On the passenger seat lay several hard objects that looked like baseball bats, and beside them, coiled ropes. Those items weren’t there by accident.

The men by the hood turned toward me, motioning for me to stop, but there was no trace of desperation in their eyes — everything looked staged and forced. In that moment, I realized: this wasn’t a breakdown. It was a trap.

My heart tightened, my hands turned white on the steering wheel, and I made the only decision that might have saved my life: I didn’t stop.

I pressed down on the gas and drove away without looking back, not giving myself even a second for hesitation or misplaced compassion — because that night, compassion could have cost me my life.