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Eunice sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed and stared out the window, the rustling of leaves muted by glass. Spotting a flash of motion to her left, she snapped her arm out and clamped her hand shut. The knuckles of her trembling hand turned from white to pink as she relaxed and unfurled her fingers. Bearing grim witness, she watched the dying moth give a final flutter and grow still. Eunice stood, smoothed the bedspread with her free hand, and straightened the toppled stuffed bunny known as Steve. She left with her tiny cargo and quietly closed the door.

Photo by Magic Madzik