The Last Walk Home

They say the forest shifts when you’re lost.
Paths turn back on themselves.
Landmarks vanish.
Even the birds go quiet.

He wasn’t a hunter. He wasn’t a traveler. Just…a father.
He stepped off the path to follow a glint of something—
a toy, maybe. A shape in the leaves.
And then the trail was gone.

The first day, he yelled.
The second, he whispered.
By the third, he walked in silence, because there was no one left to call for.

It was that day, he found the clearing.
Found the tree.

It wasn’t just big.
It was ancient.
A body of wood that breathed without moving.
Its bark was covered in lines—some shallow, some deep, some fresh.

He collapsed at the base, too tired to pray.
But something answered anyway.

Not out loud.

He heard it inside him. Deep in his soul.

A rumble. A pressure. Like a question blooming in his ribs.

What would you give, it asked without words,
to see her again?

Not live. Not survive.
Just—see her one last time.

He didn’t speak the answer.
He didn’t need to.

The path opened.
Roots rose beneath his feet, guiding each step.
Branches leaned away.
The forest let him go.

And with every step, the world dimmed.
Greens faded to gray.
Shapes blurred.
Details slipped away.

But ahead—
a hill.
A house.
His house.

He saw her through the window.
Little body, messy hair, clutching the toy he thought he’d lost.

She turned.
Ran for the door.
Flung it open.

“Daddy!”

He stepped through the gate.
Reached out his hand—

And the world went black.

But he smiled,
because he made it home.
And he saw her—one last time.