CHAPTER 1: THE MAN WHO TRIED TO RUN MY SON OFF THE ROAD
The road was quiet that afternoon.
One of those long suburban stretches where drivers naturally speed up because they assume nothing will happen.
My son rode ahead of me exactly the way I'd taught him.
Helmet on.
Eyes forward.
Bike hugging the shoulder.
Safe.
Careful.
Then I heard the engine.
Loud.
Aggressive.
Moving much too fast.
A dark sedan appeared behind us.
At first I thought the driver was simply distracted.
Then the car drifted toward the shoulder.
Toward my son.
I shouted his name.
The sedan swerved again.
This time it wasn't an accident.
The front tire crossed into the bike lane and clipped the edge of the shoulder.
My son's bicycle jerked violently.
The tire skidded across loose gravel.
For one terrifying second, I thought he was going down.
But somehow he managed to stay upright.
I slammed my brakes and jumped off my bike.
The sedan kept moving.
Then stopped.
Slowly.
Almost casually.
As if the driver was deciding whether we were worth acknowledging.
The window rolled halfway down.
A man in expensive sunglasses looked out.
He already had a smirk on his face.
"You need to teach your kid where he belongs," he said. "This isn't a playground."
My son stood frozen beside his bike.
His knuckles were white around the handlebars.
"You almost hit me," he said.
The driver laughed.
"I didn't touch you."
I stepped closer.
"You forced him off the road."
The man shrugged.
"He shouldn't be here."
Cars began slowing down.
A pickup truck pulled over.
Someone nearby lifted a phone and started recording.
But the driver didn't seem worried.
May you like
Not yet.
Because he still thought this was just another argument he could win.
