Chapter 4: Pride, Pain, and Restraint

Here we go again. But as soon as I moved in, the bald guy suddenly kicked my seat from behind.

The impact shot up my spine, sharp and unexpected. I bit back a yelp, my hands gripping the tray table so hard my knuckles turned white. It hurt.

Even with the seat between us, his kick left my back numb.

I felt a strange buzzing sensation, like pins and needles spreading across my lower back. I twisted in my seat, glaring at him over my shoulder.

I jumped up and glared at him.

My chair scraped loudly against the floor. I stood, chest heaving, my patience hanging by a thread. A couple of passengers looked up, their faces tense.

Seriously? He put down his phone, scowling at me, “Are you blind? You stepped on my girlfriend’s foot. You looking to get hurt?”

His words were sharp, almost theatrical. He puffed out his chest, like he was daring me to fight back. His girlfriend peeked out from under his arm, eyes wide with mock concern.

Clenching my fists, I snapped, “I was sitting on the outside. You put your nasty feet on my shoulder. I move in, and now you say I stepped on your girlfriend’s foot? What do you want?”

My voice was shaking, half with anger, half with disbelief. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, my heart hammering in my chest.

He looked at me, sneered, and said, “What do I want? I just can’t stand you, that’s what! Keep looking at me and I’ll gouge your eyes out and stomp them like balloons!”

He made a popping gesture with his hands, grinning like he’d just told the world’s funniest joke. I stared at him, stunned by how childish he was. Unreal.

He put his headphones back on and started watching TikTok with his girlfriend, acting like nothing happened.

He cranked the volume up, the tinny sound leaking out into the car. They giggled together, completely ignoring me. I sat down hard, the springs in the seat groaning under me.

I was shaking with rage, but I realized that even if I fought him now, it wouldn’t solve anything.

Every muscle in my body screamed for action, but my mind flashed with all the reasons I couldn’t. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to count backwards from ten. Not worth it.

It wasn’t that I was weak—I’m a surgical department head. I just can’t afford to get into a fight. One incident could put my license at risk.

I pictured the hospital, the long white halls, my name on the office door. All of it could disappear in a heartbeat if I lost my temper now. I thought of the years I’d spent getting here, the sacrifices my family made. I couldn’t throw it all away.

My parents are from a small town in Ohio. They worked so hard to put me through med school—no way am I throwing my life away over a guy like him. No way.

I remembered my dad’s hands, calloused from years at the factory, and my mom’s tired smile after double shifts at the diner. I owed them better than this.