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Part 1: When the Past Walks Back Into Your Family

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That night, lying awake in my childhood bedroom, I replayed everything. Every word she’d spoken. Every memory I’d spent years burying. I thought about my brother, completely unaware of the history he was tying himself to.

And then I remembered something I hadn’t thought about in decades.

Freshman year. Biology class. A lesson on metamorphosis. Our teacher had brought in live butterflies, delicate wings fluttering behind glass.

Ezoic

Nancy had screamed.

Not joking. Not exaggerating. She bolted from the room in tears, shaking, unable to breathe. That was the day we all learned she had a deep, irrational fear of butterflies.

Some fears don’t disappear with age.

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