It was late, and I was exhausted, my eyes heavy from a long shift as I drove down the lonely highway. Up ahead, something—or someone—was on the side of the road. My headlights swept over the figure, and I saw a woman waving weakly.
I slowed down, my instincts kicking in. She looked young, with a bright scarf wrapped around her head, and her flowing dress shimmered in the car lights with colors that almost seemed magical. She looked like one of those fortune tellers you see at fairs, traveling shows, or carnival sideshows.
“Help me,” she gasped as I stepped out.
“Are you hurt?” I asked, moving closer.
She shook her head, wincing, then clutched her stomach. “No… not hurt. I—” she grimaced again. “It’s my baby… she’s coming…”
It hit me in a flash. She was in labor, and it looked serious.
“Alright, stay calm,” I said, kneeling beside her. “I’m a doctor. Let’s get through this together.”
We were alone. I hadn’t delivered a baby in years—not since residency—but there was no time to drive her anywhere.
“What’s your name?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.
“Miranda,” she whispered, then cried out as another contraction hit. Her hand gripped mine tightly.
I guided her, counting with her, reminding her to breathe. The contractions came fast. Soon, the baby’s head started to crown.
“Almost there, Miranda,” I said. “One more big push. You’ve got this.”
She took a deep breath, pushed with everything she had, and moments later, I held a tiny, wriggling newborn in my hands. The baby let out a weak cry. Relief washed over me as I wrapped her in a towel and handed her back to Miranda.
I looked around. The road was empty, cold. “Do you need to go to a hospital?”
“No,” she said quickly, avoiding my gaze. “I… I can’t. I left my husband. He… wasn’t kind. I ran away. I’m afraid the hospital will find me.”
I nodded, sensing she wasn’t telling everything. “Do you have somewhere to go?”
She shook her head, her eyes soft on her baby. “No… I thought I’d figure it out. But then… she came early.”
I hesitated. I lived alone with my six-year-old daughter, Sarah, after my wife passed from cancer. But Miranda needed help—there was no doubt.
“I have a guest room,” I said, before thinking too much. “You and your daughter can stay a few days. Just until you get back on your feet. After that, the hospital… well, you’ll have to go.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Really? I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Thank you will do,” I said, nodding. “Come on, let’s get you both out of the cold.”
Back at my house, I set her up in the guest room. Miranda cradled her newborn, exhausted but grateful.
“I used to work fairs,” she said softly. “Fortune telling, palm reading… it wasn’t much, but it kept food on the table.”
I nodded, listening. Her voice had a quiet sadness, a hint of history she wasn’t ready to share.
“You should rest,” I told her gently. “You’ve been through a lot tonight.”
She nodded, finally closing her eyes, the baby resting against her chest.
The next morning, I went to check on Sarah. She’d been recovering from a broken leg, and I wanted to see if she was awake. But when I opened her bedroom door, the bed was empty. Panic surged.
“Sarah?” I called. No answer.
I searched the hallway, the kitchen, the living room. Still nothing. My heart pounded as I slowly approached Miranda’s room. Something felt… off.
I knocked, then opened the door. The room was dim, the curtains drawn. And there they were: Miranda, sitting on the edge of the bed, humming softly, and Sarah curled up beside her, asleep. Miranda’s newborn was nestled close as well.
“What… what are you doing?” My voice cracked.
Miranda put a finger to her lips, motioning for silence. Then she brushed a stray hair from Sarah’s forehead. “I didn’t mean to worry you,” she whispered.
I struggled to calm my racing heart. “Why… why is Sarah in here?”
Miranda smiled gently. “She was crying last night. I was awake with my daughter and heard her. She sounded so lost, so sad. I couldn’t just leave her.”
She glanced at Sarah. “She even held my hand in her sleep. I told her a story my grandmother used to tell me—a story about a guardian who watches over children’s dreams and keeps all the bad ones away. It seemed to help.”
I felt my shoulders relax, some tension melting away. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “She’s… been struggling since her mom… since the accident.”
Miranda’s eyes were soft. “I know what it’s like to feel alone when you’re scared. She’s a sweet girl. She just needs someone close right now.”
I watched them. Sarah, asleep against Miranda, and the newborn, tiny and delicate, all three calm in the morning light. Miranda had done something I hadn’t been able to do in a long time.
“Look, Miranda,” I said carefully, “I know you’ll move on soon, but… maybe stay a little longer. Just until you’re ready. It would be good for Sarah.”
Her eyes softened, a mix of surprise and relief. “If you’re sure… I’d like that. Sarah’s special.”
Just then, Sarah stirred, blinking sleepily. “Daddy?” she murmured.
I crouched beside her. “Morning, sweetheart. You had a little adventure last night.”
Sarah turned to Miranda, a small smile spreading. “Miranda told me a story… about a guardian who keeps nightmares away.”
Miranda chuckled. “You were very brave, you know.”
Sarah’s sleepy excitement grew. “Will you tell me more stories?”
Miranda glanced at me, and I nodded. “Of course,” she said warmly. “As many as you want.”
In that small moment, the dark memories that had filled our home seemed to fade. Sarah’s giggles and questions filled the room, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a sense of peace. Somehow, this stranded fortune teller had brought light back into our lives, showing both Sarah and me a gentle kind of comfort we hadn’t felt in years.