I drive Uber on the night shift. You meet all kinds. Drunks, lovers, tired nurses. At 2 AM, I picked up a guy from a hospital. He got in the back, looking shell-shocked. Didn't say a word. We drove in silence for ten minutes. Then I heard a sniffle. I glanced in the rearview. He was staring out the window, tears streaming down his face. "Rough night?" I asked quietly. "My wife," he choked out. "She just... the cancer. She's gone." My heart stopped. I turned off the meter. "I'm not taking you home yet," I said. He looked up, confused. "What?" "You can't go to an empty house right now. Not yet." I pulled into an all-night diner. "Come on. Coffee and pie. On me." He hesitated, then nodded. We sat in that booth for three hours. He told me about her laugh. How they met. How she hated peas. I just listened. When I finally dropped him off at 6 AM, the sun was coming up. He shook my hand. "Thank you," he said. "For not making me be alone in the dark." I didn't make a dime that night. But it was the most important drive of my life. Anonymous