hours before her event, citing a last-minute policy tweak on “eligibility verification.”

California Interscholastic Federation officials later admitted the rule change was rushed, influenced by complaints from rival coaches. Outsports reported it as a direct response to A.B.’s success, sparking outrage among advocates.

Nereyda Hernandez watched from the stands as her daughter learned of the disqualification via text. “She didn’t even get to compete,” the mother later testified, her voice cracking in deposition footage leaked to media.

That night, A.B. attempted self-harm, a detail the family shared reluctantly to underscore the lawsuit’s urgency. Hospital records confirm the incident, attributing it to “chronic emotional abuse from coaching staff.”

The Hernandez family filed the $10 million suit in June 2025 against Jurupa Valley High School and the Riverside County Office of Education. Claims include intentional infliction of emotional distress and violation of Title IX protections.

They seek damages for medical costs, lost opportunities, and punitive measures against the district. Lopez argues the sum reflects “the irreplaceable value of a child’s confidence and future.”

As news spread, celebrities like Megan Rapinoe voiced support on X, calling it “a stain on American sports.” GLAAD organized virtual vigils, amplifying A.B.’s story to over 5 million followers.

Public reaction has been visceral. Protests erupted outside the school, with students walking out in solidarity. One banner read: “Coaches Build, They Don’t Break.”

Garcia’s defense team counters that he followed “safety guidelines” amid parental concerns. In a statement, they claim A.B.’s performance was scrutinized fairly, denying any targeted harassment.

Yet, internal emails obtained by the LA Times contradict this. Garcia wrote to a colleague: “We can’t let this set a precedent; parents are furious.” The recipient replied, urging caution to avoid backlash.

Whistleblowers from the faculty have come forward anonymously, alleging Garcia’s history of favoritism toward “traditional” athletes. One teacher recalled ignoring red flags to preserve team harmony.

The lawsuit’s ignition point was a September hearing where A.B. testified remotely, her voice steady but eyes downcast. She described Garcia’s “silent stares” during warm-ups as more intimidating than words.

Nereyda, seated beside her daughter, interjected only once: “He knew what he was doing.” The courtroom fell silent, a moment now viral on TikTok with 2.3 million likes.

Nationwide, the case has fueled legislative pushes. Congresswoman Nancy Pelosi tweeted: “This is why we need federal mandates for coach training on inclusivity.” Bills in California aim to mandate anti-bias certification for all educators.

Sports psychologists weigh in, noting the profound impact of coach-athlete dynamics. Dr. Elena Vasquez, a UCLA expert, told CNN: “Rejection from a mentor can scar deeper than physical injury.”

A.B. has since transferred to a more supportive school in San Diego, where she’s rebuilding her jumps. Teammates there describe her as “a quiet force,” already eyeing college scouts.

But the firestorm rages on. Petitions demanding Garcia’s suspension have garnered 150,000 signatures. Rival districts report increased scrutiny of their own policies, fearing similar suits.

The heartbreaking detail—the suicide note fragment reading “I just wanted to belong”—has mobilized mental health nonprofits. The Trevor Project reported a 40% spike in calls from trans youth post-coverage.

Nereyda’s breakdown yesterday crystallized the pain. As she was led away by family, she turned back: “For every kid like A.B., fight.” Reporters stood frozen, many wiping tears.

Legal experts predict a settlement, but the family vows to trial for precedent. “Money won’t heal her,” Nereyda said later, “but accountability might.”

This saga exposes fractures in youth sports: the clash between progress and resistance. A.B.’s story isn’t just legal; it’s a mirror to society’s evolving norms on gender and fairness.

As winter meets approach, A.B. trains in seclusion, her long-jump form sharper than ever. Yet, the shadow of Garcia lingers, a reminder of battles yet unfought.

Supporters flood her family’s GoFundMe, raising $250,000 for therapy and advocacy. Messages pour in: “Your jump inspired my daughter to come out.”

In quiet moments, Nereyda pores over old videos of A.B. soaring over the bar. “She’ll rise again,” she affirms, steel in her softened gaze.

The firestorm shows no signs of cooling. With discovery ongoing, more revelations loom. For now, a mother’s tears have awakened a nation to one girl’s silenced struggle.