Maya Johnson never imagined that a late-night walk along the Detroit River would change her life. Exhausted after a long diner shift, skipping lunch again, she missed her bus and took a shortcut along the river she usually avoided. Rain hung heavy in the air, and her legs ached, but she pushed forward, humming to ignore the fatigue.
Then came the scream.
Short. Sharp. Terrifying.
Maya froze, then heard another cry. She dropped her backpack and ran toward the sound, spotting a man in a suit sinking fast. No dramatic flailing—just sheer panic. His tie was tight around his neck, his jacket dragging him under. He surfaced briefly, then vanished again.
Alone, with no one else around, Maya acted. She kicked off her shoes and dove into the icy water. It hit her like a shockwave. Her lungs burned, her limbs stiffened, a branch cut her thigh—but she didn’t stop. She reached him, gripping a sleeve and kicking toward the shore with every ounce of strength she had. They broke the surface, heavy and lifeless, and she dragged him onto the muddy bank.
He wasn’t breathing. Maya pressed her hands to his chest, recalling CPR instructions she’d seen online. Press. Count. Tilt his chin. Breathe. Press again.
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