I ACCIDENTALLY HIT THE LIMOUSINE IN FRONT OF ME, TWO SECURITY GUARDS GOT OUT AND TRIED TO GET ME DOWN– WHEN THE OWNER GOT OFF I HAD TEARS IN MY EYES

It was raining heavily that night in Chicago. Every drop on the roof of my old Toyota Corolla seemed to be the same as the beat of my head. I was exhausted from work—a twelve-hour shift as a warehouse supervisor—and all I wanted was to go home, lay down, and forget the weight of the world again for a moment.

The traffic was slick. The vehicle’s headlights mingled with the wet road, creating a dizzying reflection. In front of me was a black, shiny vehicle.
It
wasn’t just a vehicle; it was a long limousine, the kind of vehicle you rarely see and know belonged to someone who doesn’t care about the price of gas.

I was too carried away by sleepiness. In an instant, the limousine slammed into the front due to the sudden stop of the bus in front of it. It was too late when I hit the brakes. My tires slipped on the wet asphalt.

BLAG!

The sound of steel hitting the steel was like thunder to my ears. I closed my eyes tightly, holding on tightly to the steering wheel. When I opened my eyes, I saw the shattered rear of the limousine and the shattered bumper of my car.

I sat down in my seat. Not out of fear of an accident, but out of fear of getting paid. I do not have insurance. I’m going to have to buy a new car this year, and I’m going to have to buy a new car that is more expensive than I used to be.
Suddenly, the limousine door opened.

Two men dressed in black robes with earpieces came out. They have a large body, traces of being professional bodyguards. They walked towards me in the middle of the rain, not caring that they were wet.
There was a loud knock on my window.

TOK! TOK! TOK!

“Come on!” he yelled, though it was muffled by the glass.
My knees trembled as I opened the door. A cold wind and mist greeted me.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I said quickly, my voice trembling. “I’ve got my tires slipping. It was just an accident.”

“Accident?” one of the bodyguards said sternly, looking at the damage to the back of the limousine.

“Do you know who’s on it? Do you know how much damage this will take?”

“I don’t have any money,” I said, almost shyly. “But I’m going to find a way. “I’m not going to give you my ID!”

shouted the bodyguard, trying to grab me by the collar.

“It’s too much for the boss! He’s having an important meeting!”

The other drivers were staring at us. I feel like I’m shrinking with every scream they make. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t stop. I have been accustomed to suffering. I was used to fighting alone. Ever since my father left us 15 years ago, I have learned to swallow all the bitterness.

“Call the police,” I said, trying to keep my composure. “I don’t have anything to run from. I will go to the police station.”

“You’re going to have to go with me!” the security guard yelled.
In the middle of the conversation, the door to the back of the limousine suddenly opened. My world came to a halt. The guards also stopped and immediately bowed out as a sign of respect.

A shiny shoe was the first to step on the wet road. A cane made of precious wood followed. Finally, an old man came out. He was dressed in a gray suit, his white hair neatly combed, but there was a trace of weakness on his face.

“What’s going on here?” the old man asked. Her voice was soft but with authority that stopped the noise of the rain.

“Sir,” the bodyguard explained quickly, “we have been hit by this casserole. We were just having a fight. Don’t come down, you’ll be read.”

The old man did not listen. He walked towards us. Each HHe was very heavy, and he seemed to have difficulty walking. As he approached, the light of the pole slowly hit his face.

I was nailed to where I stood. Those are the types. The shape of his nose. The way he frowns when annoyed.
The memory of a dinner came back to me, fifteen years ago. The last night I saw him before he left the house with the big suitcase, while my mom was crying in the kitchen.

“Leo?”

My name was the first thing that came out of his mouth. Not anger, but surprise.

I swallowed. My throat felt like it had been poured with acid. The anger I had been hiding for so long suddenly flared up, but at the same time a deep sadness.
“Don Manuel,” the bodyguard called out to him, wondering why he knew me.

I stared at him. He’s older now. More wrinkles. Skinny. My father’s old style is gone.
“Daddy?” was all I could say. That word sounded foreign to my tongue.

The eyes of the security guards widened. They looked at me, then at their master, and then at me again. The resemblance is undeniable now that we are face to face.
My father—Don Manuel—came over ignoring the rain soaking his expensive suit.

Her hand trembled as she reached my face.

“You…” He whispered. Her eyes were stiff and now she was crying.

“Son.”

I averted my face. “Don’t touch me,” I said, my voice hoarse.

“After 15 years? “Are you going to call me your son because I hit your car?”

“Leo, listen to me…”
“No,” I interrupted. The pain pours down like rain.

“Do you know how my mother and I lived when you left?” He died without even seeing you. I worked while I was in school. I had to cut my face just to survive.

It’s over now…” I looked at his limousine. “… You’re riding like that while I’m at it, it’s almost impossible to pay the rent.”
Tears streamed from the older man’s eyes. He didn’t wipe it off. He let the rain wash down on his cheeks.

“I know,” he said softly. “And I regret it every day. “Every day, Leo.”
I was silent. I wasn’t expecting that response. I expect him to defend himself, to say that he made the right decision in the past to leave us for his ambition.

“I’m looking for you,” he added. “I’ve been looking for you for five years. That was when I found out I was sick.”

I looked straight at him. “Hurt?”
He nodded slowly. “I don’t have much time, son. All these resources…” He waved his hand at the limousine and the bodyguards. “… This is irrelevant. Money is useless when you die alone.”

I could see the sadness in his eyes. The sadness of a man who gained the world but lost his soul. AnThe anger in my heart was slowly replaced by compassion.
“Sir,” the bodyguard interjected, a little polite now. “You’re going to die. We’ve got to go.”

My father looked at the bodyguard. “I’m not leaving until I’m with my son.”
He turned to me again. “Leo, I know I don’t have the right to apologize. But let me go home. Even at the last minute.”

I looked at my broken car. I looked at the bodyguards who were now bowed. And I looked at my father—an old man begging in the middle of the rain.

I remember what my mother said before she died. “Son, don’t be angry. Anger is poison that you can only drink.”
I took a deep breath and wiped away my tears. The weight on my chest that I carried for 15 years was like a flood swept away by EDSA.

“You’re so wet,” I said, still a little shaky. “You’re going to get sick of it.”
He smiled. A spark full of hope. “I don’t care about the rain. My son is with me.”

“Sir,” I said to the guard. “Help him get back on his feet.”

“Are you going to go with me?” my father asked, a hint of fear that I might say no.
I looked at my old car. “How do I get my car? “And you? I don’t have to pay for the damage.”

He laughed softly, laughing with relief. “Forget about the car. It’s just steel. The most important thing is that we have found it.”
He nodded at another bodyguard. “You have to take care of your car. Tow, repair, or sell. Just make sure my son’s car is safe.”

The guard opened the limousine door for me. For 15 years, I dreamed of seeing him again to tell him everything.

But now that I’m here, I’ve realized that I don’t need an answer. “I need a father. And she needs a child.

I rode beside him. The interior of the vehicle is warm and comfortable, far from the cold outside. He handed me a towel.
“Thank you,” I said.

“I should be the one to thank you, Leo,” he replied, grabbing my shoulder tightly. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
We looked at each other and both smiled.

Amidst the noisy and chaotic traffic, inside a crowded limousine, I felt the peace I had been looking for.

That accident was the one I didn’t expect to fix everything.

Would you like me to create another story exploring their relationship as they start over, or perhaps a different genre with a similar emotional depth?