Then he saw the car on the shoulder of Route 9. A luxury black sedan with its hazards blinking, angled awkwardly near the edge of the road.
Michael nearly drove past. Being on time was finally within reach, and stopping would ruin it.
But then he saw her. A woman in an elegant brown dress, clearly pregnant, standing beside the sedan with worry written all over her face.
Michael’s conscience beat his self-preservation. He pulled over. “Ma’am—are you okay?”
he called as he approached. She turned, and Michael realized she was further along than he’d assumed—around eight months.
Blonde hair styled like she’d stepped out of a boardroom. Jewelry that didn’t belong on the side of a highway.
Yet her expression was pure fear. “My tire,” she said, gesturing helplessly.
