I never expected that my last fare of the night would lead me into a legal battle that could destroy me—or that an elderly woman’s final wish would completely change my life.
It was well past midnight, and exhaustion had set in. My wife, Sarah, and our kids were already asleep, likely wondering why I hadn’t made it home yet. I sighed and switched off my taxi’s availability. Another long night, another shift spent chasing fares instead of tucking my children into bed.
Just as I was about to start the engine and call it a night, one last ride request popped up. Normally, I’d have declined—there was no way I was up for another trip—but something made me hesitate. The pickup was only ten minutes away, in an old neighborhood with houses that had more history than most people cared to remember.
“One last fare,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes. I accepted the ride and headed out.
A House Frozen in Time
The address led me to an aging Victorian home. The once-white paint was peeling, and ivy had taken over its sides, almost as if time itself was reclaiming it. No lights were on.
I honked once. No movement. I double-checked the address—this was it.
“Just go home, Marcus,” I told myself. But a nagging feeling stopped me from leaving. With a sigh, I stepped out and knocked on the door.
A frail voice called from inside, “Just a minute!”
I heard something being dragged across the floor, slow and deliberate. I tapped my fingers against the doorframe, my instincts on edge. When the door finally creaked open, I found myself looking at the tiniest elderly woman I’d ever seen.
She seemed like she’d stepped out of the 1960s, wearing a floral-print dress and a pale blue pillbox hat. A delicate pearl necklace rested on her collarbone. Behind her, the house looked like a ghost of its former self—furniture covered in white sheets, empty picture hooks on the walls, and a box overflowing with old photographs.
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