I grabbed my shoes, grabbed a flashlight, and followed her into the night.
Chapter 3: The Flooded Kitchen
The air outside was thick with humidity, the kind that settles heavily before a storm. When we arrived at Carolina’s house, it was immediately clear that something was wrong. Her house, which was usually so neat and meticulously maintained, had a different feel tonight. The usual calm, quiet energy of her home had been replaced by chaos.
As we approached the kitchen, I saw it: water was pouring from under the sink, flooding the floor in a steady stream. The linoleum was slick with water, and Carolina stood frozen in the middle of it, a bucket in her hands as though it were the only thing keeping her grounded.
I tried to reassure her. “It’s okay,” I said, though I wasn’t sure myself. “I’ll find the main shut-off valve.”
I rushed down to the basement with the flashlight in hand, hoping the solution was simple. But when I reached the basement, I found that the lightbulb had burned out. The air smelled musty and old, and the floorboards creaked beneath my feet. I finally located the shut-off valve and turned it as hard as I could, hoping it would stop the flood.
When I returned upstairs, I found Carolina standing in the same spot, still holding the bucket as if it were the only thing keeping her from collapsing.
“It’s shut off,” I told her, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
She sighed deeply, the weight of the situation finally sinking
