“Your son was a hero,” Lily told the woman solemnly. “Like my daddy. Like Uncle Bear. Heroes just sometimes need help remembering they’re heroes.”
Bear’s phone buzzed. A text from Lily’s father, sent through the prison email system:
“Heard what happened. Thank you for standing up for her. For us. Seven more years, brother. Seven more years and I’ll be back to help carry this weight. Until then, you’re all she’s got. All I’ve got. Love you both.”
Bear showed the message to Lily. She traced her finger over the words “Love you both.”
“Daddy loves us,” she said simply.
“Yeah, baby girl. He does.”
The Saturday meetings continued. But now, instead of suspicious stares, Bear and Lily were surrounded by support. Veterans would stop by their table to chat. The manager always had Lily’s chocolate milk ready. The teenage cashier taught Lily to fold napkins into flowers.
And every week, Bear told Lily another story about her father. About the time he carried wounded civilians to safety under fire. About how he’d sing to scared Afghan children. About the soldier who’d earned medals for valor but considered Lily’s birth his greatest achievement.
“Will Daddy be different when he comes home?” Lily asked one Saturday.
