I don’t talk about this often. Maybe because deep down, I still wrestle with it. But some stories never leave you, no matter how much time passes.
It happened a few years ago during a rainy season. I was traveling back from a friend’s place when the sky opened up and poured down like it was trying to wash the earth clean. The roads were flooded, the air thick with fear, and people were rushing to find shelter.
As I crossed a narrow street bridge, I heard the loud, desperate cry of a child. I stopped in my tracks. People were yelling, running, but this cry cut through everything. I turned and saw a little girl, maybe seven or eight, trapped in a broken-down car that was slowly sliding toward the edge of the bridge. Water had risen so fast, it was like the ground had disappeared.
In that moment, something inside me clicked. I didn’t think about anything else, just that she needed help. I ran toward the car, ignoring the shouts behind me. Some were telling me not to go. Others were calling for help. But time was ticking. The car was tilting.
I climbed onto the hood, forced the door open, and grabbed her. Her tiny hands clung to my jacket. She was shaking, eyes wide, but she didn’t make a sound. I pulled her out and turned to get back, but in that second, the car slipped, dragging part of the bridge railing with it. Two people who had been trying to help from the other side were pulled into the flood and swept away. I never even saw their faces.
I held that girl tight as we were pulled up to safety by others. She lived. But not everyone did.
I still hear the voices sometimes. The ones that ask, "Did I do the right thing?" I saved one, but lost two. People praised me. They called me a hero. But it didn’t feel like that. It felt heavy. Like life gave me a choice, and I made it, but it cost something.
I’m not writing this for attention. I’m writing because life is full of hard choices. Sometimes, doing the right thing doesn’t feel right. It hurts. It leaves marks you can’t see. But we make the best choice we can, with the time we have, and the heart we carry.
That little girl is alive. She goes to school now. I see her sometimes. She waves at me, smiles. And in those moments, I remind myself: maybe saving one person is enough. Maybe one life saved still matters, even if it came at a cost.
If you ever find yourself in a moment where you have to choose, just remember this: no one choice is perfect. Just make the one that lets you live with yourself afterward.
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