he sharp, final crunch of metal w

I wo

dow. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of a life that shouldn

gone.

ed it, my fingers trembling. The date was

e packing a perfect lunch for my husband, Mark, had just gone viral. A

popped up. A tag in a pos

ew the words by heart. I rememb

e Tradwife Betra

ended, doxxing us, sending death threats. We sued for defamation, and in response, Jessi faked an overdose on a livestream, turning

uld be no tears. No

beautiful face, the same innocent eyes. But behind them, somethin

d his waist, his hair damp from the show

? You look like yo

ooth as silk. "Just a little ov

e saw Jessi's post and hi

What gives her the righ

the exact same thing. An

im, my eyes wide and shimme

I'm s

just some crazy person online. We'll get our lawyer

my face in his chest. "Don'

a fight. If we fight, we give her exactly what she wants. I think

nt. "Are you sur

ftly. "Some of them are just confused

verriding his caution. That was his

. The camera was on. I had set up the ingredients for a s

'Go

A hundred thousand. The comments flew by, a river of h

ait

k to th

sband ow

fect tear rolled down my cheek. I didn't sob. I

it was clear. "I see your comments.

tear away

a woman who loves her husband. Who loves making a hom

dough, my movements

nder. Maybe she's right. Maybe I'm not t

plashing onto the fl

ed to bake with you all today. To share something I lov

ished chrome of my mixer. I didn't have to look at the comments. I could fe

on a foundation of their pity.