Time lost all meaning. It was measured not in minutes, but in the relentless, incremental creep of the dark, foul water up the legs of the bed. The candle on the nightstand guttered, its tiny flame a defiant, dying star in the overwhelming blackness. Mina huddled on the mattress, knees drawn to her chest, the waterproof folder of documents her only anchor in a drowned world.
The sounds were a nightmare symphony: the ceaseless drumming of rain, the sinister gurgle and lap of the water, and the occasional, heart-stopping groan from the building itself. Every creak was a potential death knell.
A new sound cut through the din—a distant, rhythmic thumping. Whump-whump-whump. It grew louder, closer. A helicopter? Rescue? Hope, sharp and painful, lanced through her. She scrambled to her knees on the sodden mattress, peering into the darkness.
A beam of light, powerful and stark, swept across her window. It illuminated the horizontal sheets of rain and the terrifying expanse of brown water that had once been the city streets, thirty floors below. The light swept past, then returned, holding steady. They'd seen her candle.
"Here!" she screamed, her voice raw and thin against the storm's roar. "I'm in here!"
She waved her arms frantically, a tiny, desperate silhouette against the glass. The helicopter hovered, a monstrous mechanical dragonfly. A figure was visible in the open side door, gesturing.
Minutes later, a different sound—the shouted voices of men and the powerful thrum of an outboard motor. A rescue boat, navigating what was now a river through her upscale neighborhood.
A heavy knocking echoed at her front door. "Emergency services! Is anyone in there?"
"Yes! I'm here!" she cried, sloshing through the knee-deep water to unlatch the door.
Two figures in bright orange waterproof gear stood in the hallway, which was now a swift-moving canal. Their faces were grim under their headlamps.
"Ma'am, are you alone? Are you injured?"
"I'm alone. I'm not hurt," she said, her teeth chattering from cold and shock.
"We need to evacuate you now. The structural integrity of buildings in this area is compromised. Grab only what you absolutely need."
Her eyes swept the ravaged apartment. What was left? The water had swallowed everything below the waist. The beautiful rug was a ruined sponge. The sofa was stained and bloated. The smell of decay was overwhelming.
"This is all I have," she said, her voice hollow, holding up the folder.
They helped her into the boat. The journey through the building's lobby was surreal. The concierge's desk was submerged. Floating debris—a magazine, a potted plant, a single high-heeled shoe—bobbed in the water. They motored out into the open, where the streetlights were dead, and the city was a dark, churning lake.
The evacuation center was a chaotic, overcrowded secondary school gymnasium. The air was thick with the smell of wet bodies, despair, and antiseptic. Cots were lined up in rows, families huddled together, their lives reduced to plastic bags and stunned silence.
A volunteer handed her a coarse grey blanket and directed her to an empty cot. She sat on the thin mattress, the folder on her lap, and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. It did nothing to stop the shaking.
She had to call Lara. She had to call the hospital. Her phone was dead. She looked around at the sheer volume of people, the overwhelmed volunteers. Finding a charger felt like an impossible quest.
"Mina? My God, Mina!"
She looked up. Lara was fighting her way through the crowded gym, her face pale with panic, her clothes soaked. She fell to her knees in front of the cot, grabbing Mina's icy hands.
"I've been going out of my mind! I came as soon as they let people in. Your phone goes straight to voicemail… I thought…" Lara's words tumbled out in a frantic rush. Her eyes took in Mina's vacant expression, the single folder. "The apartment?"
Mina just nodded, a single, jerky movement. She couldn't form the words.
Lara's face crumpled. She pulled her sister into a fierce, tight hug. "It doesn't matter. You're safe. You're alive. That's all that matters."
But it did matter. It was everything they had left.
"Adams," Mina whispered into Lara's shoulder. "I have to tell him. I need a phone."
Lara handed over her mobile. Mina's fingers, numb and clumsy, dialed the hospital number she now knew by heart.
The ward sister answered. "ICU."
"It's Mina Dared. My husband, Adams… I need to speak to him. It's urgent."
There was a pause. "Mrs. Dared, he's sedated for the night. He had a very difficult day with physio. Is everything alright?"
No, she screamed inside her head. Nothing is alright. "There's been…a flood. Our home… it's…" She swallowed the sob rising in her throat. "Please, just… when he wakes up, tell him I'm safe. I'm with my sister. Don't tell him about the house. I need to be the one."
She hung up before the nurse could reply, handing the phone back to Lara, her hand trembling.
The next morning, she used Lara's phone again. She called the insurance company. The hold music was infuriatingly cheerful. Finally, a agent came on the line.
"I'm calling to report a claim," Mina said, her voice straining for a composure she didn't feel. "Water damage. Catastrophic flooding."
"Policy number?" the agent asked, tone bored.
She read it from a card in the folder. "And the address of the insured property?"
Mina gave the penthouse address. A long pause.Keys clacked. "I'm sorry, ma'am. This policy lapsed last month due to non-payment of the premium."
The world tilted. "What? That's impossible. It's on automatic payment."
"The payment was declined. A notice was sent."
The notice. It was probably in a pile of unopened mail on Adams's desk. A desk now under three feet of filthy water.
"So… there's no coverage?" The words were a whisper.
"I'm afraid not."
Mina ended the call. She looked at Lara, who was watching her, eyes wide with question.
"The insurance lapsed," Mina said, the truth landing with the force of a physical blow. "We have no insurance."
The full weight of their situation crashed down upon her. No job. A mountain of medical debt. And now, no home, and no way to rebuild it. They were not just battered. They were utterly ruined.
Lara took her hand. "You'll stay with me," she said, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "It's small, but it's dry. We'll figure this out."
We. The word was a tiny lifeline.
Later that day, armed with a borrowed charger and a sliver of battery life, Mina knew she could delay no longer. She had to face him. She video-called the hospital. A nurse held the tablet for Adams.
His face appeared on the screen, gaunt and etched with pain, but his eyes were clear. "Mina? Why are you on video? Is everything okay? You didn't come this morning…" His voice was weak, but laced with concern.
She forced a smile, hoping the gym's dim light hid the circles under her eyes. "Everything's fine, my love. I'm at Lara's. There was… a bit of a leak in the building. A pipe burst. They're fixing it. Nothing to worry about." The lies tasted like ash.
His brow furrowed. He knew her too well. "A leak? What kind of leak? Is Trisha's room okay?"
"It's fine," she said, her voice too bright, too quick. "Everything's fine. How was your therapy today?"
He studied her through the screen, his journalist's instinct sniffing out the half-truth. "It was hell," he said flatly, his eyes searching hers. "Don't change the subject. Mina, what's wrong? You look terrible."
The concern in his voice, the helplessness of his position, was her undoing. A tear escaped, tracing a path through the dust on her cheek. She quickly wiped it away.
"It's nothing," she insisted, her voice cracking. "I'm just tired. I miss you."
She saw the doubt in his eyes, the flicker of his old perceptiveness fighting through the medication and pain. He knew she was hiding something.
"Mina…" he began, his voice a low warning.
"I have to go, the battery is dying!" she blurted out, the words tumbling over each other. "I love you! I'll see you soon!"
She ended the call before he could respond, before his sharp mind could piece it all together. She sat on the edge of the cot in the noisy, crowded gym, surrounded by hundreds of people.
She had never felt more completely alone. The flood had taken their home, their possessions, their financial security. And in its wake, it was forcing her to build a dam of lies between herself and her husband, isolating them from each other precisely when they needed to be together most. The water had receded, but the drowning had just begun.