I helped a boy get home, but when his mother saw me, she went pale and said, “It’s… you?”

I helped a boy get home, but when his mother saw me, she went pale and said, “It’s… you?”
I looked at her in confusion, and when she started to speak, a cold shiver ran through my body, and everything around us froze. I was driving down an empty highway, thinking of nothing. Only the sound of rain and the hum of the engine.

And suddenly — a silhouette. A small boy in the middle of the road, soaked to the bone, clutching a puppy to his chest. I slammed on the brakes.

The wheels skidded on the asphalt. — What are you doing here?! — I shouted over the rain.

He looked up. The puppy trembled. So did the boy.

— I got lost… I didn’t want to leave him alone. Mom said I couldn’t, but I went anyway. I muttered a curse and backed up.

— All right, hop in. We’ll find your mom. He sat behind me, holding the puppy like a lifeline.

We took off. After a few streets, he suddenly said:
— Here. That house.

I stopped. He jumped off, ran to the door, and knocked. The door opened.

A woman. A tired face, eyes — like an electric shock. I stopped.

He jumped off, ran to the door, and knocked. The door opened. On the doorstep — a woman.

A weary face, hair stuck to her temples. For a moment, she seemed not to believe her eyes — then she rushed forward and hugged the boy tightly. — Where have you been?!

— her voice broke, trembling with worry and relief. She held him close, kissed his wet hair… and suddenly lifted her gaze. Our eyes met.

She froze, turned pale. — It’s… you? I frowned.

— Do we know each other? She stepped forward, still holding her son by the shoulders. Her voice trembled.

And at her next words, a chill ran through me, as if the rain had soaked through my skin again…

I helped a boy get home, but when his mother saw me, she went pale and said, “It’s… you?”

— You… that night… — she couldn’t finish. Her lips trembled, her eyes darted past me, as if someone else were standing there in the dark.

— I’m sorry, — I said quietly. — I think you’re mistaken. She shook her head.

— No. I remember. You pulled us out of the car… at night, on the highway, five years ago.

There was a burning fuel truck. I was holding my child, screaming — and suddenly someone opened the door… It was you. The words hung between us, mixing with the sound of the rain.

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