The Water Remembers

Maddie Butler had always felt like she was born in the wrong timeline.

She was just a girl when Hurricane Katrina swallowed her world whole. The memories were fragmented—like waterlogged photographs—but they haunted her just the same. Her mother's voice calling her name through the rising floodwaters. Her little brother's laughter echoes down the hallway. The sound of wood splintering as the roof gave way.

She survived. Her sister Kendra did too, though barely. Kendra had been found unconscious in the attic of their flooded home, clinging to a broken window frame. A severe concussion kept her in the hospital for days. Their mother and brother were never found.

After the storm, Maddie and Kendra moved in with distant relatives, then eventually into a small apartment on the edge of Baton Rouge. Kendra raised Maddie while battling her own grief, and when she had a daughter of her own, Maddie became more of a ghost in the house than a sister.

They didn't get along. Not really. Kendra was strict, distant. Maddie was quiet and stubborn. Their grief had built walls instead of bridges.

Now, twenty years later, Maddie lived alone in a shotgun house in New Orleans, not far from where the levees had failed. She worked at a bookstore in the French Quarter, spent her evenings sketching in a weathered notebook, and tried not to think about the people she'd lost.

But on the anniversary of the storm, she couldn't help herself.

She sat on the porch, the air was heavy with August heat, and then stared up at the stars. New Orleans was very quiet, except for the faraway hum of cicadas and the occasional rumble of a streetcar. Maddie just closed her eyes and whispered into the dead of night.

"I wish I could've saved them. I wish I could go back."

She didn't expect an answer. But something in the air shifted—like the wind inhaled and held its breath.

That night, her dreams were vivid. She stood in her childhood home, water rising around her ankles, her mother shouting from the kitchen, her brother tugging at her hand. She reached for them—and woke up gasping.

The ceiling above her was smooth and white—not the cracked plaster she was used to. The air smelled of lemon furniture polish and something warm, like pancakes. Her phone was missing. Her sketchbook was gone. The room was familiar, but impossibly wrong.

She stumbled to the mirror.

Her face stared back—freckled, wide-eyed, and unmistakably younger. Seventeen, maybe. Her hair was longer, her body leaner. She touched her cheek, then her lips, as if trying to confirm she was real.

Outside, the street was quiet. No hum of modern cars. No LED porch lights. A newspaper lay on the front steps, its headline blaring: August 27, 2005.

Two days before Katrina.

She ran.

Her old neighborhood was still intact, the air thick with summer heat and the scent of magnolia. She passed familiar houses, porches she hadn't seen in decades, and finally stopped in front of the one she'd dreamed about for years.

Her mother was there—hanging laundry in the backyard, humming a tune Maddie hadn't heard since childhood.

Tears blurred her vision.

She ran to her, wrapped her arms around her, and whispered, "I missed you."

Her mother laughed, startled. "Do I know you, sweetheart?"

Maddie pulled back. "I'm… a friend. I just wanted to express my gratitude. For everything."

Her brother burst through the screen door, chasing a soccer ball. Maddie dropped to her knees and hugged him, too. He squirmed, giggling.

She had two days.

Convincing her mother to evacuate early wasn't easy. Maddie tried everything—begging, warning, even faking a call from the National Weather Service. Her mother was skeptical, but Maddie's desperation finally broke through.

"Just trust me," Maddie said, voice trembling. "Please."

Her mother agreed. They packed the car, loaded her brother's toys, and drove toward Baton Rouge.

Maddie stayed behind.

There were others to warn.

She moved through the city like a shadow, whispering warnings, urging strangers to leave. One boy she met outside a corner store—tall, quiet, with a sketchpad tucked under his arm—reminded her of someone. He said his name was Julian. He lived alone with his grandmother, who refused to evacuate.

Maddie didn't hesitate. She helped them pack, drove them to a shelter, and made sure they were safe.

Julian looked at her strangely. "You're not from here, are you?"

"I am," she said. "Just not from now."

He smiled, puzzled. "You're kind of amazing."

When the storm came, it was still devastating—but fewer lives were lost. Her mother and brother survived. So did Julian and his grandmother. Maddie felt the timeline shifting beneath her feet, like sand rearranging itself.

She closed her eyes and whispered, "Let me go home."

She woke in her bed.

The room was different again. Her phone buzzed beside her. The date read August 29, 2025.

She sat up, heart racing.

A photo on the nightstand caught her eye—her mother, older now, smiling beside her brother, now a grown man. Kendra stood beside them, holding a toddler. Maddie was in the middle, arms wrapped around them all.

She blinked. The memories were there—both timelines, layered like sediment. The grief. The miracle. The choice.

Kendra knocked on the door. "You coming to breakfast?"

Maddie smiled. "Yeah. I'll be right there."

She stepped outside and saw Julian waiting on the porch, sketchpad in hand.

"You look different," he said, smiling. "Like someone who's been through time."

Maddie laughed. "You have no idea."

The days after her return felt like walking through a dream stitched together from two lives.

Her mother was alive. Her brother sent her memes and texts like any typical sibling. Kendra was warmer, softer—still guarded, but no longer brittle. And Julian… Julian was real. He lived two blocks away, ran a small art studio, and remembered her from the shelter all those years ago.

"You were the girl who saved us," he said one evening, as they sat on the levee watching the sun melt into the Mississippi. "I never forgot your face."

Maddie smiled, but her heart was heavy. "I didn't just save you. I changed everything."

Julian looked at her, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

She hesitated. "I went back. I don't know how—I just… woke up there two days before the storm. I warned people. I saved my family. I saved you."

Julian didn't laugh. He didn't call her crazy. He just nodded slowly, like something deep inside him had always known.

"I used to dream about you," he said. "Before I ever met you. You were standing in the rain, telling me to run."

Maddie's breath caught. "That was real."

But the peace didn't last.

She began noticing small shifts—details that didn't match her memories. A neighbor who used to run a bakery now worked in construction. A childhood friend who had survived Katrina was now listed among the dead. Her favorite bookstore had never existed.

The timeline had bent.

One night, she found Kendra crying in the kitchen. Maddie approached gently.

"What's wrong?"

Kendra wiped her eyes. "I had a dream. About Mom and Elijah. About the storm. But it was different. You were older. You were… warning me."

Maddie sat beside her. "I did. I went back."

Kendra didn't speak for a long time. Then she whispered, "Did you lose anything?"

Maddie thought of the bookstore. Of the friend who no longer existed. Of the version of herself that had learned to live with grief.

"Yes," she said. "But I got them back."

Kendra nodded. "Then maybe it was worth it."

Maddie stood in the doorway of her childhood home, now restored and humming with life. Her mother was in the kitchen, humming the same tune Maddie had heard in her dream. Her brother, Elijah, was sprawled on the couch, teasing Kendra's toddler with a sock puppet. And Kendra—older, softer—was laughing.

It felt like stepping into a photograph she'd never dared hope to take.

She walked in slowly, unsure if she belonged in this version of the world. But her mother turned and smiled, as if she'd been waiting for her.

"There you are," she said. "We were just talking about you."

Maddie blinked. "You remember?"

Her mother tilted her head. "I remember the storm. I remember leaving early. I remember a girl who told me to trust her."

Kendra joined them, her expression unreadable. "I think we all remember pieces. Dreams. Feelings. Like déjà vu, but deeper."

Maddie sat down at the table, heart full. "I didn't know if it would work. I didn't know what I'd lose."

"You didn't lose us," Kendra said softly. "You found us."

Later that evening, Maddie walked to the levee, where Julian waited with his sketchpad.

The sky was wildly streaked with colors of orange and violet. There was also a river calm that came beneath the sky. Maddie sat beside Julian on the levee, their shoulders brushing, and the air between them was warm and still.

"I used to come here after the storm," Julian said, sketchpad balanced on his knee. "To think. To draw. To remember."

Maddie watched the water ripple, her heart steady for the first time in years. "I used to come here to forget."

Julian turned to her. "Do you still want to?"

She shook her head. "No. I want to remember everything. Even the pain. It's part of what brought me here."

He reached for her hand, and she let him take it. His fingers were warm, familiar like she'd held them before in another life.

"I didn't just save you," she said softly. "You saved me, too."

Julian smiled, then leaned in and kissed her—gentle, specific, like a promise.

They sat in total silence as the sun dipped below the horizon,

casting a beautiful golden glow that spread out across the water. The past was now behind them; it had been reshaped and softened. The future was unwritten, but it was no longer cold.

Maddie closed her eyes tight and whispered to the wind, "Thank you."

And somewhere, deep in the current, the water managed to whisper back at her.