Chapter 3: The Facebook Rant and Granny’s Ambush

Of course, I couldn’t just let it go. For three days straight, I unloaded on Facebook. Each time I hit ‘post,’ my chest buzzed with a weird mix of anger and helplessness. The likes and comments rolled in, but none of it made me feel any better. Even my mom texted: "Let it go, honey, it’s just a battery."

Just when I thought it was behind me, a month later, I was up early to grab a rental bike when an old lady with gray hair stopped me the second I stepped out of my building. She was bundled in a faded windbreaker, pushing a rattling grocery cart full of bottles and cans.

The morning air was sharp with exhaust and cheap cologne. Rush hour meant everyone was in a hurry. Suddenly, she yanked me aside. My coffee sloshed in my mug as the wind whipped through the lot.

She looked exhausted, eyes rimmed red. Seeing my confusion, she gritted her teeth and, right in front of everyone, dropped to her knees with a thud. Her glasses slid down her nose, and someone in the crowd actually gasped.

My jaw dropped. For a second, I almost laughed—was this real? My hands clenched around my coffee, knuckles white. The crowd’s eyes burned into me, waiting for me to say something.

I hurried to help her up: “Ma’am, what’s wrong?” I felt a dozen eyes on me, everyone waiting for the next move.

But her tearful act froze me in place. My hand hovered, unsure whether to help or pull away.