Page 54 of Orc Me, Maybe

“I don’t say it enough. Hell, I barely say it at all. But I see you. I see everything you do. You try so hard to be brave, and smart, and kind, and sometimes I forget that you’re still little. That you still need to be told it’s okay to be scared.”

Lillian blinks up at him, eyes huge. “I thought if I helped the owl, maybe you’d remember I’m not a baby you can ignore.”

“You’re not,” he murmurs. “But that doesn’t mean you have to do everything alone.”

He exhales, shaky. “I miss your mom every day. And sometimes, I forget how to be a dad without her. But that’s not your job to fix. It never was.”

Tears stream down her cheeks. She throws her arms around his neck and sobs into his shoulder.

He holds her tighter.

I reach in, wrap my arms around both of them, and feel something inside me break open.

A piece of my own grief, maybe. A memory of the dad I left behind.

And for one long, quiet minute, the three of us stay there in that glade wrapped up in grief and love and something that feels dangerously close to healing.

When Lillian finally pulls back, her eyes are puffy but clearer.

“Can I still give you the badge?” she asks, voice hoarse.

Torack nods solemnly. “You better.”

She reaches into her muddy pocket and pulls out a squashed, glitter-smeared triangle. “It says you’re the Best Orc Dad. Even when you forget snack day.”

He lets out a broken laugh that sounds more like a sob.

I wipe my eyes quickly. “Okay, team. Let’s get you both home.”

On the slow walk back, Lillian clutches my hand and tells me the entire story of the owl’s “very dramatic spiral” and how she tried to make a healing nest with pinecones and lavender and “a napkin I stole from the mess tent.”

“And it burped at me,” she finishes. “Like, a magical burp. So I knew it was still alive.”

“You’re basically a certified healer now,” I tell her.

Torack walks beside us, quiet, but something in his posture has shifted. He’s still tired. Still heavy with everything he’s carrying.

But the guilt’s not crushing him anymore.

He looks at Lillian like he’s seeing her for the first time in weeks.

When we reach the cabin, I go to turn away—but Lillian tugs my hand.

“Will you tuck me in?” she asks.

I glance at Torack.

He gives a nod. “I’ll get her a dry shirt.”

As he disappears inside, Lillian leans close. “Thanks for helping Daddy not be dumb.”

I stifle a laugh. “Anytime, kiddo.”

She hugs me again, quick but tight, and then races inside.

I stay on the porch for a minute, just breathing.

And when Torack comes back out, his eyes find mine.

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