The first time I remembered having to tell Abby bad news was when we were eight years old. She always loved butterflies, especially monarchs, and at the time she was keeping one in a little plastic cage. A few hours after she caught it, she and I were playing outside and she got up to go to the bathroom, leaving me and the butterfly (which she named Daisy) alone.
My curiosity got the best of me. I opened the cage and held out my finger. Daisy crawled on it and I slowly lifted my hand out of the cage.
Big mistake.
Daisy flew away. I was afraid of how Abby would react, so when she came back, I pretended like nothing happened while she pretended not to notice Daisy was missing. After about five minutes, the guilt won, and I confessed what happened. She told me she knew Da
