Chapter 1: Viral Shame and Secret Names

Two years ago, a video of me kneeling outside the ER entrance went viral.

It was the kind of video that made people freeze mid-scroll. In the clip, the pavement was cold against my knees, my hair was all over the place, mascara streaked down my cheeks, and I just knelt there, unmoving—eyes locked on the double doors of the emergency room. Even now, I can still smell the sharp antiseptic, feel the chill seeping through my jeans and numbing my knees. The whole world shrank down to that spot, that door. All I could do was hope someone I loved would walk back through.

The comments were brutal:

"Is this some kind of horror flick?"

"How does she still get cast? Did she pay someone off?"

"Can't stand her. If she's in a show, I won't even bother."

...

I tried not to read them, but curiosity always won. It was like they couldn't wait to pile on. It always feels like a million eyes are just waiting for you to screw up. At the end, the doors finally swung open—I stumbled forward, crying out the name of a movie star. The internet exploded: "Is she nuts? Even using a celebrity's name for attention?"

Someone posted it anonymously. The video was old, but edited to look recent—my hands clasped so tight my knuckles were white, eyes glued to the ER doors, kneeling in that weird mix of hope and despair. I kept whispering, "Please, God, please..."

You could hear the desperation in my voice, the way it cracked and faded. I hate how raw I sounded. The kind of pleading you only do when you think no one's watching.

The comments kept rolling:

"Isn't that Autumn Hayes? Didn't she quit acting two years ago?"

"She annoys me so much. I refuse to watch anything she's in!"

"Still getting roles? Must be buying her way in!"

...

I stopped reading after that. It was too much.

The hate just kept coming, line after line. I couldn't escape it.

It was relentless, a digital avalanche. People just need someone to hate. When the ER doors opened, I stumbled toward a body under a white sheet. I fell twice but scrambled up, my cries echoing down the hallway.

"Doctor, please, please save him!"

"I'm begging you!"

I tried to kneel again, but a nurse grabbed my arm.

"Doctor! I'll get on my knees, I'm begging you!"

"He's not dead yet! He's not!"

I clung to the gurney, refusing to let them wheel it away.

The fluorescent lights made everything look off—like a bad dream I couldn't wake from. Some comments started to soften:

"Can't deny, her acting's actually good."

"She's crying so hard, feels like she's about to break."

Then I shouted "Caleb Monroe"—the movie star's name. I couldn't help myself.

The comments blew up:

"What's happening?? This isn't a scene from a show?"

"That's Caleb Monroe? He's dead? No way, fans just saw him on set this afternoon."

"Is she okay? She even used Caleb's name for attention!"

"She left acting two years ago and still pulling stunts? Ugh."

...

The video trended, a tidal wave of criticism. If I hadn't deleted my Instagram two years ago, my DMs would have been a warzone. I was glad I didn't have to see it.