Chapter 5: The Comments Section
Dan woke up when I sat down beside him.
He looked at me the way he always did when he'd been asleep — slightly confused, immediately concerned.
"Hey.
You okay?
How was the store?"
"Something happened," I said.
I told him.
All of it — the man, the aisle, the things he'd said, Maria's phone, the parking lot, the video.
I told him about the 1,200 shares and the message I'd just received.
He listened without interrupting.
Nora slept through the whole thing on his chest, one small fist curled under her chin.
When I finished, he said, "Show me the message."
I handed him my phone.
He read it.
His face didn't change much, but his jaw did.
"You should be ashamed," he said flatly.
"Because your body fed your daughter."
"I know."
"Do you want me to—"
"No," I said.
"I don't want you to do anything.
I just needed to tell you."
He handed the phone back and put his free arm around me, careful not to wake Nora.
"You didn't do anything wrong," he said.
"Not one thing."
"I know that now."
"Did you know it in the aisle?"
I thought about it honestly.
"No," I said.
"Not until the older woman said it."
He nodded like that made sense to him.
I opened my phone again.
The video had moved past 4,000 shares.
The comments were coming in faster than I could read them — women writing about their own grocery stores, their own moments, their own apologies to people who hadn't deserved one.
A woman in Ohio wrote that she'd pumped in a bathroom stall for eight months because she was afraid of exactly this.
A woman in Scotland wrote three sentences and then just the word *solidarity* in capitals.
And then, between those, the other kind.
*Disgusting.
Keep it at home.*
*Nobody wants to see that.*
*Put a blanket over yourself like a normal person.*
I read them until Dan took the phone out of my hand.
"You don't need to do that," he said.
"I know.
I just wanted to see."
"What did you see?"
I thought about it.
"That there are a lot of people who think what he said was reasonable." I paused.
"And a lot more who don't."
Nora made a small sound and resettled against Dan's chest.
"Maria's getting messages too," I said.
"She texted.
Some of them are directed at her for posting it without asking me first."
"Are you angry at her for that?"
"No." I meant it.
"She asked me in the parking lot.
I said leave it up."
"Then it's your choice."
"It is."
I looked at my phone on the cushion between us.
A new notification appeared.
Then another.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Local area code.
I looked at Dan.
"You don't have to answer," he said.
I picked it up anyway.
The voice on the other end was a woman's.
Professional, careful, not unkind.
"Is this the woman in the video posted this afternoon?
The grocery store incident?"
"Yes," I said slowly.
"My name is Carol Reyes.
May you like
I'm a producer at the local news affiliate." A brief pause.
"We'd like to talk to you, if you're willing."
