Then I opened the tip-line inbox for their company's headquarters and sent the file.
Then I opened their three wives' WeChat profiles.
In the friend-request message, I typed out exactly what their husbands had done to me at that intersection.
I looked at the send button. My finger hovered over it.
Every voice that had told me to let it go exploded in my head at once.
They said, be a good girl. Be sensible. Swallow it.
They said, making a scene would only hurt me.
They said, getting harassed was my fault.
Screw that.
I was not a lamb waiting for slaughter.
They didn't want me to let it go? Fine. Then we all go down together.
I took a deep breath and slammed my finger down on send.
