She walked back into the house and I followed her in. She held the little girl in her arms and sighed at me. After finishing the call, I was surprised when I turned around and saw my wife standing in the open doorway. I stepped outside to make a phone call to the police. She slept on her side facing toward the girl as if she had been watching her sleep. My wife was lying on the ground in front of our couch. I stumbled to the kitchen in my usual way, eyes still half asleep, and poured myself some water. I awoke early that morning to an empty space in the bed. Not minding the warmth of our combined body heat, I dozed off soon after. “She told me… when I was… reading…” She started her rhythm of heavy breathing that I heard every night as she slept. “Wait, she talked? She hasn’t said a word to me.” She stayed still, speaking into my neck, “She said they took her home last night, but she got lost again.” “Do you think the police lost the girl?” I asked her. Her head rested in the crevice of my neck. She scrunched up close to me, and we embraced tightly. My wife and I tiptoed to our room and slipped into bed as quietly as possible. She was delighted and fell asleep quickly. Then, she pulled up a children’s story on her phone and started reading to the girl on the couch. My wife made another cup of hot chocolate for the girl. I’ll call first thing tomorrow.” I grabbed some blankets and a pillow from our closet to set up a makeshift bed on our couch. My wife gave her classic death stare that I read as: what did you just say to me? So I threw my hands up and said, “Alright. “Are you crazy?” The girl frowned at me with her smoldering black eyes of coal. ![]() A lost child being found at some stranger’s house two nights in a row? I reached for my phone, but my wife whipped her face to me and said, “That can wait ‘til morning.” The girl giggled as she was lifted through the air. She bent down and wrapped her arms around her, lifting her off the hard cement and onto the soft carpet of our living room. My wife rushed to the door and opened it to see the same little girl. Things were better the next night as my wife and I cuddled on our living room couch, but the same three knocks from the night before came again. She was on her side with her back toward me to hide the fact that she was crying, a habit I was familiar with. I turned over in the sheets and rubbed her back. ![]() My wife just shook her head, and that night I could feel our bed shake to her sobs. “Maybe they’ll find her parents,” I suggested. “I feel so sorry for her,” she said, “The foster system sucks.” “Thank you,” she said, holding her hot chocolate in one hand.Īs I closed the door, I could see tears swelling in my wife’s eyes. She turned around and gave an innocent wave goodbye to my wife. They arrived, asked us a few questions, and quickly escorted the girl out. Despite the late hour, they immediately sent help. ![]() I got on the phone with a 911 operator and explained the situation. ![]() She was orphaned at a young age, so I knew she was trying her best to comfort this lost little girl. My wife scrambled to our little kitchen and boiled some water over the stove. If not, she would just stare at my wife dumbfoundedly. She either shook her head or nodded it if it was a yes-no question. My wife bombarded her with questions: “Are you lost? Where are your parents? Do you have their phone number? Why are you alone?” The little girl didn’t vocally respond to any of the questions.
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