The Morning After My Son’s Funeral, an Airport Worker Called and Said, “Your Son Checked In”

would set her machine. I knew the exact spot on the wall where the light comes in around eleven o’clock and makes it hard for anybody in the jury box to read a document.

I had never once, in thirty-one years, been the person the case was about.

At the sentencing, Yolanda asked whether I wanted to give a victim impact statement.

I told her I did.

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