A rainy night makes the city shimmer like a shattered mirror.

I’d been driving for ten straight hours when I saw her—standing on the corner of the main avenue, drenched, one hand clutching her stomach, the other waving desperately.

Before I could say a word, she yanked open the back door.

“Please, please,” she cried. “I need to get to San José Hospital. The baby’s coming.”

She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Her face was twisted in pain, her cheeks streaked with rain—or maybe tears.

“Get in,” I said quickly. “We’ll make it. Just breathe.”

As I pulled away, she tried to steady her breathing, fighting the contractions.

“What’s your name?” I asked, hoping to calm her.

“Carolina,” she gasped. “Oh God, it hurts so much.”

“It’s almost time, Carolina. Just breathe like they showed you, okay?”

“I didn’t go to class,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I couldn’t. I don’t have anyone…”

A lump rose in my throat. I thought of my own daughter—about the same age as this girl.

“Hey, you’ve got me now,” I told her gently. “You’re not alone. We’ll get there.”

The rain slowed traffic to a crawl, but I knew the backstreets better than anyone after twenty years behind the wheel. Carolina groaned softly in the back seat.

“I won’t be able to pay,” she blurted suddenly. “I spent everything on the apartment deposit. I’m so sorry.”

“Forget it,” I said. “Right now, all that matters is you and your baby.”

When we finally reached the hospital, I jumped out and ran inside for help. Two nurses rushed out with a wheelchair and took her straight to the emergency room. Before disappearing behind the doors, she turned back.

“Wait! What’s your name?”

“Roberto!” I called. “Roberto Méndez! But don’t worry about that—just go!”

I stood there in the rain for a while, then returned to my taxi. The meter, which I’d never started, blinked zero. I turned it off and drove home, thinking about that brave, lonely girl about to become a mother.

Days went by, and I figured I’d never hear from her again—until one afternoon, my phone rang.

“Mr. Roberto Méndez?” a woman’s voice asked.

“Yes, speaking.”

“It’s Carolina. From the taxi. Do you remember me?”

“Of course I do! How are you and the baby?”

“Good, thank God. I had a beautiful boy—his name is Matías. Mr. Roberto, I… I need to see you. There’s something important I want to ask.”

We met at the park near the hospital.

She was sitting on a bench, a stroller beside her. She looked calmer now, with a quiet smile that lit up her face.

“Mr. Roberto,” she said as I approached, “this is Matías.”

A tiny baby, asleep, his little fists curled by his cheeks.

“He’s beautiful, Carolina. Congratulations.”

“You saved me that night,” she said, her eyes glistening. “You didn’t just drive me—you made me feel like I wasn’t alone. That meant everything.”

“I only did what anyone would’ve done,” I said, embarrassed.

She shook her head. “No. Five taxis passed me before you stopped. They saw me—pregnant, soaked—and kept going.” She took a shaky breath. “Mr. Roberto, I don’t have family here. My parents live far away and barely speak to me. Matías’s father disappeared. But I want my son to grow up believing there are good people in this world. People like you.”

She lifted the baby carefully and placed him in my arms.

“Would you be Matías’s godfather?”

I froze, holding that tiny, warm life against me, staring into his slowly opening eyes.

“Carolina, I—”

“Please,” she said softly. “I have no one else. And you’ve already shown me the kind of man I want my son to look up to.”

A lump filled my throat. Matías wrapped his little fingers around mine.

“It would be an honor,” I said finally, my voice trembling.

Carolina covered her mouth as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The baptism was simple, held in a small neighborhood chapel.

My wife and daughter came along—they fell in love with Matías instantly. From then on, Carolina became part of our family. I helped her find a better job, my wife shared baby clothes from our grandchildren, and I visit them every month.

Sometimes, when I’m driving late at night and see someone struggling in the rain, I think of that night—how one small act of kindness can change a life.

Now, when little Matías runs toward me in the park, calling “padrino” in his sweet three-year-old voice, I know that free ride was the most meaningful of my career.

Because in the end, it’s not about the fares we collect—it’s about the hearts we touch along the way.

Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. All images are for illustration purposes only.