I Took in a Fortune Teller with a Newborn—I Was Stunned in the Morning When I Looked into My Sick Daughter’s Room


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.


It was late when I pulled off the highway, my eyes heavy after a long shift. Up ahead, something lay on the side of the road. As my headlights swept over it, I saw a woman, waving weakly.


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.


“Miranda,” she whispered, then cried out, another wave of pain washing over her.


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.


I took a deep breath, glancing around the empty road. “Do you need to get to a hospital?”


“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. 

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