I finally snapped out of it and waded downstairs.
The water inside the house had risen to my waist. Furniture floated like forgotten toys. I pushed through it, shivering, and forced the swollen door open with my shoulder.
Outside, the current tugged at my legs. I made it to the curb just in time to see a small rescue boat pulling away, my kids huddled inside with blankets already wrapped around them.
The man in the yellow jacket helped them in gently, gave the captain a thumbs-up, and then—without climbing in himself—turned back toward my house.
“Wait!” I shouted, stumbling after him through the water. “What’s your name?”
He paused mid-step, half-turned, and said quietly:
“Tell them someone was looking out for them today.”
And just like that, he disappeared between the houses.
