And that’s what led to the moment at 7 PM outside Emma’s window.
The roar of sixty-three bikes. The flash of butterfly patches. The silence that followed, filled only by the sound of my daughter breathing — smiling — watching.
But it wasn’t over yet.
Big Mike stepped forward and opened another wooden box. Inside: a set of architectural plans. A plaque. A new address.
They hadn’t just raised money. They had bought a building.
A home-away-from-home for families of children undergoing cancer treatment. A sanctuary.
It would be called Emma’s Butterfly House. Her butterfly would be painted on the front door. She would be its heart.
