Page 26 of My Orc Package Deal

I pulled out the sandwiches I’d made that morning, wrapped in wax paper and labeled in my blocky handwriting. Ham and cheese—simple, reliable. I’d made ten, figuring growing boys could put away two each if they wanted, one for Kesha, and the other five for me.

“Here,” I said, handing one to Jay, then Milo.

Jay immediately tore into his, taking a huge bite. “Thanks, Dad.”

Milo took his eagerly, unwrapping the wax paper with careful fingers. He stared down at it…and went very, very still.

The kind of still that made my Kteer go quiet, a warning prickling at the base of my skull.

Milo’s hands started to shake. Just a tremor at first, then more pronounced. His breathing picked up, short and sharp.

“This isn’t peanut butter and jelly,” he said, his voice tight.

I blinked. “No, it’s ham and cheese. That’s what I made for everyone.”

Kesha opened her mouth, her expression shifting to something like alarm. “Milo⁠—”

“I WANT PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY!”

The shout was sudden, raw, and loud enough to turn heads three blankets over.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

The kid had been holding it together all day. The heat, the noise, the chaos of the beach, the grit of the sand, the unpredictability of the waves—every single one of those things was a small, just-manageable irritation on its own.

But…they’d added up.

And I’d just handed him the wrong sandwich.

“I WANT PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY!” Milo screamed again, eyes screwed shut, limbs drawn in too tightly, ready to crack.

It’s not about the sandwich.

Jay froze mid-chew, eyes wide. Kesha’s face flushed, her hands fluttering as if she didn’t know whether to reach for Milo or pull him away from the stares.

But screw whoever was staring, screw whatever they thought of us. All I could focus on was the pain in front of me.

I dropped to one knee on the blanket, my focus narrowing to the small, shaking boy I’d come to cherish. “Milo,” I said quietly.

He didn’t look at me. His grip on the sandwich was white-knuckled, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Tears were building at the corners of his eyes, his whole body vibrating with the effort of not completely losing it.

I reached for the sandwich. Slowly. Carefully.

Milo didn’t let go.

So we both held it, the wax paper crinkling between us.

“I’m so sorry, buddy,” I said, keeping my voice low and steady. “I didn’t know. Please forgive me?”

The question seemed to derail him. He blinked, his breath hitching. “O-okay.”

I took a deep breath. Then let it out, slow and controlled, holding his gaze.

He watched me, confused, his chest still heaving.

I did it again. In. Out. Longer on the exhale.