Experience: I rescued my children from a burning car

One morning in 2018, my husband Reuben told me about a nightmare he’d had the previous night. He’d been driving over the Hewitt Avenue Trestle, a bridge near our house in Everett, Washington in the US, crashed through the barriers into the estuary below, and had to decide which of our two children to save.

Two weeks later, I was getting Talia, then three, and Weston, 10 months, dressed, fed and out of the door to take them to preschool on my way to work.

It was a route we’d taken a hundred times before. I was chatting to Reuben on speakerphone with both children in the back, when I smelled something odd, like plastic melting.

I mentioned it to Reuben, but neither of us thought anything of it. There are industrial buildings nearby, so I assumed it was coming from one of them.

A minute later, and no longer on the phone, I drove on to the bridge my husband had dreamed about, which was busy with rush-hour traffic. That’s when I saw the word “STOP” flash across my dashboard.

Before I even had the chance to register it, I saw smoke rising from the bonnet of the car. I knew I needed to pull over, but the bridge, which is 2.5 miles long, didn’t have a hard shoulder. I decided it was safest to get across it and then stop the car.

Gripping the steering wheel, I put my foot down, but within seconds the smoke was so thick I could no longer see the road ahead. With cars flying past me, I managed to pull over to the side of the road.

At this point, I was really distressed. I called the American Automobile Association (AAA), but, as if my luck wasn’t bad enough, my membership had expired. As I was talking to the operator, I saw flames through the windshield – the bonnet was on fire.

Terrified, and certain the car was about to explode, I yelled that my car was on fire. Acting on pure instinct, I jumped out, opened the door behind me, and unclipped Weston’s car seat.

I could hear the woman from the AAA shouting at me to call 911 as cars and lorries thundered past, just inches away. For a split second I froze. Was it safe to put Weston down on the road while I grabbed Talia? Could I run to the end of the bridge with them both in my arms?

Just then, as I was almost overwhelmed with fear, an arm appeared. I looked up into the face of a man who said, “It’s OK, mama”, took Weston from my hands and went to his car, which was just behind me.

I dashed round to Talia’s door, opening it to see flames inside, and spreading fast. She looked at me in terror and screamed, “Mummy!” Within a second, I had her in my arms, running back to the man’s car. As we zoomed off, I looked over my shoulder and saw flames shooting into the sky. Talia was sobbing into my chest.

Unable to think clearly, I didn’t call 911 or Reuben, I just asked for us to be dropped at a nearby car dealership. I thanked my heroic rescuer and hugged him goodbye, only later realising that I didn’t even get his name.

Reuben’s work was about 50 miles away, so I called a friend nearby, who immediately came to get us. He’s a funny guy, and, as I fell into his arms, weeping, he quipped: “Sorry I’m late. There was some big fire on the road.”

I called Reuben on the way to my parents’ house. He was devastated, repeatedly apologising for not knowing the smell was something serious. I tried to reassure him: I hadn’t known, either.

Seeing the burnt-out car arrive later that day before it was scrapped was awful. I felt sick at the thought of what might have happened if I hadn’t got the children out when I did.

While Weston appeared unaffected throughout, and Talia was back to her happy self within hours, I struggled. I had awful dreams where I endlessly relived it. When driving our new car, I’d obsessively open the windows at the slightest smell, convinced it was on fire.

A session of EMDR [eye movement desensitisation and reprocessing] therapy helped a lot. I was even able to drive across the Trestle and stay calm.

We never found out what caused the fire. Thankfully, the children have no memory of that day now. And when they moan that Mummy doesn’t do this or that, I remind them that I entered a burning car for them – and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

As told to Kate Graham

Do you have an experience to share? Email experience@theguardian.com