After two years behind the wheel, Cleo had met all kinds of passengers in her taxi: night owls chasing last calls, nervous flyers heading to the airport, and office workers trying to beat traffic. She had become something of an expert at reading people before they even opened her cab door.
That November evening, the city was soaked in rain and wrapped in a cold fog. Cleo’s taxi was one of the few vehicles still moving downtown. Her back ached and her baby, due in just a few weeks, kicked against her ribs like a tiny drummer reminding her it was almost time.
“Just a couple more hours,” she whispered to her belly, smiling tiredly. “Then we can go home to Chester.”
Chester was her orange tabby cat—her most loyal companion since everything had changed. Five months ago, Cleo had been happily married. Or so she thought.
She’d planned a perfect evening to share her big news: candles, lasagna, and a tiny wrapped pair of baby shoes. But instead of joy, she was met with silence—and then the painful truth that her husband had not only been unfaithful but had already moved on. Within weeks, Cleo was alone, pregnant, and working long shifts just to stay afloat.
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