Water from the tank body is the definitive one — weeping at the base seam, rust streaking from the shell, a puddle that traces to the steel itself rather than any fitting above it. A pressure vessel that has started to fail does not heal, and no component swap changes that verdict. Rust-coloured hot water from a clear cold supply runs a close second: it means the tank’s protective lining and anode are spent and the steel is now the meal.
Age and arithmetic complete the picture. Corridor tanks working against Loudoun’s hard water commonly tire somewhere in the eight-to-twelve-year range when unmaintained; a heater in that window needing a major component — a gas control valve, say — is usually money better aimed at its successor. And a tank that has simply become too small for the household it serves — the teenager era arriving at a house plumbed for toddlers — is a replacement candidate on comfort grounds alone, which is a perfectly legitimate reason.