The lab is cold and bright and functions methodically as nurses prepare sterilized syringes and vials, but my sobs echo through the rows of cubicles. I lean my tear-streaked face against my mom’s shoulder. I feel out of control. Then, as if in a mirage, a figure appears beside me and delicately drapes a scarf across my shoulders. I curiously examine the pattern of butterflies on the light fabric, and momentarily the fluttering of my mind stops. I glance over, but the woman has already stepped through the door, leaving her scarf wrapped around me in comfort. The air fills of sweet serendipity now everytime I catch a glimpse of a butterfly.