Chapter Text
Miranda put the pillow over her face, hoping she wouldn't hear the eternal ringing of her front doorbell. But it didn't help, she still heard it. Frustrated and annoyed, she threw the pillow across her bedroom, which she hadn't really left in at least 3 weeks.
Exactly 3 weeks ago she had returned from Paris, with the divorce papers in her suitcase, which Stephen had cowardly sent to her in Paris, and a letter of resignation from her job as editor-in-chief. And if that hadn't been enough, her Bobbseys had left her and moved in with her father. On the one hand, because they were mad at their mom for screwing up their marriage to Stephen, and on the other hand, to escape the herds of paparazzi that had been camping outside their townhouse ever since, in order to be able to report exclusively on the dragon lady's deep fall.
Probably everyone had expected that the great Miranda Priestly, the sole ruler of Runway and the fashion world, ready to fight and unscrupulous would get her job back and push Jacqueline Follet from her current throne down.
But no, Miranda had done nothing of the sort. Instead, she had withdrawn from the public eye, gone into her bedroom, and never really left it.
Why should she? There was nothing outside her bedroom that interested her enough at the moment to leave it.
Mary, her housekeeper, had condemned this, of course, and had wanted her to finally get out of bed again. But Miranda had no intention of ever leaving her bedroom or her bed again.
When Mary became more and more annoying, she had simply sent her on vacation without further ado.
But now with the insistent ringing downstairs at her front door, she felt compelled to angrily throw on her robe, trudge angrily down the stairs to throw her hot, blazing anger at whoever at her front door wouldn't let go of the bell.
Without looking through the security peephole in the door, Miranda yanked open her front door and was about to start ranting when she suddenly found herself face to face with a child. Frowning and puzzled for a moment, she looked at the child.
"Who are you and why did you hold my doorbell so rudely?" she asked a touch too gruffly, causing the child to take a step back and look at her with big chocolate brown doe eyes and start nibbling on his lower lip.
"Speak or can't you?" asked Miranda impatiently and the child took a deep breath before beginning to speak.
"My mom always said I wasn't supposed to talk to strangers and Andy always says that too," the child replied and Miranda looked at her questioningly and completely confused.
"But you rang my front doorbell, so I assume you wanted something from me. Right?" she asked, puzzled, but the child shook his head.
"No, I rang my doorbell at my house and you answered it. What are you doing at my home?" the child asked, irritated.
"No, this is my home. Tell me your address?", Miranda inquired and the child thought about it.
"I'm not allowed to talk to you, you're a stranger," the child stubbornly explained and Miranda slowly lost her patience.
"Look, we're not getting anywhere like this. This is my home and if you tell me where you live, I can take you there or call your mom," Miranda offered and the child started nibbling on her lower lip again.
Meanwhile, Patricia sauntered up and the child's eyes widened.
"You got a dog? Uiii, how fine!" the child enthusiastically dashed into the townhouse, not yet paying attention to Miranda or to her mom's warning about not talking to strangers or going with them. Immediately it began to cuddle Patricia and pet her like crazy. Fortunately, the St. Bernard was already used to this from the twins and therefore remained calm.
Miranda looked incredulously at the child, who was now sitting on the floor in her hallway, clinging to Patricia.
"Well, now that you're in my house, how about telling me your name?"
The child looked up at Miranda in amazement.
"Oh..." she mumbled, looking rather guilty.
Miranda tilted her head and raised her eyebrow.
"Well?"
"Um..., if you tell me your name, you won't be a stranger anymore. Right?" the child asked, thinking that was a super good idea.
Miranda rolled her eyes. "So fine, I'm Miranda Priestly and you are?"
"Sascha Porter," the child said, smiling at Miranda.
"So you're a boy?" asked Miranda, who couldn't tell because the child was wearing a rainbow-colored wool cap on his head and his clothes were also rather mismatched in color.
"Oh no, I'm a girl. Look," the little girl pulled her wool cap off her head and long brown curls spilled out and then snaked down her shoulders and back.
"I see it. Forgive me. So Sascha Porter, do you know your address?"
The little girl shook her head.
"No, we just moved in here a little while ago. I can't remember the numbers. But our front door is the same color as your front door and our house looks the same as your house. Are you sure this is your house and not mine?" the little girl asked seriously and Miranda gave a short snort, amused at this very strange logic of the child.
"No, I'm sure this is my house. Because I've been living here for almost 20 years and for another thing, I know my address very well."
"Hm..., okay, then maybe you're right," Sascha sighed softly.
"Now that we've cleared that up, do you know your parents' phone number?"
"I only have Andy's, and yes, I know it. Andy gave me this," Sascha slipped her small hand into her jacket pocket and fumbled around in it for a moment as she first pulled out some rocks which she thrust into Miranda's hand. Then she took out a scrunched up handkerchief, which Miranda refused to touch, so Sascha just stuffed it into her other jacket pocket. Then the little girl pulled out several small marbles and Miranda was already worried that the girl would never find the one they were looking for.
"Ah here it is," Sascha held out a business card to Miranda, which was already slightly crumpled at the corner and also in the middle and in general.
Miranda accepted the business cards and smoothed them out before remembering that without her reading glasses, she probably couldn't read what was written on them.
"Wait, I need my reading glasses."
Miranda left the child with Patricia while she quickly hurried to the second floor, where her study, which she had not entered for at least 3 weeks, was located. There she searched first on her desk and then in the drawers for her reading glasses, before she remembered that she had actually left them upstairs in her bedroom.
Eagerly, she hurried upstairs to the third floor and actually found her reading glasses on the nightstand. With that, she descended the stairs again, but the little girl and Patricia were nowhere to be seen.
"Sascha?" called Miranda, when she got no answer, she called again, but this time a little more alarmed.
"Sascha, where are you?" she called again as she rushed to the kitchen but found it empty. Damn it, where was that kid?
Miranda then looked in the utility room, then went up the stairs until she heard the childish laughter and followed the sound. Sure enough, she found Sascha lying on the carpet in the living room with the St. Bernard half on top of her, licking her with pleasure with her slobbering tongue.
"Sascha, why don't you answer when you're called?" asked Miranda in frustration, and the little girl looked at her guiltily.
Miranda sighed deeply and walked over to the little girls.
"I have my reading glasses now and I'm going to call your mom now, who I hope will pick you up soon."
"You mean Andy. Andy will come," the little girl improved on Miranda, who just looked at her in wonder.
"Okay, I'll call Andy now then."
"Yeah, do that."
Sascha continued to cuddle with Patricia.
Miranda quickly entered the phone number into her cell phone. A moment later, her call was answered.
"Hello, sorry, but I don't have time to talk on the phone right now."
Promptly the call was disconnected and Miranda stared at her cell phone, stunned. Had this person hung up on her just like that? Damn, that was rude!
Miranda completely missed the irony that she had done the same thing herself on a regular basis, both in her personal life and in her professional life.
Now already completely annoyed, she hit redial.
And when seconds later, the call was answered again, she hurriedly explained, "I have your daughter here. Come and pick her up, otherwise I'll call the police," Miranda quickly explained her address and then immediately hung up, without the impertinent person on the other end even had the opportunity to answer.
Satisfied that she had gotten a little revenge, Miranda grinned widely before sighing and looking down at the little girl.
"Your mom will be here in a minute."
"You mean Andy," Sascha corrected her distractedly, and Miranda rolled her eyes. For God's sake, what kind of parents let their kids call them by their first names?
Miranda sat down on the couch and watched Patricia and Sascha frolicking with each other on the carpeted floor. Completely absorbed in the observation, she startled when the annoying ringing of her front doorbell brought her shrilly back to the here and now.
Annoyed, she descended the stairs and opened her front door. But before she even got to say anything, a young woman with an open jacket, tousled long brown hair and flushed cheeks barged into her house.
"Where is she?" she asked breathlessly, and Miranda, completely taken aback, pointed her fingers upward. Before she could even hint at accompanying the young woman upstairs, she was already storming up the stairs.
Miranda rubbed the root of her nose with her index finger and thumb in annoyance before groaning deeply and making her way upstairs to the living room.
Once there, she saw the young woman crouched on the floor, holding Sascha in her arms and talking down to the little girl.
"You mustn't do anything like that again. You gave me a huge scare. We have to work this out together, you know that. You know that you..."
Sascha pushed out of the young woman's arms and looked at her, pouting.
"Calm down Andy, I'm fine. I promise I won't run away again. Okay?"
The young woman, who was obviously Andy, ran her hands through her long open brown hair in exasperation before sinking down on the floor in defeat.
Miranda, who had been watching her for a moment, sat down on the couch before clearing her throat loudly, drawing the young woman's attention.
"Well, now that you have your daughter back, it would be nice if you went home. I have a lot of work to do."
The young woman frowned at Miranda, whose hair looked messily tousled, who was dressed only in a robe and had thick white wool socks on her feet.
Miranda, of course, noticed this look right away and looked down at herself. Oh damn, she had completely forgotten that she had just gotten out of her bed and hadn't dressed properly.
"Um..., yes of course. Come on Sascha let's go, um..."
"Miranda," Miranda offered.
"... Miranda has work to do."
The young woman rose from the carpeted floor and smoothed her unsightly omarock before pulling on her ugly light blue sweater and adjusting it.
Sascha pulled a pout.
"But what about the dog? I don't even know his name yet. Can I take him or go visit him sometime?"
Both women answered "No" at the same time
"But why not?" whined Sascha and the young woman looked over at Miranda seeking help.
"Well Patricia has a lot to do too. She doesn't have time for visitors," Miranda replied lamely, unable to think of anything else clever to say.
Damn, she had gone completely gaga over the last 3 weeks she had spent in her bed.
The young woman looked at her with widened eyes in disbelief, even Sascha didn't buy this nonsensical excuse and looked at her angrily.
"Can I have my own dog then?" she asked instead and the young woman heaved a deep sigh.
"No. Come on let's go."
"But why not?"
"Because I said no. Come now!"
"No!!!" replied Sascha now very stubbornly and defiantly and both Sascha and the young woman looked into each other's eyes for a long moment. Neither wanted to lose the fight.
"Lord in heaven, can you finally go and have your fight at home?" asked Miranda annoyed and the young woman looked at her with a sparkling look that said something like: "You are not very helpful".
But Miranda met that look, with her own annoyed look that said as much as, "That's not my job either!"
The young woman gave up first and simply picked Sascha up off the floor.
"Come on let's go."
Sascha struggled free from her arms and looked at her angrily.
"Only if I can get a cat."
"No, you can't get a cat or a dog. Maybe a stuffed animal, but only if you stop running away!"
"I don't want a stuffed animal!" yelled Sascha angrily as the young woman led them down the stairs.
"Okay, then don't."
The young woman had managed to get Sascha to the front door. Just before she did, she stopped and turned back to Miranda, with whom she suddenly collided, because Miranda had followed the two downstairs.
In order not to fall over, both women reflexively held on to each other. But instead of letting go of each other immediately, they looked into each other's eyes for a long moment while they both began to blush in their own way.
Miranda let go of the young woman first and took a step back. The young woman began to nibble on her lower lip and look at her sheepishly.
"Sorry it was not my intention to knock you down. I just wanted to say thank you for looking out for Sascha. Um..., goodbye Miranda."
The young woman quickly turned around and as she was about to reach for the handle of the front door, her hand unintentionally landed on Miranda's hand, who was also trying to open the front door. Both women sheepishly looked at each other again for a brief moment.
"Yes, goodbye. Please take better care of Sascha and be sure to learn her address with her!" demanded Miranda and the young woman narrowed her eyes briefly.
"Thanks for everything!" she said before pushing Sascha, who didn't really want to leave, out of the townhouse and running down the stairs with her. Before they reached the sidewalk, Miranda had already closed her front door and leaned against it.
"Oh damn, what a horrible afternoon!"
Miranda climbed the stairs again and crept back into her bedroom, where she lay down in bed again. But instead of finding the rest she desperately needed there, she only thought about the encounter with Sascha and this young woman.
This rather terribly dressed young woman. Her clothes were so horrible that you could get eye cancer if you looked at it for more than a few seconds. But now..., her chocolate brown doe eyes were really beautiful to look at. And the warmth that had emanated from the young woman when she had unintentionally run into Miranda was..., well she was....
Oh God, Miranda couldn't even remember the last time she had been touched by another person and felt another human closeness and warmth.
Miranda wrapped herself in her comforter, wiping a tear or maybe it was two or three from her cheek. She missed her Bobbseys and her work so much that it physically hurt. But for the first time in her life, she had no strength left to fight.