In her two years as a taxi driver, Cleo has seen all sorts of passengers—drunks who walk like waves at three in the morning, families rushing to the airport, and businessmen who smell of alcohol and guilt.
He had heard many stories, had shed a few tears, and had learned to read people’s manners before they even got into his cab.

On a November night, a thick fog shrouded the city. The light of his yellow cab was the only one guiding the dark road. As Cleo was driving, she was shivering from the pain in her back—she was about to give birth.

She was eight months pregnant, and every night on the road seemed to get longer.

“Just a little bit, son,” she said softly as she rubbed her belly. “We’re going back to Chester later.”

The baby nodded, seeming to respond.

He smiled even though he was tired. Chester, his orange cat, was probably lying on his pillow at home, leaving strands of fur in every corner. At the moment, Chester is the only one he considers family.

But as he mentions “home,” memories of the past five months come back to him—the night truth shattered his world.

She had prepared a special dinner—with candles, lasagna, and a small box with only a pair of baby shoes.

“You’re going to be a dad!” she said happily to her husband, Mark, as she handed over the box.

Instead of smiling, the man’s face flushed. It was silent.

“Mark?” asked Cleo. “Say anything.”

She couldn’t look at him. “Cleo… I can’t go on with it. Si Jessica… It’s also a shambles.”

It was as if Cleo had been struck by lightning. “What do you mean? Jessica—your secretary?”

The man just nodded, cold. “He’s been here for three months.”

Cleo’s surroundings had lost color. A few days later, Mark left him. Nothing was left in their bank account. So now, at the age of 32, she takes a taxi every night to save money before giving birth.

“God will not forsake us, son,” he whispered as he drove. “We can do it even if your father leaves us.”

But that night, three weeks before she was due to give birth, something strange happened.

At about 11:30 p.m., he noticed a man walking on the side of the highway. Wet, bloody, and seemed to have difficulty breathing.

Cleo’s instinct is to avoid—dangerous. But when he saw that he was about to fall, he couldn’t close his eyes.

He rolled down the window slightly. “Are you alright? Do you need help?”

The man stared at him, terrified. “I just need to get to a safe place.”

In the mirror, a car is approaching—fast, as if someone is in pursuit.

“Get on board!” shouted Cleo and opened the door.

As soon as he got out of the car, he jumped out of the car. “Where are we going to take you?”

“At the hospital… They just can’t get me anywhere.”

“‘Them?'” Cleo asked, nervously.

“There’s no time!” the man replied, almost choking.

Cleo’s heart was pounding. As he drove, he could see in the mirror the lights of the vehicle following them.

“I don’t know what I got into, but just hold you there,” he said, turning a narrow corner.

She was stunned when her baby was kicked again.

“Are you pregnant?” the man asked in surprise. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! We are still in sympathy.”

“Sometimes,” Cleo replied, “not helping is the bigger sin.”

With the help of his driving agility, they were able to evade the pursuers and make it to the hospital. Before leaving, the man grabbed his hand.

“You don’t know how much good you’ve done tonight,” he said.

Cleo just smiled, though she didn’t quite understand what it meant.

When he got home, he fed Chester and lay down. But before he went to sleep, he thought over and over again about what had happened. Who the hell is that guy really?

The next day, he was woken up by the loud rumbling of the engine. Outside the window, there were lined up black SUVs. Men in black and with earpieces scattered around.

“Oh my God… What is this? Did I help a criminal last night?”

Someone knocked on the door. There are three men. One was in a suit, one had an earpiece, and the other—the man she had helped last night.

He couldn’t believe it. Clean, tidy, and obviously from a wealthy family.

“Good morning, ma’am,” said the man in the suit. “I’m James, head of security for the Atkinson family. This is Mr. Atkinson and his son Archie—the man you helped last night.”

Cleo’s eyes widened. The Atkinsons—the billionaire family that’s always in the news! He knew that his son had been kidnapped three days earlier.

“If it wasn’t for you, I might not have survived,” Archie said as Chester rubbed his leg. “I jumped at the chance when they moved me last night. But they would have been about to catch me—if you hadn’t stopped, I might have been dead.”

“The men who are chasing you have been caught,” Mr. Atkinson added. “Thank you, the operation of a human trafficking syndicate has come to an end.”

The old man held out an envelope. There was the scene where Cleopatra almost died.

“Sir, I can’t take it!” he exclaimed.

Mr. Atkinson smiled. “Think of it as a prelude to your and your child’s future. It’s nothing compared to what you’ve done.”

Cleo couldn’t hold back the tears.

But Archie had a point. “We would like to invite you to lead our foundation’s new project — a community safety program. The world needs people like you, Cleo — people who are willing to help even if there is nothing in return.”

Mr. Atkinson gave him a business card. “If you need anything, just call. We owe you my son’s life.”

Cleo nodded, smiling with tears in her eyes. “Thank you very much…”

As the SUVs drove away, he looked down at his stomach. “Did you hear that, son?” he said, smiling. “We feel like we have a new beginning. Because once upon a time… It’s enough to change your whole life.”