Her phone buzzed.
At first, she thought it was just another update from her son between classes.
Then she read the words that instantly froze her body:
“Mom, there’s a live shooting on campus. I’m going to run. I love you.”
No context.
No warning.
Just fear.
From that moment on, she wasn’t watching the news — she was living it, message by message.
As sirens echoed across Brown University, her son sent frantic updates. He ran. He hid. He whispered through text.
He and 12 other students crammed themselves into a small supply closet, barricading the door with whatever they could find. They turned off the lights. Phones dimmed. No movement.
One student began having a panic attack.
Breathing got louder.
From miles away, a mother typed the only instructions she could give:
Don’t move.
Don’t make a sound.
Stay hidden.
Every pause between messages felt like an eternity.
She didn’t know where police were.
She didn’t know where the shooter was.
She didn’t know if the next vibration would come at all.
This wasn’t a headline to her.
This wasn’t breaking news.
It was a mother clinging to her phone, praying that her child would make it out alive.
Our hearts remain with the students, families, and first responders affected by the terrifying events at Brown University.