The response to the story online, when it briefly went local, was split. I had not, until that moment, known my story had been a story. A local TV reporter did a feature on the Dallas PD's "see something, say something" program, and the parking-lot call had been mentioned, anonymously, as an example of a good outcome. A commenter on the station's Facebook post connected the dots through the license plate — which was briefly visible in the B-roll — and within twenty-four hours, my name was

circulating on a thread about the case. Some of the comments were, predictably, furious. I had "destroyed a family." I had "called the cops on a woman of color" — Chelsea is Hispanic, which I had not realized mattered until people made it matter. I had "weaponized child protection." Others were supportive — parents who had worked in child welfare, social workers, teachers. A woman who identified herself as a survivor of childhood abuse wrote me a message that said, "Thank you. I am forty-one years old. Nobody ever called for me." I printed that message. It is in my desk drawer.