It blurred.

I hummed while cleaning dishes as the kids played next door. Water moved over the tiles, engulfing the floor like a living creature. Catching my breath. It was knee-deep and rising in the living room when I arrived.

A fracture cut electricity. The lights flickered and died.

I tried the door—no luck. Bloated by pressure. The water seals.

Panic ensued.

I pulled Liam and Nora up the stairs. Whether dead from the storm or panicked, my phone was useless. Trapped. The river rose too quickly and quietly. In the dark, I held them close, appearing calm yet trembling like a leaf by storm.

Then knock.

No—a window hammering. And a flare of light through the fog. A guy in waist-deep water, his flashlight cutting the darkness.

Man in bright yellow jacket.

“I got you!” yelled. Let them through—now!

I acted immediately. Not asked his name. I gave him my kids one by one, seeing him balance them easily against his chest and protect their faces from the rain.

I fell barefoot and breathless after them, but a rescue boat passed by by the time I reached the street.

He gave over the youngsters gently. Then turned.

“Wait!” Calling out. “Who are you?”

He paused briefly.

“Tell them someone looked out for them today.”

He turned back into the dark toward the abandoned home next door.

Suddenly gone.

Crew assisted me onto boat. I held my babies, shaking and drenched. All I could think of was the guy who left before I could thank you.

I inquired at the evacuation shelter. Described him. Tall, tranquil yellow jacket. Nobody recognized him. A senior volunteer blinking behind heavy spectacles.

“That sounds like the guy who rescued the Reynolds’ dog from the roof,” she added softly. “They don’t know who he is either.”

A flood phantasm.

We were let back, but our street looked like it had been dragged through hell. Trees held debris. Mud covered everything. Even though it stood, my home looked injured.

I carried Nora as Liam gripped my hand like he would never let go. Mildew, filth, and sadness struck first. Climbing the stairs, we grabbed photographs, medications, and some dry clothing.

Freeze on the way out.

Footprints.

The stairs to the broken window are large and dirty. They halted at the sill.

He never requested entry. Never shattered glass.

Just appeared. And vanished.

I sat awake staring at nothing as my kids slept on borrowed cots. What if he hadn’t come?

We moved in with my sister two days later. Life went on. The youngsters adjusted. I didn’t.

I went door-to-door in the neighborhood after nightfall.

“I’m not here to bother anyone,” I said. I want to thank him.”

Mr. Henley, a quiet neighbor, hesitated as I related the rescue one night.

“You said he approached the neighboring house?”

I nodded.

That place is unoccupied since last year. Fire consumed most. Probably a fireman. His name was Mark. Sold it when his wife died.”

I blinked. “No one lives there?”

Shaking his head. Not that I know of. However, someone may have returned. People return to ruins more frequently than you think.”

I visited the damaged home the following morning. In daylight, the darkened porch, boarded windows, and watchful calm were terrible.

Knocked anyhow.

No reply.

I saw a crayon artwork on the mailbox as I left.

Two stick-figure kids with a towering yellow-coat guy. See below: “THANK YOU — From Liam & Nora”

Behind my eyelids, tears burned. Not seen them sketch it. It must have happened while I slept.

I wrote a letter beneath theirs: “Thanks for saving us. If you need anything, knock.”

He never did.

Weeks passed. Then months. He’s missing.

Until one spring night when Nora’s illness persisted. The small chest wheezed with every breath. I raced her to the ER, heart racing.

We waited hours. Nurses moved slowly. Too far away, machines beeped like hearts.

After midnight, a nurse appeared. A guy is in the lobby. Asking about Nora.”

I stood, dumbfounded. “Who is he?”

She shrugged. Not said. I wanted to check on her. He refused to enter.”

The lobby was empty as I raced to the front.

The receptionist gave me an envelope.

Inside: “She’ll be fine.” She’s powerful like her mom.”

Attached to the bottom is a little plastic fireman badge.

My hands trembled. Everything clicked.

Not a passerby. No drifter.
A fireman.
Maybe someone who failed to rescue someone and vowed never to do it again. Not if he could.

Never found him again.

I notice indications sometimes.

Post-windstorm rake on the porch.

A sealed grocery box while unwell.

Two blocks down, a bloom beneath the hydrant.

Not all tales require names.

Not all angels require wings.

When rescuing you is enough, the bravest wade into the ocean without accolades.