Saving A Stranger Cost Me Half A Million

The three-year-old child was still fighting for his life, while his own mother stood there faking illness and trying to extort money.

A woman who showed such disregard for her child's life didn't deserve to be a mother.

The stocky police officer raised his body camera and pointed it at me.

"Come with us. You'll need to give a statement at the station."

Layla immediately jumped up from the ground. "He can't leave! If he runs, who's going to pay for my car?"

She latched onto my waistband.

"You owe me 500 thousand dollars! If it's even a cent less, you're not getting out of this hospital today!"

I looked down at her distorted face.

"Are you sure you want me to pay?"

She snapped, "Of course! If you break something, you're responsible for paying for it!"

I nodded slowly.

"Fine. Let's wait until the police figure things out. I hope you can still act this arrogantly then."

…

Half an hour earlier, the sun bore down mercilessly on the asphalt.

While riding my electric bike past a commercial street parking lot, I noticed a black Porsche Cayenne. The windows were tightly shut, but there seemed to be a small figure in the back seat.

I brought the bike to a stop and moved closer to the car.

A three-year-old boy was strapped into a child seat inside the car. Sweat poured down his face, and his skin had taken on a bluish-purple tint. White foam spilled from his mouth. He was weakly pounding on the car window.

I grabbed the door handle. It was locked.

"Is anyone there? Whose car is this?" I shouted.

There was no one else around.

Inside the car, the child's eyes were rolling back. His movements were getting weaker by the second. If this dragged on any longer, he would die.

Without hesitation, I took the U-shaped lock off my electric bike. I aimed it at the edge of the rear window and smashed it down hard.

The glass shattered, falling onto the ground. A wave of scorching heat rushed out, mixed with the sour stench of vomit.

I reached inside and unlocked the door. Then, I unbuckled the seatbelt and pulled the child out. His body was burning hot, and he had already lost consciousness.

I immediately laid him in the shade and started CPR. After two minutes of compressions and rescue breaths, he coughed up mucus and let out a faint cry.

Just as I finally let out a breath of relief and reached for my phone to call an ambulance, a woman in high heels carrying several shopping bags rushed over. It was Layla.

She didn't spare the child on the ground a single look. She rushed straight to the Porsche, and the moment she saw the shattered window, she let out a piercing scream.

"My car!"

Then she turned sharply and stormed toward me.

A sharp slap landed across my face.

My head jerked to the side, and my cheek flared with pain.

"You poor loser! How dare you smash my car?"

She raised one of her shopping bags and slammed it against my helmet.

A second blow came right after.

"Do you have any idea how much that window costs? You'll never earn enough to pay it off even if you deliver food your entire life!"

I grabbed her wrist and pushed her away.

"Are you blind? Your son was dying!"

Layla stumbled, then finally looked down at the child on the ground. Panic flashed across her eyes for a split second, but it was quickly replaced by anger.

"My son was sleeping peacefully! Why are you sticking your nose into this? You're just trying to steal my bag from the car!"

…

Back in the hospital corridor, the stocky officer spoke into his radio. "Get the CCTV footage from the commercial street parking lot."

Layla sneered and crossed her arms.

"Go ahead. That corner doesn't even have a camera. It's a blind spot. I checked when I parked!"

The officer's expression darkened. "So you deliberately parked in a blind spot?"

Layla lifted her chin defiantly.

"I parked in a corner so my car wouldn't get scratched. What's wrong with that? But him? He deliberately picked a CCTV blind spot just to smash cars. He's clearly a repeat offender!"