She was certain she’d found a rug… but something inside was moving…

“Local?”

“You bet!” He stepped out. “How’d you end up here?”

“Long story,” she sighed, handing him the note. “I need to deliver this to an address. Can you help?”

He glanced at the paper and whistled:

“Far! But for a fellow Georgian, I’m in.”

Sarah climbed in, gingerly adjusting the oversized shoes:

“Too big, so I was walking barefoot.”

The driver just smiled and pulled onto the road.

On the way, she told him everything: finding Margaret, hiding her, the son-in-law who might return. The driver, Adam, listened closely, occasionally commenting but mostly silent, empathetic.

When they pulled up to a gated mansion, Adam whistled again:

“Wow, your friends live large!”

“Not friends,” Sarah said. “This is a rescue.”

She pressed the intercom. A woman’s voice answered:

“Who’s there?”

“Sarah, sent by Margaret Peterson. I have a letter.”

The gate opened. A tall guy in glasses rushed out:

“What’s with Grandma?! Why isn’t she calling?!”

“She’s alive,” Sarah said quickly. “But in danger. The sooner you get her, the better.”

James nodded, ran to the garage, jumped in a car, and peeled out:

“She’s in town?”

“At the dump, in a cabin,” Sarah replied. “Her son-in-law dumped her there in a rug. We hid, but he might come back.”

James stared at the road, pensive:..