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Last night on the trail I saw the father of an OB-GYN. He wanted to talk to me after my stump speech—I’d mentioned his daughter’s peer, Dr. Caitlin Bernard, who was targeted by the Indiana Attorney General after she gave an abortion to a 10-yr-old rape victim living under an abortion ban in Ohio. Obviously, the dad’s very proud of his daughter in the city. But as he tells me about her, his face falls. He says her son is a junior in high school, and that when he graduates, they’ll probably leave the state. “She can’t do her job.” Another generational line calling it quits on Indiana. Our best, taking their talents elsewhere. It’s a heavy moment, but I have a feeling— I ask his daughter’s name, then I pull out my phone. There is his daughter in my online campaign donations. $500.00. I tell him I spoke with the doctor that morning. That she was kind enough to step out of a meeting to take my call. We talked about the harm her profession faces—the threats against Dr. Bernard and her family—and that her friend Dr. Bernard still shows up every day. I thank her for what she does. She tells me to please win. I make her dad take a photo with me—he’s embarrassed—I text the photo to the doctor. “Hi, Dad!” she responds, with a couple of heart emojis. Before I leave that night, I tell the crowd: Whether you agree with it or disagree—this is about more than abortion. You see, I’ve seen this movie before—serving in Afghanistan while the Taliban subjugated women through religion… Same story now—just different place, different religion. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to come back home and have my rights taken away, too. They applaud. They get it. For a moment I feel I’m where I’m supposed to be. Most days running for office, I simply strive to be seen by my community for my humanity—regardless of the political label. It’s something that has weighed on me tremendously this campaign—I think about Afghanistan, often. I sometimes break down to my mom on the phone— “How did we go back?” To put it lightly—I’ve been called a lot of names. Coworkers walk up to my dad now at the factory, asking why they talk on the radio about his daughter that way. A Republican whose party left him—he supports me. My dad understands. The OB-GYN’s dad back in a union town, he understands. Every day come November, I pray Indiana understands.