Woman Opens Her Door and Sees Crying Little Girl Who Claims Her Mom Is in the House — Story of the Day

How many of us can say that destiny came knocking on our door? For Anna Uriel, destiny appeared as a little girl with big brown eyes and braided hair.

One day, Anna answered the doorbell to see a girl no older than six in a pretty gingham dress. “Hi sweetheart,” Anna said gently. “I think you have the wrong house.”

The girl shook her head. “No, this is my mommy’s house. Please call her.”

Anna replied, “I’m sorry, hun. I’m the only one who lives here.”

The child started crying. “Please, I need my mommy!”

“Where is your daddy?” Anna asked.

“He’s at home. He says mommy’s gone forever, but I know she’s here!” the girl sobbed.

Anna crouched down and said, “Sweetie, your mommy’s not here. How about I give you some warm milk and cookies and take you home to your daddy?”

The girl looked up sadly. “Okay,” she whispered.

Anna turned to lead the girl inside, but when she looked back, the girl was gone. Had it been a dream?

Destiny can bring happiness to our door when we least expect it.

VA

Related Posts

I paid for the entire Thanksgiving feast, but my mother shoved my little daughter out of her chair

The Thanksgiving turkey sat in the center of the mahogany table like a bronzed trophy. It was surrounded by sides that cost more than my first car:…

At our divorce hearing, my husband laughed when he saw I had no lawyer

He sat there in his three-thousand-dollar suit, laughing with his high-priced shark of a lawyer, pointing a manicured finger at the empty chair beside me. Keith Simmons…

I never told my in-laws that I earn three million dollars a year

The turkey weighed twenty-two pounds. It was a heritage breed, free-range, organic bird that cost more than a week’s groceries for a normal family. I knew this…

I never told my son-in-law that I was a retired military interrogator

The dining room of the Victorian house on Elm Street was a masterpiece of warmth and exclusion. Golden light spilled from the crystal chandelier, illuminating the roast…

My eight-year-old son was beaten by his twelve-year-old cousin so badly that his ribs cracked

The sound wasn’t a crack. It was a dull, sickening thud, followed by a wheeze that sounded like air escaping a deflating tire. I was in the…

My parents always branded me as a “stupid child” because I was left-handed

The knuckles of my left hand always ache when the barometric pressure drops, a dull, thrumming reminder of a childhood spent in a state of siege. I…

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *