The Storm’s Wrath The sky darkened over the small coastal town of Marlow as storm clouds gathered like an army preparing for battle. The wind howled through the narrow streets, rattling windows and bending trees. Fishermen rushed to secure their boats, knowing the sea would soon turn violent. Inside a small wooden house near the shore, Sarah held her son, Daniel, close. He was only six, his wide blue eyes filled with fear as the first drops of rain hit the roof like tiny drumbeats. “Mommy, will the storm be big?” he asked. Sarah forced a smile. “Just a little rain, sweetheart. We’ll be safe inside.” But she knew better. The radio had warned of an approaching hurricane, stronger than anything Marlow had seen in decades. As night fell, the wind roared louder, shaking the house to its core. The lights flickered and died, leaving them in darkness. Then, a sudden, deafening crack—lightning struck a nearby tree, splitting it in two. Sarah’s heart pounded. Then came the worst sound of all—the distant crash of waves breaking past the seawall. The ocean was invading the town. Water seeped under the door, creeping across the wooden floor. Sarah grabbed Daniel’s hand. “We need to go, now!” She opened the door, only to be met with a powerful gust of wind and rain that nearly knocked her over. The street had turned into a river. Cars floated like paper boats. The sirens of emergency vehicles wailed through the chaos. Holding Daniel tightly, she waded through the rising water. Each step was a struggle. A piece of a rooftop flew past, barely missing them. Then, another explosion of light—lightning struck a house down the street. Flames erupted, their orange glow reflecting in the floodwaters. The fire spread quickly, devouring everything in its path. Sarah’s strength was fading. The water was now at her waist. Then she felt it—Daniel’s grip slipping from her hand. “No! Daniel!” she screamed. He was pulled by the current, his small body disappearing into the darkness. With a final burst of energy, Sarah lunged forward, grabbing his shirt. She pulled him close, struggling against the water, against the wind, against the storm itself. Somehow, they reached the top of a partially collapsed building. Clutching Daniel, Sarah looked around. Marlow was nearly unrecognizable—houses destroyed, streets flooded, fire and water battling for dominance. As the storm raged on, Sarah held her son close, whispering over and over, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” The storm may have taken everything, but it would not take him.