Chapter 6: Forty-Three Strangers
I read them standing in the hallway outside Molly's room, Brad's phone tilted toward the light.
They weren't all the same words exactly.
But they were the same thing.
*Thank you for stopping.*
*My cousin was in an accident like this.
No one stopped for her either.
Thank you.*
*I don't know who you are but I hope you know you matter.*
*This man saved a mother.
He deserves to be known.*
*Still restoring my faith in people.*
Forty-three of them.
Some long, some just two words.
A few in broken English from people who had clearly translated carefully to make sure they said it right.
I handed the phone back to Brad without speaking.
He read them again.
Slower this time.
"Who posted the original comment?" I asked.
"With your name."
He scrolled back up.
"Username is just initials.
R.C." He looked at it for a moment.
"I don't know who that is."
"Could it be the man from the overpass?
The one who was angry?"
"His initials don't match anything I remember." Brad lowered the phone.
"Or it could be someone who just wanted to give credit.
I don't know."
We stood in the hallway.
Down the corridor, Claire's light was still on under her door.
Thomas had gone quiet, which meant he was either asleep or deep in a book.
"How do you feel?" I asked.
Brad looked at the phone one more time.
Then he set it face-down on the hallway table.
"Strange," he said.
"Like something that was private isn't anymore."
"Does that bother you?"
He thought about it honestly, the way he did with questions that deserved it.
"Less than I expected," he said.
I leaned against the wall.
"Dana said the post had been reported.
It might come down."
"Maybe." He didn't sound concerned either way.
"You're not worried about it."
"I'm more worried about who posted it and why," he said.
"The thank-yous are — I don't know what to do with those.
But the name being out there—" He paused.
"That part I'd like to understand."
I had been thinking the same thing since I came inside.
"I want to call Dana back tomorrow," I said.
"Ask her if she found out anything else about R.C."
"Okay."
"And Brad." I waited until he looked at me.
"I want you to stop hiding."
He was quiet.
"Not for the internet," I said.
"Not for forty-three strangers.
For me.
For the kids.
I want to know you.
All of you.
Not just the parts that feel safe to show."
His jaw moved.
"I'm not sure I know how to do that," he said.
"I know.
But I'd like you to try."
He picked up the phone again.
Looked at the screen one more time.
Then he did something I hadn't expected.
He showed it to Claire.
He knocked on her door, opened it, and sat on the edge of her bed and showed her the post.
I stood in the doorway and watched.
Claire read it with that careful, serious expression of hers, moving her lips slightly on the longer comments.
When she finished, she looked up at her father.
"Did you really do this?" she said.
"Yes."
"And you never told us?"
"No."
She looked back at the screen.
Then she handed the phone back to him.
"Dad," she said.
"That was really dumb."
Brad blinked.
"Not the saving her part," Claire said.
"The not-telling-us part.
We're your family.
We're supposed to know who you are."
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
Brad looked at our twelve-year-old daughter for a long moment.
"You're right," he said.
"I'm sorry."
Claire nodded once, with great finality, and reached for her book.
"Okay," she said.
"Good night."
Brad came back into the hallway.
He pulled Claire's door shut.
He looked at me.
"She's not wrong," he said.
"She's never wrong," I said.
"She gets it from me."
He almost smiled.
Then his phone buzzed in his hand.
A new notification.
Not from the post.
May you like
A direct message.
From R.C.
