My table was across from the entrance to the room circled with authors and their books. I saw a man walk in who looked familiar. This was not unusual. I was in my town and it was still small enough that recognizing a face is a frequent ocurrance.
I have a lump in my throat now just writing about that moment.
It wasn't the first time I was thanked by the family member of a victim in one of my books--but it moves me every time it happens. It is a precious gift.
It's one of the reasons why I write true crime,
And why I don't know how I could ever stop.