I was ready to issue a simple fine after pulling over a woman doing 95 mph but then I spotted something odd beneath her feet.
Id stopped her for speeding, fully prepared to write the ticketstandard day on the jobuntil I saw it. The puddle. Not water. Something far more urgent.
It had been a routine patrol. My partner and I were cruising down a country motorwaynotorious for accidents, especially on the long straights where drivers get reckless. Quiet shift. Too quiet, really.
Then, like a bullet, a silver car tore past us as if we werent even there. The radar didnt lie: 95 mph. Broad daylight, empty road. Maybe she had a reason. But no excuse.
I ran the platesclean, no flags. Flipped on the blues and twos, signalled her to pull over. The car slowed then lurched forward again.
Over the loudspeaker, I barked: *”Driver, pull over immediately! You are breaking the law.”*
A few hundred yards later, she finally veered onto the shoulder. I approached, protocol in mind. Behind the wheela woman in her thirties, face pale, eyes wide with panic.
*”You aware of the speed limit here?”*
*”Y-yes I know,”* she gasped, barely audible.
*”Licence and registration, please,”* I said firmly, leaning in.
Thats when I saw it. The wet patch on the floor mat. Not spilt tea. Not rain. Waters. Broken.
*”Your watershave they gone?”*
*”Please help me Im alone”* she choked out.
No time. Radioed it in*”Escorting a woman in labour to hospital.”* We moved her into our car. I drove fast but steady. Contractions came harder. She groaned, then screamed.
I gripped her hand, muttering reassurances I wasnt sure I believed myself.
We made it with seconds to spare. The medics, pre-warned, were waiting. They whisked her inside before I could even park properly.
Hours later, still shaken, I went back. A midwife stepped out, grinning.
*”Congratulations. A little girl. Both mum and baby are perfect.”*
Moments like that? Theyre why I do this job. The law matters. But mercy? Thats what really counts.
