Through the wood, I heard laughter. The soft clatter of Scrabble tiles. Brianna complaining about triple-word scores.
I knocked harder. “Please! The water is rising!”
The door cracked open. My father’s face appeared in the dim hallway glow. He looked inconvenienced.
“You are ruining this evening,” he snapped. “Stop overreacting.”
“I’m standing in water!” I shouted, panic cracking my voice. “It’s almost at the mattress!”
“Brianna needs quiet to focus,” he barked. “Jessica—” he corrected himself impatiently, “—Brianna comes first. She always will. Handle it.”
The door slammed shut. The deadbolt slid home with a sound that echoed louder than the storm.
The water reached mid-calf. My jeans clung heavily to my skin. The mattress shifted precariously as the bins beneath it trembled. I climbed back onto it, wrapping my arms around myself, shivering violently—not only from cold but from something far worse. I understood, with a clarity that hurt more than the freezing water, that my safety ranked below my sister’s convenience.
My phone showed one fragile bar of service. I didn’t dial 911. I didn’t call a neighbor.
I called my father’s older brother.
