If Mary lived today, nobody would believe her.

She’d post something vague like, “Big changes coming. Feeling blessed.”

And people would reply, “Congrats, girl" or "New job?”

She’d get dragged on Reddit for “attention-seeking.”

Some guy in the comments would write a six-paragraph essay about how statistically, immaculate conceptions are “impossible” which, like, yes, @trollingmike, that’s the point.

The algorithms would bury her story because it’s not “engaging” enough. No dance, no controversy, no unboxing. Or simply "fake news."

Just a young woman saying, “Something miraculous is happening to me, and I’m scared, but trying to trust it.”

And we’d scroll right past it.

When I wrote Mary Levitt in The Last Adam, that’s what I wanted to capture. Not holiness, but the exhaustion of being human in a world that’s forgotten how to listen.

Mary’s story isn’t about perfection.

It’s about believing something good could still come from a life that feels ordinary, messy, and unverified.

Because faith doesn’t trend.

It doesn’t go viral.

It just keeps showing up. Even when nobody’s hitting “like.”