Donating organs causes controversy

John's life was fading. Before he left, he wanted to see me one last time in my wedding dress. I rushed to the bridal shop, but a little boy, a real Dennis the Menace, yanked open the curtain while I was changing, exposing me to everyone.

Mortified and panicked, I slapped the kid. His mom, a real Karen, went ballistic. She ripped my clothes and screamed, "What's the big deal? He's just a kid! He doesn't understand anything!"

That day, I not only missed saying goodbye to John, but the Karen assaulted me so badly that I miscarried and nearly died from heart failure.

Later, on the day of John's organ donation, I saw the anxious recipient family… and there she was, the Karen from the bridal shop.

…

A month after John's devastating accident, I finally accepted the doctor's advice. It was time to let go.

We'd been together five years, married for six months. We’d weathered so much to get to this point. He promised me a big, beautiful wedding, wanted everyone to celebrate with us. He wouldn’t get that chance.

But I still wanted to be his bride. So, I went to try on wedding dresses. I wanted him to see me at my most beautiful.

In the fitting room, I carefully placed my clothes aside and unclasped my bra. I never imagined that at that moment, the curtain would be ripped open by a boy, maybe seven or eight years old.

The bright spotlight, meant to showcase the dresses, illuminated me, nearly naked. Dozens of eyes stared. Shock, surprise, and embarrassment flashed across their faces.

I screamed, covering myself, scrambling for my clothes. Terror and rage flooded through me. The little boy, oblivious to the chaos he’d caused, jumped and clapped, chanting, "Look at the boobies! Look at the butt!"

Seeing his gleeful face ignited a fury I'd never known. I lashed out, slapping him across the face.

The boy's laughter stopped. The onlookers gasped. But before I could process anything, the boy's mom charged at me, grabbing my hair and slapping me repeatedly.

"You little bitch! How dare you hit my son!" she shrieked. "You slap him once, I'll slap you ten times!"

She made good on her promise. I couldn't fight back. The blows rained down, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. My scalp felt like it was being ripped off.

I tried to reason with her. "He pulled open the curtain! I wasn't even dressed!"

But she wouldn't listen. She dragged me to the front of the store, ripping at my clothes. Her face contorted in rage.

"He's just a kid! What does he know?" she yelled. "You're just a prude! So what if he saw something? Look at her, everyone! Look at this slut!"

My dress ripped, exposing me further.

"No!" I cried, crouching on the ground, desperate to cover myself.

The Karen kept pulling at my bra strap, cutting into my skin. I looked around, pleading with my eyes. Why wouldn't anyone help?

Their stares felt like a violation.

I trembled, huddled on the ground, fighting to protect myself. The woman kept trying to tear off my bra. Seeing that I was alone, she...