At 19, I babysat for a kind single mom who always came home before midnight.
One night, she didn’t.
By 3 a.m., worried sick, I turned on the TV and froze when I saw her face on the news.
For a moment, I feared the worst.
Then I learned she was the hero. A fire had broken out nearby, and she had rushed inside to rescue trapped residents before firefighters arrived.
About thirty minutes later, she finally came home, covered in soot and exhausted.
The next day, everyone called her brave. But what I remember most is watching her kiss her sleeping son goodnight and quietly cry with relief that she made it home.