The smell of damp wood hung in the air as Nia picked through the wreckage of their living room. The roof had collapsed during last night’s storm, and sunlight streamed through the jagged gaps, illuminating a house that no longer felt like home. Her husband, Mateo, sat on the edge of what used to be their sofa, cradling their daughter, Sofia, who was fast asleep despite the chaos.

“It’s getting worse,” Mateo said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Nia didn’t answer. She stood by the broken window, staring at the street outside. The asphalt was cracked, littered with debris. Their neighbors, faces weary and hollow, shuffled through the wreckage of their own lives. The storm had been the third this month. Floodwaters had come and gone, leaving behind the stench of decay and the gnawing realization that they were losing the fight against nature.

“We could move,” Mateo said, breaking the silence. His words were cautious, like he was testing the air for resistance. “Your sister in the north offered to help us. We’d be safe there. Start over.”

Nia clenched her jaw. Leaving meant abandoning everything they had fought for. Her parents’ house was just down the road—what was left of it. Their roots were deep here, entwined with the soil, the streets, the memories. Sofia had learned to ride her bike in this neighborhood. But now, the storms were erasing all of it, bit by bit.

“What if it’s the same there?” she finally said. “Floods, storms, fires—they’re everywhere now, Mateo. There’s no safe place.”

He nodded, staring at the floor. They had both read the reports, heard the experts. Nowhere was untouched. But staying felt like surrendering, like waiting for the next wave to sweep them away.

Sofia stirred in Mateo’s arms, her small voice breaking the tension. “Mama, can we fix the house?”

Nia felt a lump rise in her throat. She crouched beside them, brushing Sofia’s damp curls from her forehead. “I don’t know, baby,” she said softly.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Finally, Mateo spoke, his voice steady. “We’ll try one last time,” he said. “But if the storms come again—if it gets worse—we leave. For her.”

Nia met his eyes, and in them, she saw the reflection of her own fears. She nodded. They had no good choices, only the ones they could live with.

Outside, the sun was already setting, casting an amber glow over the broken town. For now, they would rebuild. But deep in her heart, Nia wondered how long even the strongest walls could hold against the rising tide.