My little boy — usually so calm and gentle — suddenly turned toward the woman, furious in a way I had never seen before, and with one quick motion pulled my hood off.

— My mom is sick! — he shouted. — Can’t you see? She can barely stand! Grandma, you’re very mean!

The woman froze, as if the words had struck her. She couldn’t say a single thing. The people in the car, seeing my shaved head, seemed to wake up: one man stood up, then another, then a third.

Within seconds the entire row of seats was empty. Everyone stood, but nobody sat down — as if it were a quiet little protest against cruelty, against injustice, against judging without knowing.

The woman lowered her eyes, mumbled something indistinct, and turned away. And I just hugged my son. He was my only protector.