It was supposed to be a routine pickup at the end of my night shift. I nearly drove off, but something about the quiet house made me stay. When I knocked, an elderly woman answered—frail, graceful, and alone. Inside, her home was nearly empty, a single suitcase by the door. “Would you carry my bag?” she asked softly.

At the cab, she paused. “Could we take the long way through downtown?” Though exhausted, I agreed. I turned off the meter. For two hours, she pointed out places that held her memories—her old office, the apartment she shared with her husband, the ballroom where she once danced. By sunrise, we arrived at her destination: a hospice. “How much do I owe you?” she asked.