The last thing I expected on a quiet shift was a life-changing encounter. But that’s exactly what happened.
It was nearly midnight when I pulled up to the address. No movement. I almost drove off—but something told me to wait.
When the door opened, a frail woman in her nineties stood there, her apartment half-packed behind her. She asked for help with her bag, gripping my arm like a lifeline.
In the cab, she made an odd request: “Could we take the scenic route?”
I hesitated. “It’ll take longer.”
She smiled. “I have time.”
So we drove—past her old workplace, her first home, the dance hall where she’d met her husband. She talked, I listened. When we finally arrived at the care home, she tried to pay.
I refused. “It’s on me.”
She hugged me. “You gave me a beautiful last memory.”
A month later, a lawyer called. Harriet had passed—but not before changing her will. She’d left me a locket with her husband’s photo.
At the reading, her family erupted. “She was vulnerable!” her grandson shouted. “He took advantage!”
I was stunned. All I’d done was give her a ride.
The legal battle dragged on, but in the end, the judge sided with me. The locket was mine—a simple silver piece with a faded wedding photo inside.
That night, I sat in my cab, turning it over in my hands. Harriet hadn’t left me treasure—just proof that small acts matter.
And sometimes, they come back to you in ways you’d never expect.
