6. The Butterfly Morning
The next day, Ava met them in the garden at dawn. “There’s going to be a monarch butterfly migration this morning,” she told Ethan. “Hundreds of them, stopping to rest on their way south. They never stay long.”
Ethan left his phone in the suite. It took effort, like leaving a limb behind, but he walked to the garden with Lily, empty-handed except for her small hand in his.
The butterflies were already arriving when they reached the garden. Orange and black wings filled the air like stained glass windows come alive. They settled on every surface—flowers, benches, even the ground. The garden transformed into something from a dream.
Lily stood in the middle of it all, her arms slightly outstretched, wonder written across her face. A butterfly landed on her shoulder, then another on her hand. She was absolutely still, but it was a different stillness than her usual careful quiet. This was the stillness of awe.
“My god,” Ethan breathed.
A butterfly landed on his sleeve. He started to brush it off, then stopped. Let it rest there. “Daddy.”
The word was so quiet he almost missed it. But Lily was looking at him, her eyes bright with tears or joy or both. And she’d spoken. Just one word, barely a whisper, but it was everything.
Ethan dropped to his knees, not caring about his expensive suit or the damp ground. He didn’t reach for her. Didn’t make it bigger than it was. He just nodded, his own throat too tight for words.
“I know,” he managed finally. “I see them, too.”
Lily turned back to the butterflies, but she stepped closer to him, her shoulder touching his. They stayed like that, surrounded by wings and morning light, until the butterflies began to leave as suddenly as they’d come.
