Make somthing into fiction and fiction it remains?

Three times over roughly the last five days, I've had a very disturbing vision. A waking vision, not a dream. Ironically, I didn't see the vision, but heard it. I heard the voices of the people talking; like listening to a play on the radio or something. I did get fleeting visual images, but not much to speak of.
Anyway, as I said, the events of the vision were disturbing to say the least. Finally after this third occurrence I decided to write out the story I was hearing. I'm hoping that by turning the story into fiction, it will thus remain fiction rather than becoming some terrible premonition. The words were specific and identical, and in the speakers actual voice on all three occasions - without exception. I have used this exact dialogue here. So here's my story (first draft, it still needs a little work)

MY LITTLE SWIMMER

It was another scorching hot August day. I was in the kitchen doing some work on the computer when my 4 year old son, Leo walked in from the living room. He, his little sister Ahlia, and their Mom were enjoying the afternoon in the backyard by the pool.

"Hi Leo." I said, glancing at him standing in the doorway.

I noticed he had that slightly stiff and awkward look of, "I have come to give you information." that only toddlers can have. So I looked back to him to hear what he had to say.

Without any judgement or emotion, but with a hint of curiosity, Leo said, "Papa? Ahlia's under the wat..."
I never heard the "-er."

In that instant, my stomach felt as if at my feet, I experienced simultaneous peak levels of terror, shock, fear, and what I can only describe as "GO!"

In a single blast, my chair flew backwards across the room; I was already past Leo and a step from the sliding glass door (I do actually remember being sure not to touch Leo as I blew by him so he wouldn't feel dismissed for relaying this information - the things our minds can process instantaneously never cease to amaze me.)

Passing Leo I could immediately see a little blur of pink in the middle of the shallow end. My final step was on the metal frame of the glass door (Thank GOD that door was open! Or this would have been a very different story!) I could feel my foot's firm grip on the frame and chose to launch my dive from there rather than risk that next step onto the wet concrete. The results were mixed.

My dive was aimed perfectly. In a single, swift motion, my outstretched arms shot right under Ahlia and swept her little body up onto the far edge of the pool. She was unconscious and not breathing (I wouldn't notice my knee had clipped the concrete lip of the pool 'till much later.)

Pinch her nose, open her mouth, BLOW! ohhh, support her neck. BLOW. BLOW.
O.K. Just below the hard middle thing, firmly but gently Pump. Pump. Pump.
Nose, neck, BLOW, BLOW, BLOW. Now, Pump. Pump. Pump...
I had no idea what I was doing. I hadn't taken a CPR class in 20 years. But this wasn't really the time to be indecisive. So, 1-2-3, 1-2-3...

And BLAM! COUGH! She blasted bile and water into my face!

COUGH! GURGLE! Gasp! COUGH! Gasp! COUGH!

Suddenly her eyes came alive, her color returned, and she looked into my eyes.

COUGH!

"Papa!"

I could see her trying to smile through the coughing.

In her little water-logged voice, "Papa! Did you see me swimming?!?! I was swimming, Papa! Did you see me swimming?!?!"

Hugging her, the love I felt in that moment... The tears pouring down my face, "Yes baby! I saw you! You were swimming so good! SO GOOD BABY! I saw you!"

I just held her and wept. Relief. Release.

My clarity returned and I turned my head right. I saw their Mom sitting up, watching with curiosity and confusion from her Chaise Lounge. That's when I felt the burning rage filling my body. The burning rage my father would have unleashed right at this moment. Not with injurous violence, hitting a woman was never an option, but believe me, that burning, blaming rage would have been released.

All at once, in an automatic, reactive process, my mind thought, "No. I am the NEXT generation. I can improve here. This is not about blame, this is about Ahlia. I can deal with Mom later when I'm not rushing with adrenaline."

Leo was watching from the doorway. He saw the love not rage. He felt drawn towards his family in this peak, but somewhat confusing moment; not the fear from observing unleashed anger.

This is about Ahlia; so proud to have swam in front of her Papa and swam so good.

...My knee feels funny? Oooooh my...