It was a Friday evening, and I was there on the sidewalk outside her (our) house, adhering to the sidewalk rule (if you go onto the porch and knock on the door, the police are likely to come sirening down the street 2 minutes later in response to a specious 9-11 call that you're enraged and breaking down the door), awaiting any action to my call to voicemail announcing that I was here to pick up my children for visitation pursuant to a longstanding court order. Out of the gloam, their mother, Sharon, came down the cement stairs from the house to the sidewalk, with her date trailing behind, as is customary with her menfolk.
"What are you doing here?" "I'm here to pick up my children for weekend visitation, because this is my time to be with them pursuant to the court order governing this, and I expect them to be here ready to go with me."
"Well, I made them ready to go with you but they refused to come out so you can leave." In my opinion, she lied (again) because the house behind her was totally dark.
"Come on," she ordered to the man hanging back behind her, "let's go." He came down the stairs upon her command and got into the driver's seat of the vehicle at the curb as she climbed into the passenger side while I retreated (in order to not present a "menacing" appearance; if you get divorced, this crap will become standard fare soon enough if the woman plays the female victim card as Sharon fallaciously did, and for long while she got the advance to go card) to the asphalt fifteen feet behind this vehicle.
I practically always carry a camera. It was out, and charged, ready to snap a picture.
The vehicle came to life; it had twelve or more feet in front of it to put it out into the traffic lane going forward, unobstructed. I was a State Trooper for seven years and I pay attention to these sort of details.
The back-up lights came on the vehicle and it roared backwards. I was transfixed in place with fear as the 2-ton metal monster closed the distance to me rapidly.
Well, the man killing machine didn't back over me, and the frightfully close steel behemoth was thrust back into drive at the last moment and driven away. Hey birthday boy, what happened in the cab at that moment, if that was you dating this covert narcissist (in my opinion) that night, did you actually choose your own course finally at the last split-second, or did you just chicken out in your (perhaps commanded) aggression?