This is disgusting. She’s not even alleging abuse. There are women out here literally getting raped, and you’recomplaining because someone took your quote? Give me a fucking break. She’s just mad she didn’t get famous from it all.
And there it is. The familiar ache. The sting of not being believed—not because you aren’t telling the truth, but because your truth isn’t something they value. And that’s what this world has always been, isn’t it? A war of values.
One side believes in money and names, legacy and power. The other side believes in truth and accountability, in rebuilding from the ash heap even if it’s painful. Especially when it’s painful.
And then there’s everyone in the middle. Scrolling.
I sit on my bed, watching it all unfold, new posts popping up every second. I almost feel sick over how badly this stings.
This is what I wanted, isn’t it? Visibility. Light. A magnifying glass hot enough to burn.
But nothing can prepare you for the moment it happens, even if it’s everything you’ve wished for. I wanted to bring her down, but I didn’t expect the noise it would take to do so. The likes and shares and vitriol. I didn’t realize I’d become carnage in the crash.
I never imagined people would say she earned the right to steal.
As if power negates the need for rules, rewrites them so they work in your favor. As if theft simply becomes legacy when it’s done with a recognizable name. When you smile just so and wear expensive heels.
I open my Havenport inbox again, now bombarded with criticism and death threats so loud they nearly drown all the rest of it out.
I scan the list for an email I’ve already read. Anything from this morning, when this inbox was still a safe place.
I just need to breathe. To focus.
I find one:
She took everything from me. And she made me thank her for it.
And another:
I sent her this draft (screenshot with date and time attached). She never replied, and I was too embarrassed to follow up, thinking she hated it. Three years later, I heard my words in her commencement speech at Princeton. People cried. I left work early and threw up in the street. It felt impossible. I felt crazy.
Another:
I have no proof, I just wanted to say thank you anyway. For years now, I’ve just had the gut feeling that she knew what she’d done. That it was too big to be a coincidence. I can’t tell you how good it feels to know I was right. Bring her down. I’ll be cheering you on.
I close my inbox, trying to focus on those words, on the promise that what I’m doing is worth it for those words alone. This has grown into a storm too big for me to control, to shut off even if I wanted to, and I’m in the eye—no longer safe in any direction.
There’s no escape.
I can’t sleep, though I need to, so I scan my DMs. A large number are death threats, and worse.
A few are kind. Mostly, people just want to hear the gossip.
One stands out with its blue checkmark.
Hi there. I’m a reporter with The Chatter. I’ve been following your story, and I’d like to help. Let me know a good time for me to give you a call.
I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath. I’m not stupid. I know how these things go. The media doesn’t want nuance. They want a narrative. A clean character arc. A scandal, a heroine, and a villain. Or two women tearing each other down for clicks and likes.
Either way, that’s not what I have to give. There’s no hero or scandal. I’m only offering them a pattern, but I’m not sure they’ll care.
Still, I say yes. Because someone has to keep the fire burning, even as the wind from the storm tries to snuff it out. I have to act fast, move faster, if I want to stay ahead of whatever Ralston is planning.
No matter what happens from here, at least no girl in the future can claim she hasn’t been warned. If I accomplish nothing else, at least I have that.
I spend a bit of time researching attorneys and sending initial emails to see if they can help me. I’m no match against Ralston’s legal team, but I want to protect myself if I can. I have to be smart about this, less impulsive. Even if that’s never been my strong suit.
Before I try to sleep, I can’t stop myself from going back to the website. This time I don’t read any of the stories. If I do, I’ll get sucked into them again.
