I never saw the flood coming.
One minute I was at the sink, washing dishes with sunlight streaming through the kitchen window—and the next, cold water was lapping over my feet, then surging past my knees. The power went out in a blink. Something large crashed against the front door from the outside. I didn’t have time to think—I grabbed Liam and Nora and raced upstairs just as the ground floor vanished beneath a torrent of muddy water.
My phone was already dead. Wind howled outside, and debris smacked against the siding like bullets. I clutched my children close, whispering reassurances I barely believed myself. My hands were shaking.
Then—out of nowhere—a knock.
Soft but steady. From the second-floor window. A flashlight beam cut through the storm, and there he was: a man standing waist-deep in floodwater, wearing a bright yellow raincoat. His voice was calm, almost quiet, but firm. “I’ve got you. Hand them to me.”
I didn’t even stop to question it.
I passed Liam out first, then Nora. He held them like they were made of glass, never once losing his footing as he moved through the churning water with a quiet steadiness, like this was something he’d done before.
Before I could follow, a rescue boat pulled up beside them. He carefully handed my kids to the crew—but instead of climbing in after them, he turned back. Back toward the flooded houses. Toward the chaos.
And just like that, he was gone.
