HELP HARPER FIGHT. Organized by Megan Holt.
“Take it down,” she said to me.
“Diane,” Graham said. “Sit down.”
“I will not sit down.” She walked straight up to me. Close. I could smell her coffee. “Take my daughter’s face off the internet. Today. Right now. Do you understand me? You had no right. Your son had no right.”
“He had no right,” I said. “You’re right. He did it anyway.”
“Don’t you dare make this sound noble.”
“I’m not—”
“Do you know how many people have seen that picture? My daughter can’t walk into a grocery store anymore without some stranger patting her head. Her own grandmother found out about the relapse from that page. From your son’s page. Because we hadn’t told her yet. Because it was ours to tell.”
I didn’t say anything. She was right about that too.
“Diane,” Graham said again. Quietly. “She’s eligible.”
Diane turned to him.
