08/19/2026
Papa Red gives me girl dad energy in the deepest way.
And I know, I know… Kevin Reddington is Lindsay’s attorney. This is his job. He is supposed to defend her. He is supposed to know the case. He is supposed to fight for her.
But there is something about the way he does it.
The way he stands behind her when she is breaking. The way he reaches for her hand. The way he seems to know when she needs a second. The way he has learned every medication, every appointment, every provider, every hospitalization, every piece of this story that so many people seemed to hold separately.
He may be defending one woman in one courtroom…
but I don’t think he realizes how many mothers he is reaching outside of it.
Because moms are TALKING.
We are talking about postpartum depression.
Postpartum anxiety.
Postpartum psychosis.
Intrusive thoughts.
Medication changes.
What happens when you know something is wrong but cannot explain it.
What happens when you ask for help and still somehow fall through the cracks.
What happens when a mother is drowning while still packing lunches, changing diapers, doing bedtime, smiling for pictures, and trying to convince everyone around her that she is okay.
Women are reading this case and saying, “That happened to me.”
“I had thoughts that scared me.”
“I didn’t tell anyone because I thought they would take my baby.”
“I knew I wasn’t myself.”
“I asked for help and nobody understood how bad it was.”
THAT is what gets me.
Because Kevin Reddington may think he is simply doing what a defense attorney does, but every time he stands up in that courtroom and forces people to listen to Lindsay’s mental-health history, he is forcing all of us to have conversations we should have been having a long time ago.
He is making husbands listen.
He is making mothers speak.
He is making families ask questions.
He is making people learn words like postpartum psychosis before they ever desperately need to know what they mean.
And maybe that is where change starts.
Maybe a mom watching this realizes she needs help and tells someone.
Maybe a husband hears one symptom during testimony and recognizes it in his wife.
Maybe a sister decides not to brush off that strange phone call.
Maybe a provider hears this story and slows down for five more minutes with the next struggling mother sitting in front of them.
Maybe one woman hears another woman say, “I had scary thoughts too,” and realizes she is not the only mother who has ever been afraid of her own mind.
That matters.
None of this changes what happened to Cora, Dawson and Callan. Those three beautiful children should still be here. Their names should always be part of this conversation.
But if something meaningful is ever going to grow out of something this devastating, I hope it is this
Mothers stop suffering quietly.
Families learn what to look for.
Providers communicate.
Women are believed when they say, “Something is wrong.”
And postpartum mental health stops being something we whisper about only AFTER a tragedy happens.
So yes, I joke and call him Papa Red.
But when I watch Kevin Reddington with Lindsay, I see something bigger happening.
I see a man fighting for his client while unintentionally giving thousands of women permission to talk about the darkest parts of motherhood.
And he may never know how many conversations he started in living rooms, group chats, marriages, doctors’ offices, and between moms who finally looked at each other and said:
“Me too.”
That is bigger than a courtroom.
That is how change begins. ❤️
