Before I could say anything else, he turned and opened his truck door.
I stood there, torn between gratitude and disbelief. “Can I at least know your name?”
He looked back once.
“Call me whatever you want,” he said. “But I was just someone looking out for them.”
And then he drove away.
I still don’t know his name.
I never saw him again after that.
But every time my kids laugh, every time I hold them close, I think about him. About the stranger who appeared in the rain like something out of a story, who risked his life to save mine without asking for anything in return.
So I do what he asked.
I tell them someone was looking out for them that day.
And when they’re older, I’ll tell them about the man in the yellow coat who taught me that heroes don’t always wear badges, or capes—or even stay to take a bow.
Sometimes, they just come when they’re needed…
…and disappear into the storm.
