An engine roared against the storm.
The metal door jerked upward violently, wind and rain exploding inward. And there he stood—Uncle Charlie—soaked, furious, illuminated by his truck’s high beams like some kind of wrathful guardian.
He didn’t hesitate. He waded through the filthy water and lifted me off the mattress as if I weighed nothing.
The interior house door flew open.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” my father shouted over the gale. “Put her down! That’s my daughter!”
Charlie turned slowly, shielding me with his body. “You locked a child in a flooding garage.”
“She was being dramatic!” my mother cried, though her voice wavered.
Charlie stepped closer, water swirling around his boots. “You gave your favorite a dry room and left the youngest to drown.”
“You can’t take her,” my father insisted.
Charlie’s expression hardened into something unmovable. “Watch me.”
