The taxi driver rolled down his window a crack to peer out, groaning. "Oh, great. Looks like a rear-end collision up ahead. We're gridlocked."
"Sir, can we take a detour?" Clara checked the time anxiously. "My appointment is coming up soon."
"There's nowhere to go, miss. We're boxed in front and back," the driver said, pointing ahead. "Look, the cops are already out of the car. Once they clear it, traffic should move."
Clara followed his gaze.
A red Porsche with a caved-in hood was straddling the middle of the road. Next to it lay a delivery scooter, with plastic debris scattered everywhere. A police cruiser was parked on the shoulder; the door opened, and Rhys Huntington stepped out.
He was in uniform, a fluorescent yellow high-visibility vest layered over it, moving with urgency. Clara's heart skipped a beat. She instinctively shrank back into her seat, pulling her scarf up to cover half her face.
The delivery rider had scrambled to his feet and was arguing with the Porsche owner. Standing by the luxury car was a pregnant woman, clutching her stomach and leaning against the door, looking visibly shaken.
Rhys went to the pregnant woman first.
He bent down, said something to her, and supported her arm. She seemed to be in pain, so Rhys crouched down, allowing her to lean her weight onto his arm while he used his free hand to speak into his radio. Clara couldn't hear the words, but she understood the expression on his face.
She looked away.
This man, who had once told her to "reflect on her own faults" while she was miscarrying his child, was now pouring every ounce of tenderness and responsibility onto a complete stranger.
Because that stranger was a "citizen in need." A civilian to be protected.
Less than two minutes later, he helped the woman into the police cruiser and jumped into the passenger seat. Sirens blaring, they sped off toward the hospital. The remaining officers took over the scene, directing traffic until the flow began to loosen.
The taxi started moving again.


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