Butterflies Are Not Free

Chapter Twenty-Seven

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“...he was only thirteen, you know. Big for his age like you’re small. They got a warning and sheltered on a farm nearby with a family who’d bought their lumber for years and years. It was their only chance, and they shivered there a few days in a shed built for animals."

He stopped for any reaction or question.

"But the mother turned them in. Obby’s brother and father ran into the woods when the soldiers came. They were shot. They kept Obby in the shed another cold night with his mom. Then they took them. He never saw his mother again." His words, at first measured, became quick and bitter.

Gretchen shook her head and closed her eyes. She covered her ears, a gesticulation never before deployed.

"I know."

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“...he was only thirteen, you know. Big for his age like you’re small. They got a warning and sheltered on a farm nearby with a family who’d bought their lumber for years and years. It was their only chance, and they shivered there a few days in a shed built for animals."

He stopped for any reaction or question.

"But the mother turned them in. Obby’s brother and father ran into the woods when the soldiers came. They were shot. They kept Obby in the shed another cold night with his mom. Then they took them. He never saw his mother again." His words, at first measured, became quick and bitter.

Gretchen shook her head and closed her eyes. She covered her ears, a gesticulation never before deployed.

"I know."