Chapter 1: Toxic Calls and Shattered Nerves

I was halfway to the hospital with my passenger when my phone buzzed, slicing through the low hum of the heater and the distant city sirens. My hands tightened on the wheel, and for a split second, I wondered if it was another late-night cancellation or a family emergency. The air in the car felt heavy, thick with worry and exhaustion.

The dashboard glowed with an incoming number, the blue light sharp against the darkness. I shot a quick glance down, heart thumping. Through the rearview, neon streaked the rain-speckled glass. Every late shift made my nerves raw, and with someone hurting in the back seat, every red light felt like an eternity.

"Hey! You left my phone in your car—bring it back right now!"

That voice—sharp, bossy, impossible to forget. It hit me—it was my last passenger. Sydney Ramirez. Her name flashed on the caller ID, and I could practically hear her rolling her eyes even before she spoke.

Her tone grated on me, like someone dragging a fork across a plate. I could just picture her, pacing a rideshare pickup zone outside some trendy downtown club, high heels tapping, arms crossed, glaring at her watch. I tried to swallow my irritation and keep my voice even, not wanting to make things worse. I told her I'd drop off her phone after I took my current passenger to the ER.

But the second she realized she’d have to wait an hour, she totally flipped out.

"Bullshit! Seriously, what kind of loser takes that long to get to the hospital?"

Her words landed like a slap to the face. My knuckles whitened on the wheel. I took a breath, staring at the endless brake lights. No amount of her yelling would part the traffic. "Is his worthless life more important than my business?"

"You stupid driver, I'm warning you—bring my phone over right now. I need to call my client. If my business gets screwed up, you’re gonna pay!"

Her arrogant tone pressed down on me until it felt like the air itself was closing in. I found myself shifting in my seat, rolling down the window just a crack, desperate for a little fresh air.

Every word she spat made the space feel smaller. My jaw tightened. I could feel my anger rising, and instantly regretted putting her on speaker. Great. Just what I needed.

Too late now.

Mr. Allen, the older gentleman in the back seat, shifted, fidgeting with his seatbelt. His hand shook just a bit. "Hey, can’t you show a little respect?" he called out, his voice gentle but with a definite edge.

He drew a slow breath, clearly trying to stay calm, even though her words had gotten under his skin.

Sydney shot back without missing a beat, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, what, is it a crime to be a woman now? Since when do women have to act the way men want?"

She was spitting fire now. "Who the hell are you, you old man? What gives you the right to tell us new-generation independent women how to behave?"

"Are you the old guy going to the hospital? Seriously, you sound ancient. If I were you, I wouldn’t even bother with a doctor. Just die at home, wouldn’t that be better?"

Her words hung in the air, poisonous and heavy. "Old people like you are just taking up space, wasting everyone’s time. Now you’re sick, just making trouble for your kids. Ugh!"

She just kept going, her insults piling up, each one nastier than the last.

Her tirade made my skin crawl. I could barely stand to listen.

Mr. Allen’s face had gone ashen. I hurriedly hung up and glanced back at him, apologetic.

I wanted to say something—maybe crack a joke or say something to break the tension—but my phone started ringing off the hook, cutting me off.

I let out a sigh. I really didn’t have a choice but to answer.

Her voice blasted through the speaker before I could even say hello.

"How dare you hang up on me? Do you even know who you’re dealing with—"

She was winding up for another rant, so I jumped in before she could get going.

"Ms. Ramirez, calm down. Don’t you think you were way out of line with my passenger just now?"

I tried to keep my tone steady, but I could hear the tremor in my own voice. "At the very least, you should show some respect."

There was no way I’d make it in less than twenty minutes to the hospital, and she was in the opposite direction. Honestly, even an hour would be a stretch if I pushed it. No way I’d make it in time.

But she just wouldn’t let it go. Unbelievable.

"You dirtbag driver, you bottom-feeder, who the hell are you calling 'Ms.'?"

Her voice climbed higher, nearly screeching. "And now you’re accusing me of being unreasonable? Who do you think you are? I’ll blast you online and let everyone know you’re a phone-stealing piece of trash!"

"Respect for the elderly? Give me a break. What kind of backwards superstition is that? Haven’t you ever heard of America, the so-called beacon of civilization? They don’t care about that old-fashioned crap. Do whatever you want—being old doesn’t make you special."

"America is the best—civilized and free—unlike here, which is so damn filthy and backward!"

Honestly, her weird obsession with anything foreign almost made me laugh out loud.

Mr. Allen just stared, speechless.

He shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Calling rudeness civilized and acting like American values are backwards? What kind of thinking is that!"