Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
My phone is clipped into the middle of the ring and the only sound is the hum of the fridge. I hit record and then take two steps back to settle on a stool, one foot planted flat on the floor, the other on a rung.
No script. No second takes.
Just me and what I know in my heart to be true.
“Hey,” I start, exhaling hard, and now that the camera’s rolling, needing a few seconds to collect my thoughts. I stare at the floor, remind myself that I have power to help my girl.
My gaze lifts and I look directly to my followers. “This isn’t a post I thought I’d ever make, but it’s one I need to. Because something happened, and I can’t be quiet about it.”
I swallow, fingers clenched on the edge of the counter.
“Some of you already know about Winnie—about how we met, how we started dating. It was a TikTok thing at first. But then it became something real. Really real. And along the way, something ugly started happening.”
I pause. Let it sit.
“People are going after Winnie. She’s been harassed. Bullied. Mocked. People have made videos about her. Said horrible things. Even vandalized her car at her workplace. And for what? To get your own bit of fame on TikTok? And why someone as genuine as her? Are you attacking her for being kind? For being vulnerable enough to share her life? For daring to be happy with me?”
I shake my head slowly, my voice low.
“You don’t know what a few cruel words can do. Maybe it’s just content to you. A throwaway comment. A snarky video. A chance to be seen. But on the other end of that screen is a human being. One who’s scared to open her phone. Scared to be seen. Scared that being herself will never be enough. That’s what online bullying does. It doesn’t just hurt feelings—it robs people of joy, of safety, of the very thing that makes them shine.”
Another pause… perhaps the most important thing I’ll say. “To anyone who has said a mean comment about Winnie or anyone online… that is bullying. You are a bully. It is not cool to mess around with other people’s mental health. In fact, it’s downright cruel.
“Winnie didn’t ask for this. I’m the one who went after her. I’m the one who stitched her first video and kept showing up. I’m the one who fell for her so hard, I forgot to be afraid of what people might say.”
A beat, eyes steely in my resolve to fix this as I lean toward the camera, bracing my forearm on my thigh.
“So, if you want to come for someone? Come for me.” My jaw clenches and I lean in a little. “But just know this—every time you say something cruel, every time you try to tear her down, I’m going to be right there. Reading the comments. Responding. Fighting back. You want to pick a target, you pick me. You come after her, I’m coming after you.”
Another breath as I settle back, assume a non-threatening pose. I give a slightly apologetic smile. “Now, this is just as important. If you’re one of the good ones—the people who believe in love, in kindness, in standing up for someone who’s struggling—then I need you. I need you to flood this app with support. You blast out love and support for Winnie because she’s the absolute best human I know. If you see hate, drown it. Hold people accountable for their harmful words. Call bullies out. Show Winnie that she’s not alone. That there’s more light in the world than darkness.”
I swallow hard.
“If you think this is personal to me, you’re not wrong. Winnie wants to walk away from a satisfying career because of all this, and I’m going to do my damnedest to talk her out of it. But if I can’t, and she walks, then I’m walking too. Because yeah… this is personal. It’s more than personal, because I love her. And I’m not letting the noise steal her light. I am not going to let her be stolen from me.”
I stare for a dozen or so seconds at the camera, then reach out to stop the recording. “Please be kind to each other. Lucky out.”
I hit the red button.
I don’t bother watching the video. There’s no way to improve upon it. It’s going live with no edits. Just the truth.
And I hope like hell it’s enough to remind her—and the world—who she really is.
And who she is to me.
I sit back on the barstool, phone in hand, heart pounding like I just skated a double shift in overtime.
The post is live.
And now I wait, my eyes roaming over the screen as activity kicks in. At first, the likes start jumping. A couple comments. Then the dam breaks.