The Butterfly

Mother paused, drew the butterfly to her lips and whispered some secret before continuing her story.
"It was but a month ago," she recollected. "I wakened to discover your father resting on the side of our bed reserved to him throughout our marriage. To be sure, I was uncertain of his identity at first, but the butterfly's urgency, crawling up my arm and neck to nibble on my earlobe—precisely as your father so entertained me years before—well, then, what more proof could he provide of his spirit restored to me?"__from "The Butterfly"