I was going to ticket him for driving 142 km/h, but when I saw that scar on his temple, my blood ran cold. It was him. The man who saved me 12 years ago… and now fate was asking me to return the favor.

Carmen swallowed, trying to maintain her professional composure. She was going to say something, break protocol, and ask if he remembered the fire, but then her gaze shifted to the passenger seat. There was a crumpled piece of paper with a hospital logo: “Pediatric Oncology – Urgent Appointment – ​​3:00 PM.” And on the back seat, a small pink suitcase with unicorn stickers.

He looked at his watch: 2:35 p.m. La Paz Hospital was on the other side of the city. With the afternoon traffic, it was impossible to get there in less than forty minutes.

“I know,” the man said, his voice breaking, interpreting Carmen’s silence as a condemnation. “I know I was going fast. Give me the ticket, arrest me if you want, but please… I need to get there.”

A single tear rolled down Diego’s cheek, and he angrily wiped it away, ashamed. He wasn’t running recklessly. He was running against death.

Carmen looked at the half-written ticket. She looked at the scar on the man’s temple, the mark he got the day he saved her. Fate, with its strange sense of humor, had brought them together twelve years later, reversing their roles. Now it was he who needed saving. And she had the power to do it, or the power to destroy him.

Officer Ruiz put the pen away. She took off her sunglasses and looked him directly in the eyes, breaking down the barrier between authority and citizen.

“Are you going to La Paz Hospital?” he asked in a firm voice.

Diego nodded, confused by the change in tone.

—Yes, my daughter… I have to get there before three. It’s… it’s vital.

Carmen nodded only once.

—Follow me.

—What? —Diego blinked, incredulous.

—I said follow me. Stick to my rear bumper and don’t let go no matter what

Carmen turned around and ran to her motorcycle. She wasn’t going to write a ticket today. Today she was going to pay a debt. She turned on the sirens, not with the tone of “stop,” but with the wail of a full-scale emergency, and launched herself into traffic, clearing a path like an icebreaker on a frozen sea.

The journey was a blur of blue lights and risky maneuvers. Carmen drove with surgical precision, forcing cars to move aside, creating a lane where none existed. In the rearview mirror, she saw the black BMW glued to her wheel, trusting her completely.

“Come on, Diego, don’t fall behind,” she whispered from inside the helmet.