If there was one place I spent a LOT of time in my pre-teen and teen years, it was the car. Yes, the car, but not on my way to vacations, exciting new places, restaurants, or even friend’s houses (all that much). No, I passed countless hours traveling between my parents’ homes.

I wish I could go back and tell my 16 year old self that nothing had happened to justify calling the police. Instead, I can only watch the playback in my mind of the call I placed to my mom to let her know what was happening.