When I took in a stranded fortune teller and her newborn, I thought I was just offering shelter. But the next morning, my own daughter disappeared from her room.

I slowed down, my doctor instincts kicking in. She looked young and wore a bright scarf wrapped around her head. Her dress was flowing, with patterns and colors that almost glowed under the car’s lights. She looked like she was a fortune teller on a fairground, or maybe a traveling show.

“Help me,” she gasped as I got out and approached.

“Are you hurt?” I asked, moving closer.

She shook her head, wincing. “No… not hurt. I—” she grimaced, clutching her stomach. “It’s my baby… she’s coming…”

It took me a second to process, but then I saw the unmistakable signs. She was in labor, and the contractions looked close.

“Alright, stay calm,” I said, kneeling beside her. “I’m a doctor. Let’s get you through this, okay?”

I glanced around, but we were alone. I hadn’t delivered a baby in years, not since my residency. Still, I had to do something. There wasn’t time to get her anywhere else.

“What’s your name?” I asked, trying to keep her calm.

The contractions came faster, and she grabbed my hand, squeezing hard. I guided her through each one, urging her to stay focused. Soon enough, I could see the baby’s head crowning.

“Almost there, Miranda,” I said. “One more big push. You’ve got this.”

She took a deep breath, pushed, and moments later, I held a tiny, squirming newborn in my hands. The baby let out a weak cry, and I felt a rush of relief. Wrapping the little girl in the towel, I handed her to Miranda.

“No,” she replied quickly, her eyes darting away. “I mean… I don’t… I can’t go to a hospital. I… I left my husband.” She hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully. “He… wasn’t kind to me. I ran away. I’m afraid the hospital will give me away.”

I nodded, sensing she was holding back details. “Alright. Do you have somewhere to go?”

She shook her head slowly, looking down at her baby, her expression a mixture of fear and love. “No. I just… I thought I’d figure it out. But then… the baby came early.”

For a moment, I hesitated. I lived alone with my six-year-old daughter after my wife passed away from cancer. Just us and our nanny. But this woman… she needed help.

“I have a guest room,” I said, hearing the words leave my mouth before I’d really thought it through. “You and your daughter can stay for a few days. Just until you get back on your feet. Then, you will have to go to the hospital.”

Miranda’s eyes filled with tears, and she managed a small smile. “Really? I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Thank you will do,” I replied, giving her a reassuring nod. “Come on, let’s get you both out of the cold.”

“I used to work fairs,” she explained. “Fortune telling, palm reading… that sort of thing. It wasn’t much, but it kept food on the table.”

I nodded, listening as she shared small pieces of her life. She had a quiet, calm voice, with a hint of sadness. She didn’t say much about her past, but enough that I understood the situation was complicated.

Eventually, she finished her sandwich, and I could see her eyelids growing heavy.

The next morning, I got up early to check on my daughter, who was still recovering from her broken leg. But when I opened her bedroom door, her bed was empty. A quick rush of panic went through me.

“Sarah?” I called, scanning the room.

No answer.

I knocked softly before opening the door. Inside, the room was dim, the curtains pulled shut. In the quiet light, I saw Miranda sitting on the edge of the bed.

My daughter was curled up next to her, fast asleep, with Miranda’s newborn nestled beside them. Miranda was humming softly, her hand resting gently on Sarah’s head.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice cracking a little as I spoke.

Miranda put a finger to her lips, her eyes soft as she motioned for me to stay quiet. She leaned down to brush a stray hair from my daughter’s forehead before whispering, “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

I took a breath, willing myself to calm down. “What… happened? Why is Sarah in here?”

Miranda gave a small, reassuring smile. “I was awake with my daughter, trying to get her to sleep, when I heard your little girl crying.” She glanced at Sarah, still sound asleep beside her. “She sounded so upset. I couldn’t just ignore her, so I came in quietly to check on her.”

“She was talking in her sleep,” Miranda explained, her voice soft. “Something about ‘Mommy.’ She looked so lost.”

I swallowed, the mention of “Mommy” hitting me in a tender spot I tried not to dwell on. Sarah often cried out for her mother in her sleep, a wound we were both still trying to heal from.

“She held my hand, even in her sleep,” Miranda continued. “I told her a story my grandmother used to tell me. A silly tale about a guardian who watches over children’s dreams and keeps all the bad ones away. She seemed to calm down after that.”

Miranda looked down at Sarah, her hand resting gently on my daughter’s shoulder. “After a while, I didn’t want to leave her alone, so I brought her here with me.”

I felt my shoulders relax, the initial tension giving way to something softer, something I couldn’t quite name. “Thank you,” I said, my voice a bit rougher than I’d intended. “She’s… been having a hard time since the accident. And, well, since her mom passed.”

Miranda looked up at me, understanding in her eyes. “I know what it’s like to lose family. To feel like no one is there when you’re scared.” She reached over, patting Sarah’s hand. “She’s a sweet girl. She just needs someone close right now.”

Miranda gave a gentle nod, understanding without any need for more words. I felt a strange mix of gratitude and relief. She’d offered my daughter something I hadn’t been able to, a gentle presence we both seemed to need.

“Look, Miranda,” I began, taking a step closer. “I know you planned on moving on soon, but… maybe you could stay a little longer. Just until you’re ready. I think it would be good for Sarah.”

Miranda’s eyes softened, as if my words were both a surprise and a relief. “If you’re sure… I’d like that. Sarah’s a special little girl.”

Just then, Sarah stirred beside her, her eyes fluttering open. She looked up at me, blinking, and then glanced over at Miranda. “Daddy?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

I crouched down beside her. “Morning, sweetheart. You had a little adventure last night.”

Miranda chuckled softly. “You were very brave, you know.”

Sarah’s smile grew, her previous nervousness replaced with a shy kind of joy. “Will you tell me more stories?”

Miranda glanced over at me, and I nodded, feeling a warmth I hadn’t felt in a long time. “Of course,” Miranda said, her voice warm. “I’d be happy to tell you as many as you like.”

One night, as Sarah drifted off to sleep, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for Miranda’s unexpected presence. Somehow, this woman who had come into our lives in the strangest of ways had brought a kind of peace neither Sarah nor I had felt in a long time.

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