I didn’t plan on bringing Asa to class that day.

But his daycare called out sick last-minute, and I was already running on three hours of sleep and cold coffee. I emailed Professor Halberg just to say I’d need to miss class. He replied in under five minutes: “Bring him.” That was it. No questions, no conditions. Just bring him.

So I did.

Asa started fussing twenty minutes in. I was trying to bounce him in my lap and take notes one-handed when Professor Halberg just—walked over, scooped him up mid-sentence, and kept lecturing like it was nothing.

And Asa… quieted. Fell asleep against his shoulder.

I snapped a photo. It felt like one of those moments I’d want to remember when I was doubting everything. The photo went up on my private account with a caption like, “Shoutout to the kindest professor in the world.” I wasn’t trying to go viral.

But someone screenshotted it.

By morning, it had hit every parenting blog, a couple feminist pages, and somehow… Reddit. The comments were wild.

Half the people were crying over how heartwarming it was. The other half? Saying I was unprofessional. That I shouldn’t be in school if I couldn’t handle my life. That a male professor holding a baby was “inappropriate.”

Someone found his faculty email. I’m not sure who’s more upset—me, or him.

I asked if he wanted me to take the post down. He just smiled and said, “Let them talk. I’ll keep teaching, and you’ll keep showing up.”

But today, he didn’t show up.

And I just got a message from the department chair asking to “discuss the incident.”

I showed up to the meeting with my stomach in knots and Asa strapped to my chest, already chewing on one of his socks. The chair, Dr. Weiss, had this unreadable expression, her hands folded perfectly on the desk like she was prepping for a deposition.

“We’ve received multiple complaints,” she said. “Some from parents, some from alumni. Even a donor or two.”

I swallowed. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I was just—tired. And grateful. He was helping me.”

“I understand,” she said, but her tone was more clinical than kind. “Still, there’s protocol. Faculty interacting physically with students or their children… it gets complicated. Especially when public perception is involved.”

I froze. “Wait—he’s not in trouble, is he?”

She glanced down, almost like she didn’t want to look me in the eye. “He’s been placed on temporary leave. Just until we review things.”

My heart dropped.

This man, who gave me grace when no one else had—who held my baby so I could stay in school—was being punished for it?

I left the office holding back tears, which is honestly harder than it sounds when you’re balancing a squirming 6-month-old and a full diaper bag.

That night, I didn’t sleep. Again. But this time it wasn’t because of Asa.

I kept replaying his words—“You’ll keep showing up.”

So I did something I’m not usually brave enough to do: I told my side.

I posted the whole story on my public Instagram, this time with the full context. I didn’t defend myself. I didn’t bash anyone. I just wrote the truth.

I shared how I’d almost dropped out three times. How I was barely getting by on my barista job and student loans. How Professor Halberg was the only one who ever asked how I was doing—not just as a student, but as a person.

And I ended with this:

“If you think compassion is unprofessional, I don’t know what to tell you. But I know this: Because of that man, I’m still in school. I’m still trying. That matters.”

Within 24 hours, it had over 60,000 likes.

A day later, a former student of his—someone with a pretty decent podcast following—shared it. Then a few education accounts. Even a local news station messaged me for permission to reprint the post.

By the end of the week, other students were speaking up. One girl talked about how Professor Halberg helped her get emergency housing after her roommate kicked her out. Another said he helped her mom find a translator during a financial aid appointment.

Apparently, my baby wasn’t the first person he’d held when they needed it.

And then… something amazing happened.

The university posted a statement: “We recognize the importance of compassion in education. Our faculty are more than just teachers—they are mentors, advocates, and members of our community. Professor Halberg will return next week.”

I cried in the middle of the grocery store. In the frozen peas aisle. People stared. I didn’t care.

When I walked into class the next week, Asa was home at daycare. But I brought Professor Halberg a thank-you card and a photo of him holding Asa—this time, printed and framed.

He looked at it and smiled like it wasn’t a big deal. Like being decent is just what you do.

But to me, it was everything.

Here’s what I’ve learned:

Sometimes, we’re so obsessed with “boundaries” and “optics” that we forget about humanity. The world doesn’t fall apart because someone does a small good thing. In fact, sometimes it heals a little.

And for anyone trying to do life, school, and motherhood at the same time: don’t let anyone shame you for struggling. Keep showing up. Your village might not look like what you expected—but it’s out there.

❤️ If this story moved you, share it. Let people see that kindness still matters.
📢 And don’t forget to like the post so more people hear about Professor Halberg.