The moment you see something with your own eyes and feel injustice with all your senses, you cross an inner border, you know you can’t go back from there.
We want you to sigh in heart-heavy disbelief, especially at the end of the story when the little child dies or the mother returns, too late, much too late, or both of these things happen on the same damn page, in the same damn paragraph, leaving you distraught, welling up, swimming in a river ...