“I didn’t start anything,” I said. “People started it because they felt helpless. You’re making them feel hunted.”
The mom’s eyes were wet, but she didn’t move.
Her baby made a small noise, a hiccup or a whimper.
That sound did something to the room.
Because babies don’t care about pride.
They don’t care about politics.
They don’t care about who “deserves” what.
They care about one thing.
Eating.
The live-stream woman sneered. “If she can’t afford diapers—”
I cut her off, voice like a blade. “Don’t.”
A man behind me muttered, “Here we go.”
Someone else said, “He’s right.”
Someone else laughed.
The room split into sides in ten seconds flat, like that’s what we’re best at now.
The live-stream woman lifted her phone higher. “Go ahead,” she taunted. “Say it. Call me a coward again. That did numbers.”
I stared at her.
And in that moment, I realized something that made my stomach turn:
She didn’t want truth.
She wanted a clip.
She wanted a fight she could edit.
She wanted a villain she could sell.
I looked past her phone at her eyes and said, quietly, “I’m not giving you another video.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
I turned to the mom.
I spoke to her like the rest of the room didn’t exist.