Rub marks are visible on the back panel of a Mercedes Benz I backed into. |
Should I drive away? The Benz's insurance could handle the costs of repair.
Or should I admit my guilt? That'd be risky. My insurance premium could increase.
I looked around. Not a soul in sight. If I left the scene, nobody would know.
My conscience kicked in. I penned a note identifying myself. I placed it under a wiper on the Benz.
Hours later my phone rang. The owner of the Benz spoke with a foreign accent. He sounded like someone who'd grown up in Pakistan or India. I apologized for hitting his car. He expressed gratitude for my contacting him. We exchanged insurance information.
Conscience is a GPS directing us on the road to righteousness. If we stray off course, it keeps telling us where to go.
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