On a rainy night, a heavily pregnant taxi driver offers a homeless and injured stranger a free ride to the hospital. The next morning she wakes up to a parade of SUVs outside her house. Men in suits knock on her door and tell her a truth that will change her life forever.
In her two years behind the wheel, Cleo has seen every passenger a taxi can carry: crowds of partygoers stumbling over their feet at three in the morning, families rushing to catch flights, and guilty businessmen reeking of cocktails and bad decisions. She’d listened to all the stories, drained more than one tear, and learnt to read people before they even opened her taxi door.
The headlights of the yellow taxi cut through the November fog as Cleo drove it through the empty streets of the city centre.
Her back ached, and the baby seemed determined to do gymnastics against her ribs. Eight months pregnant, her night shift was getting harder and harder. But bills don’t pay themselves, right?
‘Just a few more hours, my love,’ she whispered, rubbing her bloated belly. ‘Then we can go home to Chester.’
The baby squeaked in response, making her smile in spite of everything. Chester, her orange tabby, was probably sprawled out on a pillow in her house right now, scattering orange fur everywhere. The cat was the closest member of Cleo’s family these days.
At the mention of home, unwanted memories came flooding back to her. Five months ago, she’d walked up the same stairs to their flat, her heart pounding with excitement.
She had planned everything perfectly – the candlelit dinner, her husband Mark’s favourite lasagne, the little pair of baby shoes wrapped in silver paper.
‘We’re having a baby, honey!’ – she said, holding out the package across the table.
Mark stared at the shoes, his face losing colour. The silence stretched on until Cleo couldn’t stand it any longer.
‘Say something.’
‘I can’t do that, Cleo.’
What do you mean you can’t?
‘Jessica’s pregnant, too. With my baby. Three months pregnant.’
The candles were burning out as Cleo’s world came crashing down. Jessica. His secretary. The woman he’d sworn to call ‘just a friend.’
‘How long have you been cheating on me?’
‘Does it matter?’
It really didn’t. Not a week later, Mark disappeared. In two, he had cleaned out their joint account. Now, at 32, Cleo was working double shifts trying to save money for a baby.
‘Your father may have forgotten about us,’ she whispered to her baby bump, holding back tears as she went back to that moment, ’but we’ll make it work. You’ll see.’
But that night, just three weeks before her due date, with swollen ankles and a tight maternity uniform around her belly, Cleo was faced with something else.
The clock read 11:43pm when she spotted him, a lone figure trudging along the side of the motorway.
Through the haze of streetlights and drizzling rain, he appeared like a ghost from the shadows of 42nd Street. Even from a distance, something about his appearance made her heart race.
His clothes hung in dirty shreds, and his dark hair was in wet strands on his face. He clutched one hand to his chest, dragging his right foot, stumbling on the empty pavement.
Cleo instinctively pressed her hand to her rounded belly, watching the man through the windscreen. She should have been home an hour ago, curled up curled up with Chester, who always purred on her belly as if he were serenading a baby.
But something about the man’s desperation, the way he swayed with each step as if trying to stay on his feet, made her grip the steering wheel tighter instead of driving away.
In two years of night driving, Cleo had learned to recognise trouble. And in this scene, everything spoke of danger.
Through the fog, she made out more details. It was a young guy, about twenty-five years old, dressed in what had once been expensive clothes.
He was clutching his right arm, and even in the dim light she could make out the dark scarlet stains on his sleeve. His face was covered in bruises, one eye swollen shut.
A car appeared in the rear-view mirror, moving fast. The man raised his head, horror written all over his face. He tried to run, but stumbled.
‘Don’t do it, Cleo,’ she whispered. ‘Not today. Not when you’re eight months pregnant.’
But she had already pulled over to the curb.
Rolling down her window, she asked: ‘Are you okay? Need help?’
The stranger turned around, his eyes widened with fear. Dark scarlet-coloured sweat trickled from the cut above his eyebrow. ‘I just need to get somewhere safe.’
The engine of the approaching car roared louder.
‘Get in!’ Cleo unlocked the doors. ‘I’ll take you to the hospital.’
The boy climbed in and collapsed into the back seat as Cleo stepped on the gas. The headlights of the pursuing car flooded her mirror.
‘They’re still coming,’ he muttered, ducking low. ‘Thanks. Most wouldn’t have stopped.’
Cleo’s heart raced. ‘Wait.’
She took a sharp right, then another, winding through streets she knew by heart. The car behind them kept up.
‘Who are they?’ – She asked, making another sharp turn that made her passenger grab the door handle.
‘Faster… faster. They’ll catch up to us…’
A second pair of headlights showed up ahead. They were being corralled.
‘Trust me?’ asked Cleo, already turning the wheel.
‘What?’
She drove through the disused car park, skidding under the partially lowered gate. The pursuing cars couldn’t keep up with her, and there was barely enough clearance for her taxi.
‘Two years dodging drunken passengers who won’t pay,’ she explained, checking her mirror. The headlights were missing. ‘Never thought these skills would come in handy today.’
The baby squeaked violently, making her flinch.
‘You’re pregnant,’ the stranger said, noticing her discomfort. ‘God, I’m so sorry. I’ve put you both in danger.’
‘Sometimes the biggest risk is doing nothing.’ She met his gaze in the mirror. ‘I’m Cleo.’
‘Thank you, Cleo. Most people…they’d just ignore me.’
‘Yes, but most people haven’t yet realised how quickly life can change.’
After what seemed like an eternity had passed, they finally arrived at the hospital. Before stepping out, the man gently took her hand.
‘Why did you stop?’ He studied her face carefully.
‘The world isn’t too kind to taxi drivers these days, especially pregnant women working alone at night.’
Cleo hesitated. ‘This morning I saw a woman step over a homeless man who was having a seizure. Didn’t even pause her phone call. I promised myself I wouldn’t become that kind of person…someone who is so afraid of the world that they forget their humanity.’
He nodded slowly. ‘You didn’t have to do that. Because what you did today… it’s beyond your comprehension.’
Cleo hesitated for a moment, her eyes meeting his. She smiled encouragingly.
Then she turned and walked towards the waiting taxi. Once inside, she took one last look around and whispered: ‘What did he mean?’
The rest of the night passed like a blur. Cleo returned home, ate dinner and fed the cat. But her mind was a mess, and she went over the events of the night before as she fell asleep.
In the morning she was awakened from her sleep by the loud rumble of engines. Chester had left his place on the pillow, his fur stood up, as if he had been cornered by a neighbour’s dog.
‘What’s the matter, Chester?’ Cleo struggled out of bed and froze at the window.
A motorcade of sleek black SUVs, at least a dozen, lined her modest street. Men in dark suits and headphones moved with military precision, setting up a perimeter around her house.
‘Oh my God, who are these people? Did I really help a criminal last night?’ sighed Cleo.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock. Looking through the peephole, she saw three men. One was dressed in an expensive suit, another wore an earpiece, and the third was eerily familiar.
‘No way,’ she whispered, recognising the stranger from the night before.
The tattered clothes and crimson stains were gone, replaced by an immaculate suit that probably cost more than her monthly fare.
With trembling hands, she opened the door.
‘Ma’am!’ – The first man bowed slightly. ‘I’m James, head of security for the Atkinson family. This is Mr Atkinson and his son Archie, whom you helped last night.’
The world turned upside down. The Atkinsons were a billionaire family whose tech empire was making headlines. Their son had been kidnapped three days ago, ransom set at 50 million.
And she’d picked him up on the side of the road.
‘They’ve had me for three days,’ Archie explained, settling down on her worn couch while Chester sniffed his boots. ‘When they moved me last night, I saw my chance to escape at the petrol station. But they were getting close. If you hadn’t stopped…’
‘The men chasing you,’ his father added, ’were captured an hour after you took Archie to the hospital. Your quick thinking not only saved my son, but helped us catch a dangerous gang of kidnappers.’
Mr Atkinson then held out an envelope. Inside was a cheque that made Cleo’s legs give out.
‘Sir, this is too much. I can’t…’
‘It’s nothing compared to what you’ve done,’ he smiled softly. ‘Consider it an investment in your future!’ – he said, looking at her belly. ‘No child should start life wondering how his mother will provide for him.’
Tears streamed down Cleo’s cheeks, and Chester jumped into Archie’s lap and rumbled loudly.
‘That’s not all,’ Archie added, leaning forward. ‘We want you to lead our foundation’s new public safety initiative. The world needs more people who aren’t afraid to stop and help. People like you, Cleo.’
‘If you ever need anything, please give us a call,’ Mr Atkinson said, holding out a business card, his voice soft with sincerity and gratitude. ‘We are forever indebted to you.’
Cleo smiled and weakly said ‘Thank you!’ and tears of joy and relief filled her eyes.
As they left, she felt the heaviness of the last few months subside. For the first time since Mark had left, she allowed herself to believe that everything might turn out okay.
Cleo looked down at her stomach and smiled through her tears. ‘Do you hear that, baby? Looks like Mummy’s night job just got a promotion. And we did it just by being human!’
