"Let him drive a little longer. I'm watching him—nothing's going to happen."
I was frantic. "This isn't about looking down on anyone! Safety comes first! If something happens, none of us can afford the consequences!"
Bernice just laughed, completely unbothered. "So what if something does happen? The car's yours. They'll come after you, not us. We're not responsible."
I was so stunned I couldn't speak.
She actually thought that way.
To squeeze in more time behind the wheel, Morton blew right past the second rest stop without slowing down.
I barely survived until the third one.
I told them I needed to make a bottle for Tommy. They needed the restroom anyway.
A taxi happened to be parked at the gas station.
I grabbed the car seat from the trunk, scooped up my son, and ran for it.
This time, nothing in the world would get me back in that car with them.
The moment I sank into the taxi's backseat, the tension drained out of me in one long exhale.
I'd barely gotten Tommy settled when my phone erupted—call after call, all from Bernice and Lambert.
I hesitated, then picked up Bernice's.
Her voice was sharp with accusation. "Astrid! Where are you? Get back here, we're about to leave!"
"Don't wait for me. I already took a cab."
"Took a cab?"
Her tone flipped to fury in an instant.
"What's that supposed to mean? If you didn't want us in your car, you could've just said so instead of sneaking off like a coward! You're making it look like we forced you out! If my brother hadn't begged me, I wouldn't have set foot in that piece of junk in the first place!"
Then Lambert's voice cut in, dripping with reproach.
"Astrid, you're being ridiculous. Bernice and her family just needed a ride. Was that really so much to ask?"
"Come back. We'll all go together."
I let out a cold laugh. My voice was ice.
"Say whatever you want. I'm not coming back."
"And one more thing—keep an eye on Morton. Don't let him drive. Unless you want to be crying over something you can't undo."
I hung up.
I was certain Morton didn't have a license.
We'd only bought the Mercedes three months ago, and Morton had immediately wanted to use it to practice. I refused on the spot, telling him he didn't even have a license. He'd gone and enrolled at a driving school after that, and just two days ago, I'd driven past the school and spotted him still practicing for his road test.
I'd said everything I needed to say. Whether Lambert listened was no longer my problem.
I arrived at the family hometown before they did.
The second I walked through the door, my in-laws descended on me, faces tight with displeasure, voices already raised.
"What is wrong with you, Astrid? It was just giving Bernice a ride. What's the big deal?"
"You took off by yourself—how do you think that makes Bernice feel?"
"When she gets here, you'd better fix that attitude and apologize. You're family. Don't go burning bridges."
I held my temper and tried to explain.
They didn't hear a word of it. Just kept hammering me about being petty and small-minded.
But before they got their apology, Bernice called.
Sobbing.
"Astrid... something happened..."
"Morton was driving your car... he killed someone!" She was wailing now. "There's blood... so much blood..."
My heart dropped like a stone. My whole body locked up where I stood.
I rushed to the hospital with my in-laws.
We hadn't even made it through the entrance when the screaming hit us—raw, guttural, the kind of grief that tears a person apart from the inside.
"My husband... oh God, my husband, how could they do this to you? How am I supposed to live without you?"
"Dad! Dad, please! Your son's getting married next month—open your eyes, please, just look at me!"
"You murderers! You killed my father! You killed him!"
Inside, Bernice sat with her arm in a cast, her face drained of all color.
Lambert's head was wrapped in gauze, a cervical brace clamped around his neck, blood soaking through his clothes.
Morton had a broken femur and fractured ribs.
But Daisy had it the worst. She hadn't been wearing a seatbelt and was thrown from the car on impact. She was still in emergency surgery.
Lambert spotted me and stumbled over, grabbing my hands. His eyes were wild with desperation.
"Babe, what do we do? The victim's family is demanding a million dollars. Where are we supposed to get that kind of money?"
"The car is yours. You'll bear primary liability."
"There's only one way out of this. We divorce, you walk away with nothing, and you take the fall. It's just a few years in prison. Tommy and I will wait for you."
Bernice latched onto the idea like a drowning woman clutching a life raft, sobbing and begging.
"Astrid! Just accept it, please. I'll help take care of Tommy for you."
Then, as if she was afraid I'd bolt, she clamped down on my arm and screamed at the victim's family:
"She's the car's owner! If you want compensation, talk to her! It has nothing to do with us!"
So now that disaster had struck, their big plan was to pin it all on me?
There was no way in hell I was letting that happen.
I'd make every last one of them choke on their own words.
