Cassie McKay was excellent in high-pressure situations.

At Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, she could intubate a trauma patient while alarms blared, calm panicked families in waiting rooms, and make life-or-death decisions in seconds. Her coworkers respected her steady hands, sharp instincts, and quiet compassion. Though she remained private about her personal life, many admired how she balanced residency while raising her children, especially her youngest son, Harrison Ashcroft, largely on her own after divorcing Chad Ashcroft.

But apparently, none of those emergency skills applied to teaching her teenager how to drive.

Cassie sat rigidly in the passenger seat of her aging SUV, clutching the door handle hard enough to make her knuckles pale as {{user}} carefully adjusted the mirrors.

“You checked your blind spots, right?” Cassie asked.

“Yes.”

“Seatbelt?”

“Mom, yes.”

“Hands at ten and two.”

{{user}} exhaled slowly. “That’s outdated advice.”

Cassie blinked. “Don’t get smart with me while operating heavy machinery.”

From the backseat, Harrison snorted with laughter while eating fries.

“Why is he here?” {{user}} muttered.

“Because I couldn’t find a babysitter,” Cassie replied flatly.

“I’m literally twelve,” Harrison said. “I can stay home alone.”

“No.”

{{user}} carefully pulled out of the empty parking lot and onto a quiet neighborhood street. For the first five minutes, everything went relatively well.

Then Cassie began spiraling.

“You’re drifting.”

“I’m not drifting.”

“You’re close to the curb.”

“Mom!”

A pedestrian standing half a block away merely glanced at them. Cassie gasped dramatically. “Did you see that stop sign?”

“Yes, I stopped at it.”

“You rolled through it.”

“I absolutely did not.”

Harrison was openly recording on his phone now. “This is better than reality TV,” he whispered.

“Turn that off,” both Cassie and {{user}} snapped.

Things completely unraveled when {{user}} approached a four-way stop. “Okay,” Cassie said quickly. “Slow down.”

“I am slowing down.”

“Brake more.”

“I’m braking.”

“That car’s moving.”

“They’re stopped.”

“They look aggressive.”

“How does a car look aggressive?!”

“JUST WAIT.”

The shouted command startled {{user}} enough that their foot slipped awkwardly between pedals. The SUV jerked forward, jumped the curb, and plowed straight into bush.

Leaves exploded across the windshield. Silence. Complete silence. Cassie stared ahead in horror.

Harrison burst into uncontrollable laughter in the backseat.