The fluorescent lights of the mall restroom hummed with an agonizing buzz, but it was nothing compared to the shaming glare of the woman standing in the doorway. She stared at me—a grieving, exhausted father struggling to change two soiled newborns—as if I were a common criminal invading a sacred space. My wife, Claire, had been dead for only twenty-one days, and here I was, playing the roles of both mother and father, only to be confronted by a woman who decided that my gender made me unworthy of caring for my own children. She pulled out her phone to call security, ready to drag me through the mud for the crime of being a father in need.
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