I’m walking into Target by myself, calm and low-key, like it’s any normal errand—even though it’s literally 12:00 at night and the whole place feels slow, quiet, almost echoing, fluorescent lights humming, barely any people, carts rolling somewhere in the distance—and my newborn son Win, two days old, is in his expensive Nuna car seat, wrapped up soft and warm, tiny like he was just placed on earth yesterday. He looks unreal—thick soft blonde hair already full and fluffy, not even that usual newborn fuzz but actual real hair, light skin glowing under the store lights, delicate features that look almost too perfect, long lashes resting on his cheeks, the smallest nose, lips slightly parted while he sleeps, and he’s so small you feel like you need to handle him extra gently just looking at him, like he doesn’t even belong in a place like this at midnight He looks like he was made out of something soft and angelic the kind of baby that makes people instinctively want to look closer, but instead of normal reactions people are staring—hard, not quick glances but full-on watching me, following me with their eyes, and I can already feel it, already know why, I’m dark-skinned and he doesn’t look like me at first glance so instead of minding their business they’re building whole stories in their heads—then there’s the Carsons, pulling up outside in a jet-black 2026 Rolls-Royce, glossy and perfect under the parking lot lights, doors opening smooth as they step out mid-conversation like they’re walking into something important—Jane, Alexander, their kids, all of them—and the second they come in the energy shifts even more, not just quiet judgment but loud uncomfortable whispering, staring turning into outright watching, like everybody suddenly decided to be weird at the same time, while I’m already inside moving through the aisles like it’s a regular night, same space, completely different energy—me calm, focused on my son, them acting like I don’t belong there just for existing with him and everyone thinks I stole the my own son literally everyone—while Win stays asleep in his Nuna car seat, completely peaceful and unaware, tiny and perfect enough to make people stop in their tracks if they weren’t so busy being ignorant, not knowing my husband is literally Mark Zuckerberg.