"Mom?" Jamie called.
In a flash, Abby was at the door, panic written all over her face.
"Jamie? Are you okay? What—" Abby paused, looked at her daughter, who was curled up on her bed, shivering, despite the warmth. "Honey, are you okay?"
"I—I'm fine Mom," Jamie said, in a shaky voice.
"Oh, sweetie, what's wrong?"
"Is there a fire? Why was there a firetruck?"
"I don't know. I think there might have been a fire. Yes, I think there was a firetruck. Did it scare you?"
On normal terms, Jamie would have grumbled at the way Abby said it—as if Jamie were a little kid. But it had scared her.
Her mother entered the shadowy room, and sat down on the edge of Jamie's bed. There was a comfortable silence, that neither Jamie nor her mother wished to break.
Wordlessly, Abby laid down, and hugged Jamie cuddling her in her arms. A special warmth was shared between them, as they clutched each other.
They hugged for hours, until finally, the sun shone in through the window.
Jamie was fast asleep, in a dreamless sleep, as Abby got up. The mother headed to the window, to close her daughter's curtains, when she spotted something odd out the window. There was a man, hurrying down the street.
He was wearing a stiff leather jacket, and walking with a wide, brisk stride. The strangest bit about it, was that Abby could not quite distinguish what the man looked like. Whenever she looked at his face, or head, she saw him, but her brain did not recall any details. She tried to focus on what his hair colour was. Brown? Blond? Black? Red? She couldn't tell. It was almost like something was blocking her eyes from perceiving him.
Though Abby had seen her fair share of strange things in her life, it had been awhile since something odd like this had happened.
Like the time Jamie had moved her crib as a toddler.
A few months after Abby and Felix had adopted Jamie, there had been a lot of stress in the household. The stock market was failing them, and they were seriously considering moving to a cheaper home.
Abby had been up all night the evening before, working on her computer, trying to get in a report to work.
It was early morning, and Abby heard baby giggles from upstairs. Deciding that it would be good to check on their new baby—and also wanting a break from the tedious work—Abby had left her office, and mounted the stairs.
When she got up to the door of the baby's room, she had started to worry. She twisted the handle, and pushed, but it had not opened. She shoved harder, but it stayed still. Finally, she called Felix. Just as he was coming up the stairs, she door had burst open. Abby had gasped, as she stumbled into the room. The little nursery had been a mess. Toys and books were strewn everywhere, and clothes were laying across the floor.
In the middle of it all—sitting in a clearing—was two-year-old Jamie. Still wearing her diaper, she looked no different than Abby had left her earlier that morning, last time she'd come to check on the girl.
The biggest surprise, was the crib.
As the house the Fosters lived in, was fairly old, the light fixtures were what you would call vintage. They were not overly fancy, but nonetheless, chandeliers. Swinging to and fro upon the hooks of the light, was the bright pink and white polka-dotted crib.
Jamie had started giggling.
Back in the moment, Abby shut the curtains, and went downstairs, leaving her daughter to rest.

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