8-Year-Old Boy Who Got Tied To Tree, Set On Fire Gets Justice Thanks To Last Words On Deathbed. Check the 1st comment 👇 👇

On June 28, 1998, Robbie Middleton celebrated his eighth birthday.

Late that afternoon, he walked through the woods behind his home to meet a friend for a sleepover. But shortly afterward, he was attacked by a monster.

A young aggressor tied Robbie at a tree, poured gasoline on him, and lit him on fire in a horrifying crime in Splendora, Texas, according to ABC.

But thanks to Robbie’s testimony on his dea his deathbed, a boy from Texas could finally get justice after 17 years.

The perpetrator received the maximum sentence allowed — and Robbie’s family was awarded the highest damages ever imposed in the United States.

Robbie’s tragic story begins in the state of Texas.

He was an ordinary boy who went to school. But on the day of his eighth birthday, he met a monster that would completely destroy him and his family.

The then 13-year-old Don Collins kidnapped Robbie, tied him to a tree, and poured gasoline on the boy before lighting him on fire.

The horrible attack took place near Robbie’s home in Splendora, Texas.

Robbie was on his his way to a friend’s house when he came across Don, writes Huffington Post.

The inferno left Robbie with third-degree burns to 99 per cent of his body – no-one expected him to survive.
Despite the flames that ate away at his body, Robbie managed to wobble home, collapsing on the street in a ball of burnt flesh.

His terrified mom found him close to death, with severe blisters covering his whole body and skin hanging off his ankles.

Hospital staff explained for the Middleton family that Robbie wouldn’t survive. He endured more than 150 operations and spent most of his days at a rehabilitation center after his burns.

Although he was severely traumatized and disfigured, Robbie quickly became known for his optimism.

”The past is the past,” he would say. “You need to let it go.”
Sadly, ten years after the attack, Robbie’s body began to fail.

He received a cancer diagnosis that, according to doctors, was directly linked to his many burns. At the age of 20, Robbie’s third-degree burns turned into deadly skin cancer.

US courts ruled that his death was a murder. Don Collins had been suspected of the crime, but was released for lack of evidence – the only witness was an eight-year-old boy.

But on his deathbed, the Middleton family’s lawyer took new testimony from Robbie. He confirmed that Don committed the horrible crime, with the words: “Don did it”.

In the video, the court heard Robbie confirm what happened. Just before dying, Robbie Middleton told investigators:

”Don grabbed my shoulder and poured gas onto my face. After that, I don’t really remember an
The lawyer recorded his testimony and in February 2015, a court in Galveston sentenced the now 29-year-old perpetrator.

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After my divorce, I bought a house and told almost nobody. Eleven days later, while I was visiting my sister four hours away, my security system sent me a motion notification. I expected a delivery driver. Instead, a moving truck was backing into my driveway. Then my ex-husband stepped out. His new wife climbed out after him. And together, they began carrying furniture into my house. I didn’t call either of them. I called the police. It was 10:14 Saturday morning. I was standing in my sister Rachel’s kitchen in Louisville when my phone buzzed. Person detected in driveway. I opened the security camera. And froze. A yellow moving truck was backing toward the Ohio house I’d purchased only eleven days earlier. Then Mark climbed out. My ex-husband. We’d been married for twenty-seven years before our divorce became final in January. Seconds later, Vanessa appeared. His new wife. They had married just five months after our divorce. That house was supposed to be my fresh start. I’d paid $327,500 for it. My name was the only one on the deed. I hadn’t even finished unpacking yet. And Mark wasn’t supposed to know where I lived. Then they opened the back of the truck. A television. Boxes. A brass lamp. More boxes marked: KITCHEN. BOOKS. MASTER BEDROOM. Rachel leaned over my shoulder. “Are they actually moving in?” I couldn’t think of another explanation. My ex-husband and his new wife were moving their belongings into my home. Then Mark walked straight toward the side entrance. I’d installed a smart keypad so contractors could get inside when necessary. I expected him to search for a hidden key. Instead, he entered four numbers without hesitation. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. The keypad flashed green. Click. The door opened. Rachel turned toward me. “He knows your code.” “No.” “What do you mean, no?” “I never gave it to him.” On the camera, Vanessa carried the lamp inside. Mark followed with the television. For twenty-seven years, whenever Mark crossed a boundary, my first instinct was to call him. He would explain and argue until somehow I became the person questioning whether I’d overreacted. My thumb hovered over his contact. Then I stopped. I wasn’t going to ask him to explain something I could already see happening. Instead, I pulled up my closing documents. Sole owner. My name only. Then I called the police. “My ex-husband and his wife are moving furniture into a house that belongs solely to me. I’m four hours away, and neither of them has permission to be there.” The dispatcher asked: “Has your former husband ever lived at that address?” “No.” “Are you the sole owner?” “Yes.” “Did you give either person permission to enter?” “No.” Then she asked another question. “Do you know how he got inside?” I stared at Mark standing beside the keypad. The code. The green light. The unlocked door. “No,” I said. And then an even more disturbing thought hit me. Mark shouldn’t have known the address either. I’d never told him where I’d bought the house. Only a handful of people even knew the closing had happened. Almost nobody. I stared at the moving truck. At Vanessa carrying their belongings through my doorway. At Mark walking around the property as though he’d been there before. Suddenly, the biggest question wasn’t why they were trying to move in. It was how they’d found me. How did Mark know my address? How did he know the entry code? And who had given him information I’d deliberately kept private? Because when I finally discovered the truth, I realized Mark and Vanessa hadn’t simply shown up hoping they could sneak into my house. Someone close to me had helped them get through that door. And what I uncovered next proved their plan had started long before that moving truck ever appeared in my driveway. I know you’re curious to find out what happened next, so keep reading in the comments below. Leave a “YES” and give us a Like to see the full story …Say “YES” if you’re ready for the next part and I’ll send it right away. This kind of story always gets us talking. What’s your reaction? The full version continues just underneath this post

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