After two years of working as a city cab driver, Cleo had seen it all—joyful reunions, quiet heartbreaks, and the complex messiness of everyday lives unfolding in her backseat. But nothing could have prepared her for the night that would change everything.
It was a chilly November evening, and the city was cloaked in mist. Eight months pregnant and bone-tired, Cleo was counting the hours until she could return home to her loyal tabby cat, Chester. He’d been her rock since her husband left five months earlier, taking more than just promises with him.
That night, she spotted a man stumbling along the shoulder of 42nd Street. He was injured, soaked, and visibly frightened. Cleo’s instincts urged caution, but her compassion overruled. She pulled over.
“I need a hospital,” the man said, glancing nervously behind him.
“Get in,” she replied, unlocking the door.
Moments later, headlights lit up her mirror—another car was pursuing them. Cleo acted fast, navigating alleys and side streets with remarkable skill. Years of navigating tough neighborhoods had prepared her for this. She drove like someone with something to protect—because she did.
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