When my sister and I were little, we often played in front of our house near the mailbox. Mom and Dad would usually watch us through the window. On one particular day, my mother suddenly turned to my father and told him to bring us inside. At first, he brushed it off, but she became more insistent.
Puzzled, he asked her what was wrong, but before he could finish, she panicked and rushed toward the front door—even though she was less than a week away from giving birth to our youngest sister. He stopped her and went outside himself to call us in, and we immediately obeyed.
Not even a minute later, a car came speeding down the street and slammed into our mailbox, completely destroying it. Had we still been there, we both would have been killed instantly. It’s a moment my parents still find difficult to talk about to this day.