02/03 Chapter 511 A Price To Pay
Today I had to stop by a client’s house to deliver a few pieces of clothing she had already paid for but hadn’t received yet. As I drove up her street, there was a white car ahead of me that looked a little lost, picking up two passengers. I assumed it was an Uber.
I followed behind it as we went up the hill, planning to turn at the next street. But it was obvious the driver was trying to turn around and head back the way he had come. The street ahead has been blocked off for months, so you have to make a U-turn sooner or later.
The problem was that instead of waiting to turn around further ahead, where there was space, he decided to do it right in the middle of the curve.
He simply stopped in the curve, threw the car into reverse—and backed straight into mine.
For a moment I just sat there in disbelief. He had known there was a car behind him for several minutes. Otherwise he would have tried to turn around right there earlier. So how on earth did he not check his mirrors before reversing? Looking at your mirrors is basic driving instinct—especially when you’re backing up.
Everything happened so quickly that I didn’t even have time to put my own car in reverse to get out of the way. All I managed to do was honk. But even that wasn’t enough time for him to stop before the collision happened.
In the car with me were you and my grandmother.
It wasn’t a violent crash, but it did quite a bit of damage to my car, leaving the bodywork badly dented. The worst part came when my grandmother tried to open the passenger door and realized it wouldn’t budge. The entire door had been damaged. When we forced it open, it made a loud, awful grinding noise.
The driver got out of the car. He looked like he was in his early twenties.
Trying to stay calm, though still in disbelief, I asked him,
“Didn’t you check your mirrors before reversing?”
He tried to defend himself by asking whether I hadn’t seen him putting the car in reverse. But that wasn’t my responsibility—it was his. And yes, I had seen the reverse lights. I had even honked seconds before the impact. But there was no time for me to react and move my car.
At first he seemed reluctant to accept that he was in the wrong. Maybe it’s hard on a certain kind of male ego to admit you crashed into a car driven by a woman—and that you were the one at fault.
He politely canceled the ride with his passengers. They got out of the car, and one of them gave me a look that seemed to say, I’m really sorry this happened.
We stood there for quite a while trying to figure out what to do next.
My grandmother got upset when he suggested my car had already been damaged before. It’s true that it had some damage—but on the back of the car, not the front. One thing had nothing to do with the other. I told him clearly that the accident had been entirely his fault.
Eventually I asked if he had insurance.
He didn’t.
So I called my father to ask what I should do and put him on speakerphone. The young man looked nervous, though that wasn’t my intention.
My father said I would need to file a police report. He asked again if the driver had insurance, and when I said no, my father replied that the only option would be to take the matter to court.
Immediately the young man said that wouldn’t be necessary—that he would cover the costs himself. I asked my father if I still needed to file the report, and he said that if the young man truly intended to pay, then it might not be necessary.
At that point the driver finally gave in. He apologized and stopped trying to shift the blame onto me.
And that was when something in me softened.
His eyes were watery, and it was clear he was deeply worried—not just about the situation, but especially about the money. His car looked old and worn, and he was out there trying to make a living driving for Uber.
Later, still upset about everything, my mother did what she always does and helped me. She took my car to get repair estimates.
The damage from today’s accident would cost about R$2,500. The old damage on the back of the car—also R$2,500. Five thousand reais in total. We agreed he could pay it in four installments.
To be honest, I had expected the part he caused to cost much more, especially because of the door. So I sent him the estimate and told him it would be four payments of R$650—not as terrible as it could have been.
He replied with several voice messages. Even though the amount didn’t seem that high to me, he said it was still very heavy for him financially. He promised he would do everything possible to pay the debt.
But I couldn’t say I felt completely confident.
So I forwarded the messages to my father.
Looking again at the driver’s profile picture, I realized something else: he probably wasn’t in his twenties after all. The beard had made him look older. In reality, he was just a kid—maybe nineteen.
And clearly very humble.
My father replied that he would file a lawsuit. I told him it might not even be worth it, since legal costs could end up being higher than the repair itself. But my father said he could file the case in small claims court, where there would be no cost.
He simply didn’t want me to absorb the loss.
Still, I felt sorry for the boy. It was obvious he didn’t have the money—and probably no way to get it.
Later I messaged him again. I told him I understood his situation, but that it was complicated for me as well. I explained that I would still need to file a police report—not as something personal, but simply to document what had happened. And that if he couldn’t pay, my father, being a lawyer, would likely want to pursue legal action.
After a while he asked if he could call me.
I said yes.
To my surprise, it wasn’t him who spoke when I answered—it was his mother.
She was very kind and polite. She told me she had raised him since he was little and that he was her son in every sense. She asked me not to worry, because she would take responsibility for the entire cost. He would repay her little by little.
She even said that she knew the owner of one of the repair shops I had contacted and could pay him directly if that would make me feel more comfortable.
Then she asked me not to file the police report.
She explained that her son was still in the process of getting his driver’s license. In other words, he wasn’t even legally allowed to drive yet—which would make the situation much more serious, even criminal.
That explained the amateur mistake of reversing without checking the mirrors. Imagine if someone had been walking behind the car. A child.
She told me he was a good boy, that he knew how to drive, that he was just finishing the process of getting his license. He had started driving to earn money to pay for college. But if I filed the police report, the consequences for him could become much worse.
She even said that if necessary, I could file the report in her name instead, as if she had been the one driving.
I told her I would speak with my father, but I also tried to reassure her.
My father later said not to file the report. He had no desire to ruin anyone’s life either. But he did add that if the boy didn’t pay, then I should file the report in his name—and that would be their problem.
But then something surprising happened.
That very same day, the boy’s mother managed to get a loan for him.
That night he sent the full R$2,500 to me via Pix.
If it hadn’t been for his mother, I don’t know if I ever would have received the money. And maybe the situation with him driving without a license also played a role.
Still, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.
But the truth is, sometimes this is the only way people learn—to be more careful, more responsible, more aware of the consequences of their actions.
Most of us only learn when something hurts.
In one way or another.
As for you, today you had your first trial class in judo. When I told you about it earlier, you didn’t want to go. But when you came home from school, you were smiling and said you loved it.
Tomorrow you have your first trial ballet class.
My little girl is starting her extracurricular activities.
And my heart could not be prouder.
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário