A lump formed in my throat. I thought of my own daughter, who was about this girl’s age.
“Now you have me, okay? You’re not alone. We’ll get there all right.”
The traffic was stifled by the rain, yet I took side streets I knew by heart after twenty years of driving a taxi. Carolina moaned in the backseat.
“I won’t be able to pay,” she said suddenly. “I spent everything I had on the deposit for the apartment. I… I’m so sorry.”
“Forget about that,” I replied. Now the important thing is that you and your baby are fine.
As we finally arrived at the hospital, I ran downstairs to get help. Two nurses came out with a wheelchair and quickly took her to the emergency room. She turned to look at me before entering.
“Wait! What’s your name?”
“Roberto,” I yelled. “Roberto Méndez! But don’t worry about that for now. Good luck!”
I stood there in the rain. I returned to the taxi, turned off the meter I’d never turned on, and came back home thinking about that lonely girl about to become a mother.
The days passed, and I thought I’d never know what had happened to Carolina and her baby.
Until one afternoon, three weeks later, I received a call from an unknown number.
“Mr. Roberto Méndez?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Yes, who’s speaking?”
“I’m Carolina, from the taxi. Do you remember me?”
“Of course I remember! How are you and the baby?”
“Fine, thank God. I had a beautiful boy, his name is Matías. Mr. Roberto, I… I need to see him. I have something very important to ask you.”
