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The Letters I Never Wrote

Gideon wept silently at the defense table while she spoke.

Afterward, in a small conference room, he asked to speak to his family.

Stripped of the good suits and the easy confidence, he looked like a smaller man.

“I don’t even know how to begin apologizing,” he said.

Wendell considered him a long moment.

“Begin,” he said, “by making sure your regret isn’t just one more way of asking us to rescue you.”

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