Page 19 of Till Orc Do Us Part

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Jamie nods. “I miss my dad sometimes. Even though he left.”

Anger sparks low in my gut—anger I do not voice. The boy deserves more than abandonment.

“He was wrong to do so,” I say.

Jamie shrugs. “Mom says some people don’t know how to stay.”

Wise words. Painful ones.

I rise, brushing sawdust from my palms.

“Come,” I say. “We must finish.”

Jamie beams, hopping to his feet. Together, we affix the final slats, smooth the wood with sandpaper. When we step back, the bench gleams faintly in the sun.

“You did good,” Jamie says, grinning up at me.

I nod. “So did you.”

He pulls a small shell from his pocket—a perfect spiral.

“For the bench,” he says, tucking it beneath the seat. “So it won’t be lonely.”

Something shifts in my chest. I cannot name it.

“Thank you,” I say softly.

Jamie smiles. “Can I come back tomorrow?”

I hesitate.

Logic says no.

But against reason, I hear myself say:

“If your mother permits it.”

“Okay!” He waves. “Bye, Mr. Drokhaz!”

I watch him race down the boardwalk, curls flying.

Alone again, I sit on the bench—new wood warm beneath me.

And I wonder:

Perhaps not all things must be built for profit.

Perhaps some… are built for peace.

Later that night, the trailer is still.

Outside, the tide whispers beneath the pilings. Inside, only the soft scratch of pencil against paper breaks the silence.

I sit hunched at my drafting table, sleeves rolled to my elbows. The official plans for Lowtide Redevelopment lie open beside me—cold lines, sharp angles. Efficient. Unfeeling.

But my hand moves toward a fresh sheet instead.

Without thinking, I begin to sketch.

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