When I helped a stranded fortune teller and her newborn, I thought I was just offering shelter. But the next morning, I woke to find my daughter missing from her room.
It had been a long night. Driving down a quiet road, my headlights caught a figure on the shoulder— a woman, weakly waving for help. She looked young, wrapped in a bright scarf, her dress vivid even in the dim light, like a fortune teller from a traveling show.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice strained.
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
She shook her head, clutching her stomach. “Not hurt… but my baby… she’s coming.”
It took a moment to process, but then I realized: she was in labor. I knelt beside her, trying to stay calm.
“My name’s Miranda,” she said between breaths.