She’s done it—she’s said the quiet part out loud; now she has no choice but to follow through. She inhales deeply. “Someone has been watching our house from the lane behind our yard. And while we were at yoga the other day, there was this guy in black lurking up on the sidewalk.”
“I didn’t see him.”
“Well, I did, and I’m sure he was watching us—me. And I...I’ve had some weird text messages via my apps—texts from unknown numbers that disappear. And—”
“Disappear?”
She can see the doubt in her friend’s face.
“Yeah, you know those self-destruct texts? You can program them to vanish after a set time. And then today, for the first time, I got a bunch of really horrendous—threatening—comments on my Insta post.”
“What did they say?”
“They said they wanted my baby to die.”
Vanessa goes pale. “Can I see them?”
“I—I deleted them. Right away. Just reflexively killed them all on the spot. And a DM with a horrible GIF.”
“So you don’t have any way of finding out which account sent them?”
“Not unless the account sends them again. I know, I should have kept them. For proof. If I need to go to the police or something.”
“You havenothing?”
“No.”
“What did the comments say, exactly?”
“That I am nothing but the wife of a washed-up ski racer. Another that said they ‘see’ me—as though they’re watching everything I do.”
“You need to go into your settings, Daisy, and disable the comments,” Vanessa says. “And make your account private.”
Daisy’s chest constricts at the idea of cutting off all the love and approval. “It’s not just online. Someone stuck a physical note on my windshield that referenced my Instagram account handle—whoever is doing this is in this city. TheyknewI would be staging a condo downtown.”
Vanessa stares. “My God,” she whispers. “You need to report this, Daisy. You need to go to the police.”
Daisy inhales deeply, looks away. At all the faces passing the window. Anonymous faces. Could be any one of those faces. She has more than eight thousand followers now, and whoever posted the comments doesn’t even need to be a follower.
“How can I go to the police? Just walk into some station with nothing to show them?”
“You have the note from your car, right?”
ISEE YOU@JUSTDAISYDAILY.
IKNOW WHO YOU ARE...
Daisy feels as though she’s going to throw up. She doesn’t want police asking too many questions about what she might have done to incur this.
“Look,” Vanessa says, “there will always be trolls. If you put yourself out there, someone, for whatever reason, is going to have a go. The more followers, the bigger you are, the more someone wants to tear you down, cut you to size. It’s just the human way. And the anonymity of social media makes it possible. It’s like being behind the wheel in a car. People do things in a car they’d never do up close face-to-face. Social media is road rage on steroids.” She scoops up a spoonful of orange soup and delivers it to her mouth. “Have you considered getting rid of the account? Getting off social media altogether, now that you’re having a baby? I mean, a lot of people never post about their kids. On principle. To keep them safe.”
“It shouldn’t have to be like this,” she snaps. “There are tons of profiles out there—mothers-to-be, moms with tots. They discuss pregnancy issues, postpartum stuff, breastfeeding challenges, support groups, baby decor. Gorgeous baby clothes. Family issues. Recipes. Postpartum diet and exercise. Why should motherhood be a threatening, scary, dangerous thing? I refuse—” She realizes with a shock that giving it up is not on the table. Not at all. Not even for a minute. And she’s furious that some asshole out there has forced her into this corner. More quietly, she says, “I refuse to be intimidated. I willnotrun away.”
Vanessa’s lips curve into a slow smile.
“Seriously, fuck them.” Daisy stabs her spoon into her bowl of chunky harvest soup.Jabbity jabbity jab like Chucky with the knife.
Vanessa’s smile broadens. “There’s a girl. You go, Mom.”
