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?”
