When I picked up a stranded fortune teller and helped deliver her baby, I thought I was just offering a night of shelter. But by morning, my daughter had vanished from her room.

Exhausted after work, I spotted a young pregnant woman on the roadside. She was in labor, and with no time to spare, I helped her deliver her baby right there. She introduced herself as Miranda—soft-spoken, with a mysterious air—and said she’d fled an abusive husband. She had nowhere to go, so I offered her and her newborn a place to stay, just for a few days.

The next morning, panic gripped me—my daughter, Sarah, was missing. I searched the house and finally found her asleep in Miranda’s room, curled beside her and the baby. Miranda gently explained she’d heard Sarah crying in the night and comforted her with a story about a dream guardian. Sarah had calmed down and fallen asleep with her.

Miranda had connected with my daughter in a way I hadn’t since my wife passed. That morning, Sarah woke smiling—light in her eyes for the first time in weeks. Miranda’s presence, once unexpected, now felt like something we both needed.

I asked her to stay a little longer. And in that moment, with laughter returning to our home, I realized healing sometimes comes from the most unlikely places.