I Saved a Little Boy from Icy Water – and It Destroyed My Life Overnight
I reached for his hand just as he went under again.
My hand closed around his wrist, and I jerked him toward me.
He came up, coughing and spluttering, lips turning blue.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you.”
The water was only waist-deep, but it felt like drowning anyway. My legs were numb.
Somehow, I dragged him back. Somehow, we made it to the shore.
Somehow, we made it to the shore.
He was coughing, gasping, shivering so hard his teeth chattered. I wrapped my arms around him and stumbled toward the bus.
The kids were pressed against the windows, mouths open, completely still.
I grabbed every towel I could find in the emergency bin, wrapped him up, cranked the heat as high as it would go, and called dispatch.
“A child went into the lake. I got him out, but we need help.”
“A child went into the lake. I got him out, but we need help.”
When the deputies arrived, they told me I’d likely saved his life.
I just sat there, nodding, still clutching my work phone from when I’d called earlier.
The phone vibrated in my hand.
There was a message notification.
I opened it, and what I read there made my stomach drop.
The phone vibrated in my hand.
It was a text from an unknown number.
Not too unusual in itself, since parents sometimes use the number displayed on the dash, and we were running late now, but the message wasn’t about that.
It was just one sentence.
