Julian Ryan wasn’t just another name on the growing list of the dead in the Texas flood disaster. He was a father, a fiancé, and, in his final moments, a man fighting like hell to save his family from an unstoppable wall of water.

When the Guadalupe River rose like a monster in the dead of night on July 4th, Julian was holed up at home in Ingram with his fiancée Christinia Wilson, their two kids, and his mother. According to KHOU 11, the storm rolled in so fast that the house went from dry to drowning in under 30 minutes. Water pushed at the doors, windows rattled, the kind of scene that should only play out in a nightmare.

Christinia told local reporters they fought the door to keep it shut, then called 911 again and again. No help came. As the current threatened to tear their family apart, Julian smashed through a window to give everyone a chance to crawl to safety. But that heroic decision turned fatal in an instant. He severed an artery in his arm so badly it nearly took the limb clean off.

With the water still rising and sirens silent, Julian looked at his loved ones and gave them words no family should ever have to hear. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to make it. I love y’all.” He bled out as his fiancée and kids watched. His body was pulled from the flood hours later.

Julian was 27 years old. Friends called him the kindest man they’d ever met, the sort who always showed up, cracked a joke, wrapped you in a bear hug. “He is the hero in this story,” his sister Connie Salas told KHOU 11. His best friend Kris Roberts didn’t hold back either: “I’ll forever love him no matter what.”

If you ever doubt what real love looks like, remember Julian Ryan’s final act. He punched through the glass for his family. He fought the river with half an arm. He said goodbye not to save himself but to ease their terror. That’s what you do when you’re all that stands between life and death.

As of this week, at least 51 people have been confirmed dead from the Texas floods, including 15 children. Some are still missing, and many were swept away from summer camps, which had no chance when the Guadalupe rose 26 feet in 45 minutes. AP News reports rescuers have scoured tree lines, rooftops, and piles of debris. Hundreds have been plucked to safety, but too many have not.

Julian’s family, like so many others, is now asking questions that hang heavier than rain clouds. Why weren’t there flood sirens? Why weren’t people told to run before it was too late? Christinia said it plainly. “Everybody would’ve been worried. We would have left. We had so many places that were safe.”

Gov. Greg Abbott called Sunday a Day of Prayer for Texas, a gesture that some grieving families say is too little, too late. Because for them, there’s no siren that will bring their loved ones home.

A GoFundMe is up now to help Julian’s kids, Christinia, and his mother, cover the sudden mountain of costs that come with losing a provider overnight. But no fundraiser will fill the hole left by a young dad whose last breath was spent saying I love you while the river kept on rising.

Sometimes, heroism is quiet. It’s not capes and headlines. It’s broken glass, a father’s blood, and a promise that even when the water wins, the world won’t forget what a good man does when his family needs him most.