It wasn't a business card. It was a faded photograph of a younger version of the driver, holding a baby girl in front of that very bakery.
"I know where you’re going," the driver interrupted softly. Elias froze. "I haven't told you yet."
They talked for hours. By the time they walked out together, the rain had stopped. Elias looked toward the curb, but the yellow cab was gone. Only a small, peppermint-scented card lay on the ground where the car had been parked. It wasn't a business card
Elias felt a pull he couldn’t explain. He stepped out of the taxi and walked into the bakery. When Sarah looked up and saw him, her eyes widened. "Elias? From the old neighborhood?"
Just as he was about to give up and start the long walk home, a yellow cab drifted out of the gloom like a ghost. Its "VACANT" sign flickered with a warm, steady light. Elias waved, and the car pulled over with a gentle hiss of tires on wet asphalt. Elias froze
The rain was coming down in sheets, blurring the neon signs of the city into long, glowing streaks of red and blue. Elias pulled his collar up, shivering. He had just finished a double shift at the library, and all he wanted was his bed. But the buses had stopped running an hour ago.
"That’s Sarah," the driver said. "She’s celebrating her first birthday without her father. He used to drive this cab." Elias looked toward the curb, but the yellow cab was gone
The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror. His eyes were kind but incredibly tired. "Most people think they choose their destination. But sometimes, the cab chooses for them."