When I was a child, I dreamed of being able to fly. I would put on the cloak of midnight blue silk that Grandma had made for me and run around with my arms outstretched, pretending. I would sing to my fellow birds and listen attentively to their replies. I would go outside at dawn and not come back in until I heard Grandma's sing songy voice calling me in for me in the distance. As I grew older, I began to give up hope that I would ever get my wish, much to Grandma's dismay. One day I just stopped believing in my wish altogether. Many years have now passed. I am married with three wonderful little troublemakers. The cloak has been cast aside and forgotten. Then an accident happened and Grandma was no more. I took my husband and children to my childhood home that was now mine by law. According to her will I was to have the house and everything in it. Once inside Peter and I sent the kids to explore the house, then report back to us. With them out of the way, we sat down and talked about adult things like money and how we weren't communicating correctly. We were interrupted by my youngest, Lily, bounding down the stairs with a pile of fabric in her arms. Dumping it in my lap, she practically jumped up and down with excitement. I ran my fingers over the smooth fabric as she asked what it was. I told her it's story. She wanted to try it on so I helped her put it over her shoulders and fasten the golden butterfly clasp. She ran around with her arms outstretched, looking like a mirror image of me at a younger age, laughing joyously and crying out that she was flying. It was then that I realized that I had gotten my dream after all.