You don’t think when you’re running into a fire.
You move.
Smoke burns your throat. Heat presses against your back. The adrenaline is louder than your own heartbeat. We got the call after 2 a.m.—a small house, heavy flames, neighbors screaming that there was still a kid inside.
I found her in the back bedroom, curled up under a desk. Covered in soot, but alive. I scooped her up and told her she was safe now. Just hold on—we were almost there.
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